Illegal Contact (The Barons) Page 10

  But the other side of me knew this was the best option. Besides the fact that living here would be easier, and I could get more accomplished, the signing bonus was enough to pay my student loans for a couple of months, which would free up my actual pay to help Dad with the rent.

  I called Joe back and put it on speaker phone so I could keep my hands free to dig into the arm rests.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Good. Send back the DocuSign, and Gavin will cut the check for your bonus today.”

  The idea of suddenly coming into that much money left me breathless. To Joe, that sentence was probably something he said every day, but to me . . . it was everything. People who had never needed money could never understand the dual weight of responsibility and freedom that came with getting a break. There had never been a time in my life when I’d received compensation without a sense that I had to prove I’d deserved it. And that sucked.

  And that sense was why my sudden fascination with Gavin was a bad. Fucking. Idea.

  “One other thing.”

  I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “Yeah?”

  “I want you to give me updates on how he’s doing.”

  “What kind of updates?”

  There was a slight pause before Joe went on, suddenly choosing his words with care. It was the most thought he’d put into talking to me probably ever, since he largely seemed to see me as an idiot.

  “The primary concern for me and Mel is for Gavin to be successful. His image matters. His temperament matters. Scandals matter. Playing ball well earns a high dollar contract, but star power and endorsements do the same. The more popular a player is, the more devoted his fan base will be, and the more investment his team will have in him.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “So what I need for you to do, Noah, is for you to let me know how Gavin’s state of mind is. He depends on football the way I depend on my Xanax prescription. It’s his way of coping.”

  “I’ve already scheduled for his therapist and the anger-management counselor to—”

  “I’m not talking about that.” Joe’s voice had a way of cracking through a sentence like a thunderbolt. “I want to know if he is coping by way of doing things that may end up damaging his reputation.”

  “Do you mean . . .” I thought about Gavin, his dedication to his body and health, and shook my head. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks, but there are absolutely zero signs of Gavin having unhealthy vices other than the brutal way he works out.”

  There was another pause. A longer one.

  “I want you to tell me if he’s keeping company with people who may cause him problems later on.”

  “Uh . . .”

  “There are people who can hurt him. Ways people have tried to hurt his teammates. I don’t want him to fall into the same trap.”

  Did he mean gold diggers? People who would sell pictures to the gossip columnists and paps? I had no idea, but the conversation put my back up and sent my hair standing on edge, because . . . no.

  “With all due respect, Mr. Carmichael, there is absolutely no way I could ever report to you about Gavin’s personal life. When I signed that confidentiality agreement, there was no caveat for confiding in his manager or his agent. I don’t know if he trusts me fully, but he does enough to have me in his home. And I won’t betray that. Ethically or as one human being to another.”

  There was a low scoff on the other end of the line. “You misunderstand my intention.”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t think you’re trying to hurt him. I believe you want the best for him. But I also know Gavin would serve both our heads up on a platter if he knew this conversation was happening, and I know he would feel belittled and enraged that you’re asking me to babysit him.”

  “Noah, do yourself a favor and don’t start believing you understand him better than me or Mel.”

  It was the second time he’d referenced her. Had this come up in their conversation as well?

  “I don’t think I understand him,” I said after a beat. “At all. I have no doubts you know him better than I do, Joe.”

  “Good. Because I do,” Joe said. “And I want to protect him. You met him five minutes ago—there’s no way you could understand. But on the other side of this, your dedication and loyalty have been noted. I can see why he’s so invested in keeping you. Now return the fucking DocuSign.”

  We hung up, but instead of instantly signing off on it, I went to find Gavin.

  As usual, he was in the gym.

  The gym was ridiculous. It was more stocked with dumbbells and machines than the Planet Fitness I paid every month but rarely went to. And it was large enough for his entire team to fit through the doors and go to work. Well, maybe part of his team. How many guys started in a football game, anyway?

  I found Gavin bench-pressing something that probably added up to twice the weight of my entire body. He was wearing nothing but tiny compression shorts again, and I had a hard time not staring at his thick thighs and the bulge between them. He was sweaty and his eyes were closed, earbuds jammed into his ears.

  Several times I started to speak and stopped again. He wouldn’t hear me, anyway. So, I waited. And waited. Feasting on the sight of his powerful body and ultimately feeling like the worst kind of pervert for doing so. When a full minute went by, I had to walk away. If he opened his eyes and found me staring down at him, he’d either be startled or creeped out. Rightfully.

  I wandered around a gym that was likely the size of my apartment, and stopped in front of a system of straps that were attached to the ceiling. I had no idea how someone worked out with such a device. Maybe it was a sex thing.

  I picked up one of the straps and tested the strength, thinking of all kinds of fun stuff two guys could do while one was restrained, and jumped when a big hand fell on my shoulder.

  “Wanna use it?”

  I dropped the strap and spun around to find Gavin well into my personal space. He was flushed and glorious, reeking of sweat. I was enough of a scent hound for that to turn me on.

  “I don’t even know what it is.”

  “Not surprised.”

  “Why isn’t that surprising?”

