Love evens the score
As general manager of the Las Vegas Slayers, Danica Blue goes toe-to-toe with players whose size is matched only by their egos. Quarterback Dex Harper is the biggest and toughest of them all, with a hell-raiser reputation that he insists he doesn't deserve. And Danica, the good daughter who's always played by the rules, is suddenly tempted to break every last one.
Football is the only thing Dex has ever been able to count on. To save his career he needs Danica's PR savvy, and he's happy to help her discover her inner bad girl in return. But glimpsing the real woman behind that sexy, flawless facade is making him realize how much is at stake. Because getting back on the team could mean losing Danica, unless he's willing to risk it all—and play for keeps….
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What a beautiful lie.
Under the dusky blush of sunset the Venetian was a spectacular beacon, polished inside and out—a true Las Vegas gem. The air was sweet with late-summer blooms. Inside, the marble floors echoed as Danica Blue marched—anyone who knew her knew she didn't simply walk or strut or glide, but instead marched—to her destination within the grand hotel.
The engraved invitation was to an elegant late-afternoon tea, but Danica didn't harbor a shred of doubt that a raunchy bachelorette party awaited.
At the double doors of the Renaissance suite, she paused, going over a mental checklist. The chiffon-green tea-length dress she wore was simple and strapless, designed for just this occasion—so she had no concern there. Despite the sunshiny afternoon, she'd driven to the Venetian with the top of her silver Porsche Boxster up to protect her wispy bangs and side-swept braid from the wind. With hair and makeup on point, that left her posture.
From the time Danica had been four and toddling around in her mother's high heels, trying to fill Temperance Blue's shoes even then, she'd been warned that sloppy posture ruined any look.
Danica quickly corrected herself. Chin up. Chest out. Peep toes of her strappy shoes pointed forward.
Smile, damn it. It didn't matter that she was combating the effects of neglected sleep, having lately worked almost obsessively. Her high-profile career and family rarely left her a moment's peace. Not to mention how hard it was to sleep now that she lived alone in her mountain-view mansion. Yet the place still felt cluttered and claustrophobic with cobwebby memories of what used to be.
Either get an exorcist or get away, had been her friend Veda's advice. Danica's idea of exorcising the place was throwing out the bed she'd shared with her ex, splurging on a new one and hanging a row of dream catchers above the headboard. But she'd also adopted the other half of Veda's advice, even though escaping to the administration complex at Slayers Stadium and working herself into a stupor sometimes left her irritable.
Not that anyone knew this, of course. It was Danica's secret and hers alone—that she was more tired and lonely than she let on…and tired of being lonely.
She adjusted the extravagant orchid bouquet—a thank-you token for the hostess, who was likely halfway toward bachelorette drunkenness—in the crook of her arm and used the other hand to knock.
Pastel perfection greeted her as an usher guided her into the foyer and traded a dainty pink lace "freshen up" pouch, complete with hand sanitizer and mints, for the bouquet. It joined an array of bouquets in vases of varying shapes and colors, all of which paled in comparison to the centerpieces of luscious cherry-blossom branches that topped nearly every table. The wet bar was stocked, and there were hors d'oeuvres on china dishes and champagne in crystal flutes. Bunches of balloons, miles of ribbon and string lights added to the classy festiveness—as if someone had commissioned Martha Stewart herself to transform the luxury suite.
And it was a total facade, providing cover for the heart of this shindig.
There were men here. Lots of 'em. Danica worked so closely with professional football players that she could practically sense the testosterone before the door even opened. The Las Vegas Slayers had christened her "the Ball Buster" because she fearlessly went toe-to-toe with men on a daily basis and knew what made them tick. The nickname had originated when her parents had acquired the team at the tail end of the previous season and appointed Danica as general manager. She wore the title with pride and used her law education and work experience in personnel management and public relations to manage her men with creativity and confidence. She was a fresh face in sports—a woman who posed for pictures for the paparazzi, was unflappable in press conferences and could work the media in ways no one understood. And when it came to managing her parents' franchise, she was full throttle.
Nothing was more valuable than the faith her parents invested in her. They didn't trust Danica's older sister, Charlotte, or younger sister, Martha, the way they did her. At thirty, she'd fully bloomed into their dream daughter. Danica could thank herself for that achievement. She'd learned at an early age how to read people and always knew just the right thing to say or do to be in their good graces.
The power that came with being admired and envied could make a girl feel invincible. Women wanted to be her. Men wanted to be with her.
If only that were enough for Danica. A high-powered career, tight friendships and a loving family were wonderful blessings. She was a daughter, sister, boss, friend…but as of thirteen months ago, she was no longer a wife. Somehow being someone's ex-wife didn't feel like an adequate placeholder. Underneath it all she was still struggling to navigate single womanhood. Or maybe she was just restless, in need of a distraction.
A roomful of sizzling-hot male strippers probably wouldn't get the job done, but she was willing to get into the spirit of things. After all, her law-school friend Veda Smart would get married only once—she'd put off committing to her jewelry designer Prince Charming for years while she played the field, because she was neurotically meticulous and wanted to be absolutely sure he was the right guy—and now she was sure.
"Girls!" Danica called into the living room, where the guests were gossiping over drinks. "What's a gal gotta do to get an appletini around here?"
Squeals. Cheers. Then a rainbow of pastels surged forward as the women stampeded to her, with Veda leading the pack.
"Finally, finally, finally!" Veda wrapped her in a tight hug, then reared back with a grin. Over her frilly white cocktail dress she wore a tee that read Buy Me a Shot, I'm Tying the Knot. It was a little ironic since the Smarts were funding everything from the bachelorette party to the bridesmaids' gowns to the wedding reception. So technically she was buying her own shots. And just how many of those she'd already downed today was anybody's guess. "What took you so long to get here?"
"Speed limits." Danica thanked the server who appeared with an apple martini. The martini and a glass of champagne would be her limit. In an hour or so she'd drive to the stadium for a night of work.
She raised her glass high overhead. "This one's for the quirky, sweet, lionhearted bride-to-be. You inspire me."
"Really?" Veda's eyes were misty with tears.
"Really. You and Mekhi—you guys show me that love truly is patient and kind and everything that people want to believe but are afraid to. Be happy." Danica lowered the glass and drank with gusto.
Veda clapped and bounced on her toes, probably relieved that, one, Danica had actually shown up to the bachelorette party after weeks of waffling, and, two, she wasn't being a Debbie Downer. It wasn't that Danica didn't support Veda's engagement. It was that Veda had it lodged in her mind that having a divorced friend in the wedding party could project negative energy onto her marriage. Danica hadn't been particularly happy to be demoted from matron of honor to bridesmaid upon her divorce, but she understood Veda's eccentricities. Part of the reason the woman was her friend was that their differences kept their friendship in a sort of balanced-out harmony.
Danica knew that Veda, a socialite who'd found her calling in geriatric advocacy and worked at a retirement...
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Anbieter: Better World Books, Mishawaka, IN, USA
Zustand: Good. Former library copy. Pages intact with minimal writing/highlighting. The binding may be loose and creased. Dust jackets/supplements are not included. Includes library markings. Stock photo provided. Product includes identifying sticker. Better World Books: Buy Books. Do Good. Artikel-Nr. 467224-75
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Anbieter: Better World Books, Mishawaka, IN, USA
Zustand: Good. Pages intact with minimal writing/highlighting. The binding may be loose and creased. Dust jackets/supplements are not included. Stock photo provided. Product includes identifying sticker. Better World Books: Buy Books. Do Good. Artikel-Nr. 9368499-6
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