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  “Nah,” he said, shifting into gear. The light hit green and he shot us off like a rocket. I could only shake my head, laughing lightly. Some guys just loved to show off their toys.

  “She can handle it,” he continued.

  I knew she could, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to go all hero mode and sweep in to help her. When it came to Roxie, I was always like that. I just couldn’t help it. I loved her so much and didn’t want her stressing if I could help it.

  Mickey’s brown hair ruffled in the wind at our fast speed. “Hell, maybe she’ll say screw it, and you can get out of the wedding.”

  He nudged me with a chuckle, and I gave a small smile to appease him. I hadn’t worked with Mickey long, but I knew the man to have a sense of humor. We had a pretty easy relationship, and he felt comfortable joking with me. I took it in stride, knowing he was always joking. As long as he was, he was good by me.

  With Mickey’s driving, we got to his office in less than five minutes, a bright high-rise office building downtown right in the heart of sunny Miami.

  Mickey shut off his Bluetooth when we got inside. He’d gotten like three calls in the five minutes we drove—swear to God. The man was extremely busy, and his office of professionals reflected that. They followed him like worker bees, handing him mail, giving him messages while at the same time offering me drinks and other amenities.

  This life, this world, it was all so crazy, and I still hadn’t gotten used to the way people bent over backwards to please me. The attention and all that came with it. I figured I would, with time, adjust. Roxie and me had been okay so far. I included her when I could in the press events, parties, and whatnot. She came and sat in on the occasional practices too, although I think this was more for me since she wasn’t really into basketball. I even paid for her to come to my away games. This life could get hard very quickly if you had a significant other.

  Back in college, my time was short as it was, and I wouldn’t lie, it did put a strain on the relationships I had, whether they were friends outside of basketball or girlfriends. Being a professional player now that time crunch was ten times over, and I didn’t want Roxie to feel disconnected from me. I wanted her to always know I wanted her and that she had me no matter how busy I got. I made accommodations to make sure she always knew that. Any free moment I had, I made it happen even if it meant passing on a party or an optional event. Sure, it took time away from bonding with my new team, but if I was being honest with myself, I wanted the time spent with her anyway.

  Roxie kept things normal and created a safe haven away from the business. I needed that normalcy as much as she did. There were some things in this new world we were in that could be tough. I found that out very quickly. Literally within the first couple months of playing in Miami. I’d seen relationships around me crumble, and I hadn’t even been here very long. Temptation took guys over everyday. Like it was in college, but even worse. I needed Roxie and me both out of that as much as I could. I protected her, kept her by me so she knew; always knew what was going on with me. She needed that, and I needed her. We’d been doing just fine, and I couldn’t be happier about that. Our relationship was so strong, kept us both healthy.

  Mickey led me into his office, the sky’s light shining into the wide room from his window. His parade of attendants attempted to follow him in, but he shut them out for time to work with me. He never allowed anyone else in on our meetings. I figured it was because he wanted me to know I had his full attention despite how clearly on the level he was, and I appreciated that.

  He picked up a mini basketball off his desk. “Think fast,” he said, tossing it to me with a grin.

  I did of course. Basketball was my life.

  Mickey took a seat behind his large desk. Folding his hands on the top, he closed his eyes as if meditating.

  Shaking my head with a laugh, I eyed the mini basketball hoop behind his desk, the one directly above his head. If you didn’t make the basket perfectly, even a smidgen off in a completed shot, the ball would hit the man clear on his head when coming through the hoop.

  I shot from clear across the room, and Mickey didn’t open his eyes until that wonderful swish flowed into the air.

  He raised his fist in the air. “Three point shot.”

  “Right,” I said, taking my seat in front of his desk. “The court would have to be a little bigger to be considered an actual three-pointer. Don’t get my wrong. Your office is massive, but it would need to be just a wee bit bigger.”

  Chuckling, he pointed at me. “You know, you’re the only one I trust to be able to make that shot perfectly.”

  He said that every time. I had no reason to doubt him. I trusted him. I allowed the man to hold my career in his hands. Trust had to be there. Mickey wasn’t much of a sweet talker, kept things real, so his compliment was always nice. In the back of my mind, I always knew his nod of approval went beyond the trivial mini basketball shot, and that felt pretty good.

  He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a folder. “This should be all you need to make it legal here in Florida. The actual wedding just makes it pretty.”

  I started to laugh at what he said until I got distracted by what he gave me. Shit, a guy needed this many documents just to get married? Pushing my hand into my hair, I scratched my head. I suppose my gram had all this stuff. She kept track of the birth records and things. But damn, this looked more like a scavenger hunt list than a sheet of required documents to get married.

  “Then just the blood and tissue sample and you’re good to go on spending the rest of your lives together.”

  I looked up at him, jaw dropped. “You’re fucking with me?”

  He winked, and I knew he was. We both let out a laugh at that, mine accompanied by a sigh of relief. I knew getting married was a big deal and a step I was completely ready for with the wonderful woman I chose, but I just didn’t think there would be a lot of red tape. I guess that was the naïve guy in me. Thank God I had Mickey, and this wedding planner Roxie and me were hiring.