  “You don’t look like you work out much.”

  My jaw dropped. “Wow. Thanks a lot.”

  Gavin scoffed. “Don’t get all offended, baby. I’m just saying you’re not a gym rat like me.”

  “Dude, no one is a gym rat like professional athletes. It’s your job.” There was a flicker of surprise in Gavin’s face at that. Maybe he hadn’t expected me to start taking him seriously, but it was hard not to when he was so life-or-death about food and fitness. “Although I will say, you walking around mostly naked is starting to give me a complex. I feel pathetic in comparison.”

  Gavin’s eyes swept over me. Once. Twice. Then he snapped out an arm too fast for me to evade and squeezed my side. It wasn’t sexual in the least, but his hands were so fucking big.

  “You’re too skinny,” he concluded. “Gain twenty pounds.”

  “I’m not dedicated enough to gain twenty pounds and have it turn into . . .” I pointed at his sculpted chest. “That.”

  “I’ll be your trainer.” Gavin grabbed a towel from a rack by the wall and wiped his face. “Whip you into shape.”

  “Are you that invested in me getting swole?”

  He made a face. “Don’t say ‘swole.’ You sound like an asshole. And no. You’re good the way you are.”

  I was good or I looked good? The difference in those two were endless.

  “But we’ll have every night together soon. May as well put it to good use.”

  Getting sweaty with Gavin every night for six months was not what I’d call good use if we were doing it in the weight room. And holy shit, I needed to stop lusting after him. STAT. Although, I’d spoken about this with Jasmine and we’d concluded it was okay if his hot-and-cold ass never caught on to the fact that I was superficial enough to
ogle his abs.

  “Speaking of nights, I just got off the phone with Joe. I read the contract.”

  Gavin’s movements slowed as he dried himself. His face went serious. “You got a problem with it?”

  “No. I agreed.”

  “To staying here?”

  “Yes. You knew I couldn’t say no to that bonus.”

  “Yeah, I did know. Is that a problem?”

  “No. I could use the money even if it means being trapped in this castle for the next six months. But we need some ground rules.”

  He’d been giving me that ultra narrow-eyed side eye, but now his mouth twitched again. “You have some big balls on you. I threw thousands just to get your ass to not show up late, and you’re still trying to give me orders.”

  My face grew warm, but I didn’t back down. “I guess you could say that after the experience with my last boss, I’m trying to make sure I protect myself. Even if that means hard-nosed bargaining with filthy rich athletes and their managers.”

  He sobered. “Gotcha. Spit it out.”

  “Okay. If I’m going to be staying here, I want you to know that my job still ends at a reasonable hour.”

  “It says that in—”

  “I know, but that doesn’t mean you won’t start sending me out at, like, eleven o’clock for random items. Condoms, ice cream, I have no idea, Gavin. Also? No more harassing me about my personal life.”

  “I told you. I’m not being serious.”

  “You did, but if you start actually trying to intimidate me whenever you get into one of your moods, no amount of money in the world will make me stay. I already had reservations about this job after our first interview, and the way you got in my face. If that happens again, I’m out.”

  His face was unreadable, but this time there was no immediate defense or denial.

  “I need a verbal agreement,” I said. “I know you probably think I’m being dramatic, but I’ve been in shitty situations in the past, and you have a lot of power in this arrangement. Over me.” When he maintained his silence, I sighed. “Please, Gavin. I just want to feel safe.”

  Gavin’s unflappable countenance shifted with a slight bowing of his brows and a press of those pillowy lips. “You are safe. I won’t lose my temper with you. I swear.” He cleared his throat, the twin golden rays of his eyes flicking away in a manner that was almost guilty. “And I’m not used to having power over myself, let alone anyone else, so I didn’t think about it that way before. I’m sorry.”

  I nearly passed out. “Accepted. Oh, that reminds me—your therapist—”

  “No.”

  “—is coming at four o’clock. Do you want me to be here when she arrives or is there anything you need me to take care of before I go home? I need to pack.”

  “I don’t want to deal with a therapist today, Noah.”

  “Oh, well. It’s happening.” I pointed to my watch. “Do you need me here or to run any errands? If you forget something, I can ask Joe if he can come by. He has a key.”

  Gavin crossed his arms over his chest and managed to look adorably petulant and stormy. “Do not send Joe over here. I’ll take care of myself if I need anything.”

  “How?”

  “Deliveries?”

  Unconvinced, I nodded. Unless there was a secret database full of door-to-door delivery service for rich folks in the Hamptons, which there likely was, he was going to be without.

  “Well if you forget something, make a list and I’ll get it first thing tomorrow. Just leave it on the counter with the cash.”

  “I’ll leave my black card. I already had you added as an authorized user.”

  My eyebrows flew up. “When did you do that?”

  “I dunno. Last week?”

  I pursed my lips, and wondered if I’d ever been on a probationary period, or if he’d been planning to hire me all along. The likely answer was that he’d probably just wanted to make me sweat for the past two weeks. And he had.

