Only One Touch (Only One Series 4) Read online

  My parents would take me out when the cameras were around, but Fernanda raised me. Slowly and quietly, I grew up. The press would follow me from time to time. Those embarrassing photos of me in college doing things I shouldn’t be doing are floating around somewhere. I mean, everyone else did them, but I just got mine caught on camera. No one reported that I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in economics and a master's degree in foreign communication.

  They were on wedding watch as soon as I officially moved back to Dallas. It all became worse when my father gave me the Dallas Oilers. I was the youngest team owner ever. I had just turned thirty, and I had no idea what to expect. I knew what I didn’t want, which was to be the laughing stock of the league. The team was a fucking mess. Even with our draft picks, they’d placed last in the league for seven years in a row. It was a shitshow.

  Being twenty-seven and the owner of a professional sports team made me an eligible bachelor. The headlines were either Nicolas Edward Is dating so and so or Nicolas Edward just made another stupid trade.

  I was over it all. It was almost like a downward spiral. I knew my father was waiting in the wings to swoop in and make it better, even if it was his fault that the team was so bad.

  “Hey,” Frank, the general manager for the team, says as he comes into the room with a coffee cup in his hand. “I thought I would be the early one.”

  I look at the phone and check the clock and see that he is two minutes early. I try not to roll my eyes at him and instead just nod. I’ll wait until the meeting starts to get him in line. Frank has been with the team for the past seven years, and if you ask me, I would have fired him five years ago. But his contract is ironclad, so until it’s up for renewal next year, I have no choice but to fucking keep him.

  Grabbing my bottle of water, I drain it all, and I’m tossing it in the trash when Lizzie comes back with two cups of coffee in her hand. “Left,” she tells me, so I know which coffee is mine. She nods at Frank and walks to the head of the table and takes a seat next to me.

  The coach is the next to walk in. “Michel,” I say to him, and he sits beside Lizzie. He has been my coach for the past two years. I got him when Montreal fired him. Of course, Frank didn't want to hire him, but I give zero fucks what Frank thought about anything.

  Usually, your general manager acquires the rights to player personnel by negotiating their contracts and reassigning or dismissing players no longer desired on the team. They may also have responsibility for hiring the head coach of the team. But not Frank. And not on my watch. It was rare to have an owner at the team meetings. It was also rare to have an owner negotiate the contracts, but I did. And sometimes I did it without even informing Frank, which didn’t go over well with him. Again, I had zero fucks to give him.

  “Okay, let’s get this meeting started,” I say, looking at my Rolex watch and seeing that it’s precisely three on the dot. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

  “How long is this meeting going to last?” Frank asks, and I look up at him. “It’s a budget meeting, so I figured two hours tops.”

  “You are free to leave at any time,” I say and then look over at Lizzie, who hands me the first file. “Six contracts will be expiring at the end of the season.” I look down at the list and then back up. “Six that we need to keep.”

  “This wouldn’t happen if you made me do my job,” Frank says to me, and I lean back in my chair.

  “Your job?” I laugh. “Was it your job to sign a thirty-seven-year-old to a six-year contract for forty-two million?” I ask. “The guy was one step to being retired.” Frank just glares at me.

  “He was a first round pick.” He leans his arms on the table.

  “When he was eighteen,” I counter. “Let’s look at this one. Kistoff.” I open the file. “Another crazy fucking contract.” I look down at it. “Five years for ten million, and he was thirty-five.” I don’t even bother letting Frank talk. “He had three fucking knee surgeries before he was signed.”

  “If you just play these guys …” he says, and Michel groans.

  “Do you know how many times they had to sit out because they were hurt?” he asks Frank, and I just watch.

  “You weren’t even the coach,” he spits at Michel.

  “I didn’t have to be the coach to know. There are very few who can skate at forty and make a difference.”

  “I agree,” I say. “It’s one thing to give them a one-year contract, but to sign them to these long contracts that I’m now stuck paying plus the ones I need. Which is why every fucking year I have to let go of players that I actually need.”

  “Oh, come on.” His hand moves in the air.

  “My father left you in charge,” I say, “and trusted you, and what did you do?”

  “It’s not my fault.” He shakes his head. “I’m not taking all the blame.”

  “You should,” I say, and Michel nods his head.

  “You’re the one who put those contracts together. You’re the one who hired every single player who was retiring. I don’t even know what you were thinking.”

  “I was thinking that a man with experience could lead us to the Cup,” he says.

  “How do you think they are going to lead us to the Cup if they can’t fucking skate, Frank?” I shake my head and hold up my hand. “It’s no secret that I’m not renewing your contract when it expires.”

  “I wouldn’t want to stay here anyway,” he says, making me laugh.

  “Then why don’t you leave now?” I say. “I mean, let’s face it. You aren’t doing anything.”

  “That’s because you’re a control freak who won’t let me do my job!” he shouts, slamming his hand on the table. I think the fact that I’m cool, calm, and collected irritates him even more.

  “That is because I sat down and read these contracts,” I say. “You know the difference between my father and me?” I look at him, and he just glares at me. I know that as soon as he leaves here, he will call my father. He always does. “I give a shit. I want to win.” I look at him. “I’m going to make sure that I build a team that has the same thirst for the Cup as I do.”