  “You know, if you don’t want to deal with all this, there is still time to turn back.” Mickey leaned back in his chair, mock sighing. “You only proposed a week ago. You could just tell folks you were joking.”

  Fuckin’ Mickey and his teasing. I shook my head. “I’m sure that would go over real well considering I proposed during half-time at one of my games where a good portion of the city was present. The press would have a field day.”

  He shrugged, putting his hands behind his head. “It would blow over eventually. You’re the team’s newest rising star. Too early in your career for you to get tied down anyway. The women would thank you. Believe me.”

  “Well, it isn’t happening. I don’t want anyone else with the girl I got. To insure that, I need to make sure the world knows she’s mine quickly. I appreciate your professional advice, though.”

  In actuality, I didn’t. I was just joking like he was. Mickey and I had a pretty laid back relationship, which was why I allowed his constant his ragging on me. A rookie player being in a serious, committed relationship? That pretty much didn’t happen—ever. But not everyone had what I had, and I was going to make her mine. The end. Nothing else really needed to be said about the matter. I took it from Mickey. I took it from my team. I pretty much took it from everyone, media included, but frankly, their opinions meant very little. That was the beauty of having someone you cared about as deeply as I did Roxie. Anything outside of us… suddenly didn’t seem so important, and that was only a good thing.

  “A man that takes what he wants,” he said, leaning forward with a grin. “Another reason why you’re my star. We’re going to go far together. You and I.”

  I hoped so.

  “You won’t believe what I just did for you.”

  I whipped around. A man trail blazed into the room. He had coal black hair, slicked back and styled, and rocked a three-piece, pinstriped suit. Something I also noticed: he just walked right into Mickey’s office. Not an
nounced or anything while he was with a client. I fully intended on a volcanic eruption from my agent. He’d done that before when his people forgot themselves and came in.

  Mickey raised his hands, his eyes wide like he was on the cusp of a breakdown.

  Here it comes…

  He rose from his chair slowly. His eyes flashed, and suddenly a grin relit his face.

  I had to do a double take. Who was this guy and where was my agent? He actually looked excited that this man in a suit burst into his office.

  “The Olsen account?” Mickey asked, walking over to the guy. No, charging to the guy, a clear pep in his step.

  The man raised eight fingers, nodding with a smile. “Eight figures, my friend. An eight figure deal!”

  Mickey pumped his fist in the air once, letting out a “Whoo!” before bringing the guy into a one-arm hug.

  My eyes widened. Shit, Mickey was excited. What the hell just happened, and who was the guy that just walked in on him?

  I stood while the two let out clear victory roars, waiting to be let in on the secret. Mickey noticed me, and put his arm around the guy, presenting him. “Griff, I want you to meet Rich Sullivan, the man responsible for just sealing an eight-figure advertising deal with a rather prominent fragrance company for one of your fellow teammates.”

  Holy shit. “Wow.” I held out my hand to him. “Good to meet you, man. That’s awesome.”

  Rich shook my hand strongly. “Good to meet me? Good to meet you, my friend. I’ve been hearing great things about you. One of the strongest debut seasons for a rookie in years?”

  Leave it to my agent to chat me up. I chuckled. “I’ve had a good run so far.”

  Mickey slapped my chest when Rich released my hand. “Griff is incredibly humble. You’ll learn that pretty quickly.”

  Rich nodded, smiling. “Well, I definitely look forward to working with you. I’ve got some great plans in store. Already been getting some things into place for our future MVP.”

  Mickey must have picked up that Rich’s statement confused me because he said quickly, “Griff, Rich is a publicist. I’ve hired him to work with a few of my more ‘special’ clients. You being one of those. You’ve got a bright future ahead, and we want to make sure the world sees you right away.”

  “To do that, we’ll be working on your image to the public,” Rich continued for him. “We’ll get you some strong advertising campaigns. Promo ads and book some special events. This will increase your visibility and make you America’s favorite player. Everyone is going to want to know Griffin Chandler. Your merchandise will fly off the shelves.”

  Saying these guys were making my head spin was an understatement. I raised my hands, trying to take a moment here to understand them. “Just a sec, guys. I’m really appreciative that you want to spend all this time working with me, but I don’t necessarily think my image needs fixing. Why not let the playing speak for itself? I mean, I’ve been doing fine and working hard. Isn’t that enough to get people on board with me?”

  The guys exchanged glances before Mickey tilted his head at me. “You’re right. Your skills are amazing—”

  “But your skills are only part of the equation,” Rich said. Why did this guy keep cutting in on what Mickey was saying? “We’ll get you the other part. This is maybe even the most valuable part. People need to see you. Know you. The best players have the skills yes, but they also got the people’s favor. How a player does that, gets people to root for them, is by making the people feel like they know them. In this case, we want people to feel like they know you. That you’re touchable. Not so far away. This is why we need to get you out there in front of them. On their T.V.s and in their magazines.”

  He patted my shoulder. “By the time I’m done, everyone will want a piece of Griffin Chandler.”