  It was tempting to tell him what an ass he was, but given my contract and my bonus, my mouth stayed shut. If we were going to be holed up together for the next few months, I’d have to start learning how to hold my tongue.

  I started for the door but Joe’s words came back to me, and I hesitated.

  “Gavin?”

  He’d already repositioned himself on the bench, but glanced over at me. “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to tell you about something else Joe said. About what he wants me to do.”

  Gavin leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “And what’s that?”

  “He . . .”

  Gavin waved an encouraging hand with a smartass look on his face. I scowled.

  “He wanted me to let him know if you’re doing anything that might put your reputation at risk. Hanging out with shady people or something. I told him I wouldn’t spy on you, and he let it drop, so I think it really was out of concern but . . . yeah.”

  Gavin didn’t move from his position, and his expression didn’t change. He didn’t even look surprised. After a beat, he shook his head and settled back on the bench with his muscular thighs spread.

  “I appreciate you letting me know.”

  I nearly fell over in relief and said, while hurrying towards the door, “No problem.”

  “Noah.”

  I paused midstep.

  “Just so you know, there are cameras all over the house. I put them there just in case you’re an untrustworthy asshole.”

  “And now you know I’m not?”

  Gavin lifted a bar with more weight than I could ever lift.

  “Something like that.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or be exasperated, but it was a step in the right direction.

  Chapter Eight

  Noah

  “Anyone ever tell you that you look like Clark Kent?”

  The question was a reminder as to why I should have listened to my instincts and made tracks out the door as soon as Gavin had told me his “boys” would be spending their off day at the mansion. His boys being the quarterback and running back of the Barons—Simeon Boudreaux and Marcus Hendricks. They were so famous, even I knew their names. I’d bought Jasmine a limited-edition Hendricks “22” jersey for Christmas one year, for Chrissakes.

  “C’mon,” Simeon cajoled. “Have they?”

  Why was he talking to me? I didn’t understand. I’d tried, for the past two hours, to keep myself occupied enough to not have to be in the game room with Marcus, Simeon, and Gavin, but the auburn-haired quarterback had come hunting me down.

  Simeon Boudreaux, one of the highest paid players in the NFL, had hunted me down. And he was now leaning across the kitchen bar in all of his bronze-skinned, hazel-eyed, curly-haired glory, giving me the biggest shit-eating grin I’d ever seen in my life. His looks, combined with his accent, were already enough to make him a distraction—not that Marcus was easy to ignore, with his lean, muscular body, flawless dark skin, and long dreads—but why the hell was he talking to me? I was nobody.

  “No. No one has ever said that.”

  Simeon looked me up and down much the way Gavin did at least twice a day but without the judgment and scorn. In fact, it was an eyefuck. A blatant eyefuck. Simeon Boudreaux was eyefucking me. And since Marcus and Gavin had followed him down into the kitchen, they were watching it happen. Well, Gavin was watching it happen. Marcus was standing in front of the fridge.

  “You ever see those gay pulp magazines that were takes on comic books?”

  “No . . .”

  Simeon propped his elbows up on the bar and leaned forward more, grinning bigger. “Well, I did. And they had all kinds of erotic scenes of Superman getting gangbanged by villains and whatnot. Also twink, big-booty Clark Kent.”

  I looked at Gavin, who was staring stonily at his best friend, and then at Marcus, whose shoulders were shaking with laughter.

  “Are you trying to get me to admit I read gay porn comics so you can humiliate me? Because I’m pretty sur
e this was the plot of a Degrassi episode.”

  “What’s Degrassi?”

  I shook my head. “Never mind. No. I’ve never read comics of Clark Kent with a big booty. And no, I don’t look like Clark Kent.”

  “You sure as fuck do.” Simeon jerked his head at Gavin. “Brawley agrees. Clark Kent with the dick-sucking lips. That’s what we—”

  “Simeon.” Gavin’s voice was a thunderclap in the room. “Shut the fuck up before I get really pissed off.”

  My shoulders went tense at the harsh words and the rough tone, but Simeon just rolled his eyes and leaned closer to me.

  “You ever noticed that G is a little touchy?”

  He called Gavin “G” and Marcus called him “Gav.” It was weird to realize Gavin had nicknames. Just like it was weird to acknowledge he had friends this close.

  “I noticed he knows you two well enough to have written me a grocery list filled with your favorites.”

  “Sure as hell does.” Marcus turned back to us, brandishing a tub of Ben and Jerry’s. “Good looks, man.”

  Gavin shrugged, clearly not ready to admit he was capable of being thoughtful or caring about the lives of others.

  “G used to stay with us,” Simeon said. “We met in training camp back when we was all rookies.”

  “Don’t be acting like your ass didn’t start playing for the Predators first,” Marcus said around his spoon. “That’s why they hate you now.”

  Simeon waved him off. “Feeling’s mutual.”

  “I can’t picture any of you being on the bench,” I admitted. “I’m not a huge football fan, but even I know who you are.”

  Gavin’s cool, unfriendly stare shifted from Simeon to me.

  “Oh, reeeally?” Simeon’s face lit up. “What you know about me? Tell me everything.”