  He stands from his chair and looks at me. “You didn’t work for this team,” he says. “It was handed to you.”

  “What was handed to me was a pile of shit,” I say. “But I’m going to turn that pile of shit into gold.” He laughs at me and walks out of the room. I look around the table. “Just so we’re clear, if you aren’t here to fight to get to number one, then you should leave now.” I look around the room and then look at Lizzie, who smirks. I clap my hands together. “Let’s get to work.”

  Chapter 3

  Becca

  The sweat pours off me as I run on the treadmill, looking out the window in my home gym as the sun slowly rises. It’s my thing to get up every day at five thirty, no matter where I am, and run for at least an hour. It clears my head. I also come up with the best ideas while on this fucking treadmill.

  The television plays in the background as I make my list of notes. The beep of the treadmill lets me know I’ll be slowing down. My running goes from full speed to a slow jog, giving my breathing a chance to return to normal as I cool down. I grab my water bottle and finish it as the treadmill comes to a stop. Grabbing my towel, I wipe the sweat away from my face as I make my way to my bedroom. The penthouse was the first real big thing I bought for myself. It set me back close to ten million, but it was just what I wanted.

  The two-floor penthouse has floor-to-ceiling windows in every room, providing a lot of natural light. I head into my bathroom, opening the shower door and starting the water while I peel off my sports bra and black shorts. Stepping into the massive shower, I let the water run over my long brown hair as I wash.

  When I step out, I slip on my terry cloth robe and wrap my hair up to walk to the kitchen. The kitchen is all white with black marble countertops. The stainless-steel appliances are not used that much since I’m rarely home. I think the only time I use the stove is on Saturday and Sunday. The fridge is always fully stocked, thanks to my cleaning lady who comes in twice a week. I start the Nespresso coffee machine, then grab my milk and pour some in. Going back to the fridge, I pick up the turkey sausage and a couple of eggs to start my breakfast while I drink my coffee. I’m taking out the stuff for my shake when my phone rings, and I grab it without looking at the name.

  “Hello,” I say, looking over at the clock to see what time it is. It’s just after eight—early for a Saturday morning—so that could only mean one thing. Shit is going down somewhere.

  “Becca, it’s Adrian.” I stop moving in my kitchen when I hear the voice of Adrian Kirkpatrick, publicist to five of my clients. He sounds out of breath. I can tell he’s either walking somewhere or running. It’s only six where he is, so he was definitely woken up.

  “This better be a fucking wellness check,” I say, but my stomach tells me otherwise. I turn on SportsCenter right away to see if I missed something.

  “I’m on my way to bail out Andrei,” he says, and I close my eyes as I hear his car starting.

  “What happened now?” I ask. I know I’m not going to like how this conversation ends.

  “He was caught speeding on the I-9. When they searched him, he had cocaine on him, and when they tried to detain him, he assaulted the officer.”

  “For the love of fucking Christ,” I say, putting my head down. The towel falls off my head, and I put the call on speaker. “I’m done.”

  “Oh, come on, Becca,” Adrian huffs out, and I can almost see his face. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Not that big of a deal?” I repeat, my voice staying calmer than the rage coursing through my body. “Not that big of a deal would be him being cited for jaywalking. Possession and assault are totally a huge fucking deal.” I raise my hands in the air and shake them.

  “I admit, it isn’t going to look good,” Adrian concedes, and I roll my eyes, “but I think we can put a spin on it.”

  “Spin it?” I ask, but I’m really not asking. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. This can be him starting over. People will relate to him.” I don’t think this will ever happen. I don’t tell him that the only thing anyone will wonder is how many times we can give this guy a chance.

  “You can do whatever you like,” I say. “My office is going to be issuing a statement that we are parting ways and wishing him well.” I grab my phone and text my brothers that we have a problem.

  “How is that going to look on your side?” he says, and I chuckle.

  “It’s going to look like we don’t stand for this shit. We aren’t going to condone this behavior. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you bring in. Our company has a name to uphold and an image to protect, and having this isn’t something I want—”

  “Just like that?” Adrian cuts me off.

  “Just like fucking that,” I say. “I stood by his side when he crashed not one but two cars and entered rehab. I stood by his side when he beat the shit out of his girlfriend, and I had two of his three sponsors pulling their contracts. This is strike three.” I shake my head. “I warned him the last time, and you were there. I will not be here to clean up his mess. That is what he pays you to do.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he says. “I’ll tell Andrei when I see him.”

  I disconnect the call and then call my brother Trevor, knowing that Francis is probably still sleeping. “How is it that you have drama at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning?”

  “I’m dropping Andrei as a client,” I say, and he listens as I fill him in. “I’ll call Amanda now so she can issue a press release.” I mention our public relations director.

  “Yeah, I would do the same,” he says. “You tried and stuck by him when no one else did.”

  “I’m going to wish him well and move on,” I say. “Now I have to go eat my breakfast and try not to dwell on it.” I tie my wet hair on top of my head again. “I’ll send you a copy of the letter once I’m finished with it.”