  I completely got what they were saying, and I wanted to be a successful player. I really did, but in the back of my mind I knew that would take even more hours than I was putting in already. And more hours, meant more balancing of my personal life.

  In other words, more complications placed on my time Roxie.

  “Zo, as you can zee, we can make your day bootiful!” said the planner, giving me her most toothy grin.

  She also happened to be very French.

  Tugging on my ear, I let the restaurant owner know I was done. He told me to do that when I was ready for the next wedding planner to come in. Originally, the tug communication signaled a time check between the owner and me. Each presenter was allotted thirty minutes with me and I feared their time running into each other. The awesome host that he was, the owner instructed me to tug my ear and he’d raise his fingers to give me a time update, but after seeing how well (I was using that term loosely) the interviewers had been panning out he said to just give a tug when I needed an out.

  His rescue went a little something like this…

  The man with graying hair and wire-framed spectacles swept into the room. Clasping his hands together, he said, “Time for the next presenter, Ms. Peterson.”

  Thank God for this man.

  Genuine took on a new definition with my smile to the French woman. I made sure of it. This woman no doubt took lots of time with her presentation and she deserved respect. “Griffin and I will be in contact,” I told her. We probably wouldn’t, but I didn’t want to be rude.

  Her attendant didn’t come fast enough to collect the six-foot wide presentation boards surrounding me like a cage. A card embossed with white writing pressed into my hand when she shook it in departure, replacing her in her wake.

  Fleur de Le Event Planning, the card said just as French and elegant as she.

  After pocketing it, I threw my head back, my eyes closed as I took a much-needed breath. I didn’t like this. Already I didn’t and I’d only been planning for this wedding a day. Griffin and I still had at least a year of all this planning business, or I guess me since I told him this could be my project. I said I could handle it, and I still believed I could but…

  These people had their own thoughts, their own plans for our big day. I really wasn’t asked my opinion on anything, but told what they’d be doing and how. One woman even said if I chose her service Griffin and my wedding would be guaranteed the cover of US Weekly. Their agendas started to bleed through like heavy ink to paper. I didn’t really feel like these people were on my team. They were supposed to help me plan, not make me dizzy with ice sculptures, numbers, and names of decorative flowers I couldn’t even pronounce let alone make a decision about.

  My eyes popped open to the sounds surrounding me. Though the restaurant had sectioned off part of the establishment with lattice privacy screens, the other diners’ banter bled through. Miami had its hotspots and this was one of them. Heavy silk draped on the walls, pure silver dining utensils shined, and fountains cascaded into pools lining the walkways. Even being here felt weird—off. I wouldn’t have been opposed to having these meetings in my home. It would have been more intimate, personal. And maybe having home court advantage, I might have gotten a word in edgewise about what I wanted for the wedding, gotten to share my ideas for my and Griffin’s big day. Mickey already set this up though. I guess he didn’t know my style either.

  I stretched out my fingers on the table, staring at the ring Griffin had given me. This was what I wanted this wedding to be about. Him and me. My fingers itched to text him again or even call him, but I didn’t want him thinking I was incapable of doing things without him. He’d been taking care of me since we got here. I could take care of this for us.

  “Sir, I haven’t yet announced you. You can’t—”

  I raised my head, pulling my hand into my lap. The restaurant owner had come back into my closed-off space, flanking a well-dressed man who was making his way in casual strides to my table. He was well-dressed, yet casual; jeans paired with a narrow-fitted blazer.

  He stopped in front of my table, hands clasped at his waist and a small smile on his face surrounded by a well-trimmed beard, a set of s
tylish glasses resting on his nose.

  The restaurant owner cut to the side of him. “I’m sorry, Ms. Peterson. He has an appointment, but wouldn’t wait for me to announce him.”

  Honestly, I thought the whole announcing thing was a bit over the top anyway. People being presented to me like I was some kind of royalty tucked away in my ivory tower that was this sheltered corner of the restaurant, and him being here early meant I could wrap up this long day anyway. Though I did wonder about this man who chose to break the rules.

  I stood. “It’s fine. No big deal.”

  My ally with the grey hair gave me a nod before leaving, tugging his ear just once, reminding me of our secret signal. And I definitely would be using it if need be. Again, thank God for that man.

  “My bride,” the man in front of me said, placing out his hands for mine.

  “Oh.” Flustered, I gave them to him. Normally, people just shook my hand, so imagine my surprise when this guy not only did that but also brought me to him, kissing both of my cheeks French style. The French woman didn’t even do that.

  “Troy Daniels,” he said, lowering my hands. “I appreciate your people contacting me, and of course yourself for setting aside the time to meet.”

  “The pleasure is all mine. And I’m Roxie. Nice to meet you.” I gestured for him to sit, but he didn’t until I had, crossing his leg at the knee. Again, a very casual thing to do to go with his stylish laid back style. I also noticed he didn’t have anything with him. No presentation boards or attendants. That was a first.

  I righted my pen to the notepad I had. I hadn’t taken many notes so far, but I felt it was good to be prepared. “So, Mr. Daniels—”

  He lifted his hands. “Troy is completely fine.”

  I smiled. “Troy it is then. Did you bring anything you need set up or…”