Susan Mallery: When We Met

“Driving to work?” he asked. “You live a mile away.”

She paused and faced him. “Have you seen my shoes?” she asked. “I’m wearing Charlotte Olympia pumps with a five-inch heel. Could you walk to the corner in them? I don’t think so. Besides, you can’t talk to me today. I’m taller.”

Sam sighed. “It’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it?”

“You betcha.”

She flashed Sam a smile, then disappeared into their building. He walked across the street to the basketball court the guys had insisted be part of the remodeling. Not even a half-court, like at their last office. No, this was regulation size. She didn’t know what it had cost and she didn’t want to know.

Had any of her business partners been with her, she would have grumbled to them about how annoying they were, but as she was alone, she paused to look out the window. The three of them, Kenny, Jack and Sam, all wore baggy shorts and T-shirts. Sam, six feet tall and muscled, looked small next to the other two, but he was fast and used his brain when he played. Kenny and Jack mostly reacted. Which explained why Sam usually kicked their butts.

They fought for the basketball, and then Sam ripped it away, turned gracefully, jumped and scored. As she watched, Taryn realized that the boys needed more than each other, too. The same three guys playing basketball a few mornings a week couldn’t be that much fun.

She started toward her office. When she was at her desk, she picked up her phone but set it back in the cradle. She told herself the guys were well into their thirties and could take care of themselves. That she didn’t want anyone—namely Angel—thinking she was angling to find ways to see him. Of course telling him this wasn’t about him would only make him think it was. She sighed and picked up the phone again.

“CDS,” a man’s voice said.

“Justice Garrett, please.”

“Speaking.”

“Hi, Justice, I’m Taryn Crawford. I know your wife. I’m a partner at Score, here in town.”

“Right. Patience has mentioned you. The PR firm with the football players.”

“That’s us.” This was stupid. She felt like a mom trying to set up a playdate for her socially awkward child. Except despite her grumbling about the move, she really did want the guys to be happy. They might annoy her from time to time, but they were all the family she was ever likely to have.

“You have ex-military guys employed there,” she began. “They like to work out and stuff?”

There was a pause. Taryn could present a multimillion-dollar PR presentation to the most uptight skeptic with no problem. Why was this so hard?

“Was that a question?” Justice asked.

“No. Okay, so you know about Jack, Kenny and Sam, right? Former football players. They’re still competitive and...” She told herself to get to the point. “The guys have a new outdoor basketball court. They play a few mornings a week. I thought you and your guys might like to join them.”

There was another pause, then Justice chuckled. “My guys and I would like that very much. I hope yours aren’t sore losers.”

Taryn grinned. “Nice try. Your team is so going down.”

“We’ll see about that. What time do they start?”

“Six. Day after tomorrow.”

“We’ll be there.”

She hung up, feeling more than a little proud of herself. She logged in to the company’s remote data storage and downloaded the work she’d done the previous night, then updated several accounts.

At nine, she met with her graphics and design people. Her team of six was the heart of the organization. All presentations came out of that office, including graphic design, layout and videos for sample commercials and promotional spots.

There was also Sam’s staff of two accountants who ran all the numbers; Taryn’s assistant who doubled as the office manager; Larissa, Jack’s personal assistant and the boys’ private masseuse; along with Kenny and Sam’s assistant.

When Kenny, Jack and Sam had first come to her about moving to Fool’s Gold, she’d warned them that they would lose valuable staff. One of the few times in her life when she’d been wrong when it came to business, she thought. Everyone had been excited about relocating. Taryn had been the lone holdout.

Who could have guessed that carefully selecting family-oriented, well-adjusted employees would come back to bite her in the butt? she thought with a grin.

Her assistant stepped into her office. “They’re ready for you.”

Taryn followed her into the smaller conference room. Sam, Jack and Kenny were there, freshly showered after their morning game—because part of the remodeling had included putting in a locker room. Make that two, because while Taryn never planned to bathe at work, she’d insisted on equal facilities for the women. So they, too, had large showers, lockers and a steam room. The difference was she never insisted on holding meetings in the steam room, while the boys had on more than one occasion.

Now she walked to the far end of the table and opened the laptop there. Then her gaze settled on Jack, who had chosen not to dress after his shower. He sat at the conference table in a white robe and flip-flops.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Larissa is here.”

“She’s warming up the massage table as we speak.”

“Tell me you’re wearing underwear,” she said.

Jack winked.

“My team’s been working on several campaigns,” she said as she typed on the laptop. Through the company’s internal network, she could access her computer files remotely and pull up any necessary information.

“Here’s what we came up with for the Klassique Rum campaign. We’ll have the sample commercial ready by the end of the week, but in the meantime, here are our thoughts for print ads and the Facebook campaigns.”

She touched her computer keyboard, and a slide appeared on the large screen at the opposite end of the room. “We pulled colors from their new labels. Obviously rum means parties and fun.”

“Beach parties,” Kenny corrected, then grinned at Jack. “That was a hell of a weekend.”

The two of them had visited Klassique’s headquarters in the Caribbean. While Taryn had been invited, she’d passed. Watching Kenny and Jack in action with dozens of nubile, willing women wasn’t her idea of a good time.

The speakerphone in the center of the table buzzed.

“Jack, Larissa’s ready,” Taryn’s assistant said.

Jack was already up and moving. “See you later,” he called.

“I really hope he keeps his robe on until he gets into the massage room,” Taryn murmured.

“Me, too,” Sam told her. “Because he’s not wearing any underwear.”

Fortunately their employees were good-natured about the idiosyncrasies of working for former jocks, but every now and then Taryn had to field a complaint about too much male nudity.

Usually from the spouse of one of the female employees.

Taryn turned her attention back to the campaign. She went through it slide by slide. Kenny had several insights from the client’s perspective, while Sam tallied costs. Two hours later, when they had nearly finished, Jack walked back into the room.

He’d dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. But more than that, Taryn noticed how much more easily he moved. He sat next to Kenny.

“She says to give her fifteen minutes to relax her hands, and then she’ll be ready for you,” Jack said.

Kenny nodded.

Taryn glanced at Sam. “You okay waiting?”

“Sure.”

As a kicker, Sam had been beat up the least. The other two joked he had the easiest job in the game. Taryn knew differently. While she normally wouldn’t have ever bothered learning anything about the sport, her partnership meant she had to know more than the basics when it came to football. The kicker might not take the hits the other players did, but he worked under incredible pressure. Every second on the field meant being at the very center of everyone’s attention, often with games hanging in the balance. The NFL was a multibillion-dollar industry, and if you couldn’t handle the intense scrutiny, you weren’t going to last very long.