  My morning flies by as well as the afternoon, dealing with the aftermath of Andrei. His arrest is front and center at noon, the same time we release our statement. I rub my hands over my face and look down to see that I’m still in my robe and my breakfast is still sitting there but cold. I throw it out and grab one of the pre-made foods I have delivered. I pop it in the microwave to heat it faster and eat standing up this time, not bothering to move from the kitchen when my phone pings. I groan when I see it’s a reminder for tonight.

  Candace’s birthday party

  Putting my head back, I can sense a headache coming on. I finish my food and make my way to my bedroom. My bed calls my name, and I finally listen to it and crawl into my bed naked. It takes me no time to fall asleep, and when the alarm rings two hours later, I almost send Ralph a message that I’m going to bail, but I know I have to make an appearance.

  Dragging my ass out of bed, I head into my walk-in closet to get dressed. It’s the size of a bedroom with clothes on all four walls sorted by color and then by designer. I pick out tight black pants that fit me like a glove and a black lace halter top with a tight black jacket cut down in the front to show the lace under it. I set the clothes down on the bed and go into the bathroom and curl my hair. I have my hair and makeup done in thirty minutes, and I get a text telling me the car will be here in ten minutes.

  I slip on my clothes and then walk over to my shoes, grabbing a pair of gold Louboutins. My feet scream at me for putting them through this torture. “It hurts to be beautiful.” Grabbing my black Hermes purse, I walk out of the penthouse and make my way down to the waiting car.

  The driver opens the door as soon as he sees me. I usually drive, but I figured that I could have a couple of drinks. “Thank you,” I say, getting into the car. I spend the drive over scrolling through Instagram and see a couple of pictures from my clients that I like.

  When we pull up to the restaurant, I put the phone back in my purse, and the driver comes over and opens the door. “I’ll be waiting right here when you are ready.”

  “Thank you,” I say and walk into the restaurant. The whole place is shut down just for us. People are lingering everywhere, and I look around, spotting Candace and Ralph talking to Miller and Layla. I make my way over and see balloons scattered around the room. “Happy Birthday,” I say when I get close enough to them. Candace looks up and smiles at me. She is a sought-after social media specialist. I met Ralph three years ago when he first got traded to Dallas, and he had no agent. I signed him after meeting with him for five minutes. He was genuine and down to earth, and then his whole life turned upside down.

  “Becca,” Candace says, coming over to me, “I got your bracelet.” She shows me the Cartier one I bought her. “It’s stunning and so thoughtful.”

  “It was my pleasure,” I say, and I show her the same one on my wrist next to my gold Rolex. “I saw you looking at it the last time we were together.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that,” Ralph says. “Made the bracelet I got her look lame.”

  I laugh. “Oh, please.” I walk to Ralph and kiss his cheek and then do the same to Miller and Layla. Miller is another one of my clients. He’s the it boy on the ice, Mr. GQ they call him, and was the most eligible bachelor before Layla got her hooks into him. Now they could parade a whole harem of women in front of him, and he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. “Where is Manning?” I ask of the third person in their trio.

  “His son had a hockey game or something,” Miller says. “I think it was an excuse not to hang around with Murielle.” We all laugh. He’s kept it a huge secret that he’s been trying to get divorced for the past four years, and she refuses to grant him one. She actually took their son and ran away when he served her with papers the first time.

  “Anyone care for some champagne?” the server asks us, and I smile, grabbing a glass.

  “To Candace,” I say. Holding up my glass, I add, “And to the two guys who do what they're told.”

  “Cheers,” everyone says, and I take a sip of the champagne.

  “Let’s grab our seats,” Layla says to us, and we walk to sit down at the table.

  When I sit next to one of the rookies, who smiles at me, I groan inwardly and think here we go.

  Chapter 4

  Nico

  I park my BMW SUV in an empty parking spot, then get out and walk to the restaurant. I’ve been on the go since five this morning. I spent three hours working out all the frustration I had from yesterday.

  The meeting lasted five hours yesterday. We picked it up again today for another four hours, but I think we finally found a way to get the expiring contracts signed without going over my cap. I pull open the door to the restaurant and look around. The restaurant is closed just for us, which is something we always have to do to enjoy our time.

  I stop as soon as I walk in, shaking one of the guy's hands. I look around then to see if I can spot Ralph, who is right beside Candace. “Happy Birthday,” I say, handing her the gift Lizzie bought.

  “Great,” Ralph says. “You walk in looking all GQ.” I look down at my outfit. After being in a suit last night and knowing that I have to wear one tomorrow, I opted to wear blue jeans with a white button-down shirt and a blue cashmere sweater over it.

  “We’re dressed the same,” I say, looking at his outfit.

  “Whatever,” he says and then points at the gift. “I already know you spent too much on this.” He shakes his head.

  “To be honest,” I say, “Lizzie is the one who bought the gift, and she bought herself one also.”

  “Ohh,” Candace says, “maybe it’s diamond earrings.” She tries to look in the bag. “Lizzie always has the best taste in everything.”

  “If that contains diamond earrings, you are giving it back,” Ralph says, and I just laugh. “I’m not kidding.”