Illegal Contact (The Barons) Page 4

  “No, not usually. But I figured I’d screwed up and there was no way Mr. Carmichael would ever hire me.”

  “First off, I’m hiring you. Not him. I wanted you. Not him.”

  My mouth went dry. “Even after I insulted you?”

  “Better to have an insolent nerd with no interest in football than a kiss-ass fan who will tell all to all their friends,” Gavin said flatly. “This is business. And even if you don’t like me, and I don’t like you, you might be the best person for the job. We’ll call the first couple of weeks a probationary period, and then we’ll finalize the contract.”

  I let out a slow breath. “When do I start?”

  “As soon as possible. I’ll send you a non-disclosure agreement, then I’ll tell you my address so we can hammer out the details.”

  The idea of setting foot inside Gavin Brawley’s home was both exciting and disturbing. Would there be solid-gold bannisters? Hot-tubs full of champagne? An array of swimsuit models lounging by the pool?

  “When should I expect it?”

  “I’ll have it sent over within the hour.”

  The line went dead.

  I slid my phone into my pocket. A mixture of hope and fear had my hands shaking.

  What if I did the probationary period and screwed it up? Being that close to an opportunity this good, and failing, would result in me having absolutely no way to help myself or my father. And despite Gavin’s willingness to give me a second chance, I had a feeling he wasn’t planning to make my probation easy.

  Chapter Three

  Noah

  Gavin Brawley’s mansion was too gorgeous to be real.

  It was in Westhampton on Dune Road, and steps away from the Atlantic Ocean. The guy had his own private beach area. It was incredible, and I wandered the place in a state of disbelief.

  The house itself was an architectural masterpiece. It was three floors with balconied walkways overlooking the lower levels, terraced rooftops, and horizontal windows with panoramic views of the ocean.

  The inside was enormous, and so far I’d only gotten a quick glance at the lower level. The kitchen looked like it belonged in a restaurant, and there was a room that should have been a massive library if it weren’t for the empty shelves, an office, and what appeared to be two living rooms. Did rich people call them living rooms? I had no idea, but they both had fireplaces and sofas, although only one had a wall-sized television.

  I was doing a good job of not gaping until Gavin led me to a sunken patio larger than it had any right to be. It was like being poolside at a resort.

  “Wow,” I said in a low breath. “You live here alone?”

  Gavin sat down in one of the patio chairs. It was dwarfed by his muscular body, but he didn’t seem to mind. He looked relaxed and comfortable in sweatpants rolled up over his ankle monitor and a tight T-shirt that showed every hard line of his pecs and biceps. His golden eyes were as intense as always.

  “Yeah. It’s the only place I can go without permission.”

  I looked around again, squinting through the line of trees around the property to see his neighbors. “This place is extreme. I can’t believe you have so much space.”

  Gavin stared at me, saying nothing.

  “Do you talk to your neighbors at all?”

  “No.”

  “Did you just move here?”

  “No.”

  Why was this like pulling teeth? I grasped at small-talk straws, but Gavin was more unnerving than he’d been last time. He maintained direct eye contact, barely blinked, and spoke in curt monosyllables. Well, unless he was defending the sacred art of football.

  “Oh. It seems pretty empty.” Where the hell had he grown up again? I wracked my brain for the information I’d dug up online the night before. “Do you like Long Island better than New Jersey?”

  “I hate them equally.”

  Did Gavin Brawley not hate other things? It was a mystery.

  “Are you remodeling?”

  A glimmer of annoyance crossed Gavin’s face. “You’re the fourth person to comment on my interior design in the past week. Why does it matter?”

  “Because it looks like you’re squatting in an empty mansion.” I winced. “Sorry. I’m not usually this sarcastic when talking to potential employers.”

  “You should probably work on that. My fuse is short and burns fast.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Gavin pointed at me. “You did it again.”

  “What?”

  “Were a smartass.”

  I spread my hands. “I don’t know what to say. I really want this job, but ever since that first interview . . . I don’t know. We got off on the wrong foot and I can’t seem to steady myself.” Because of your jerk manager.

  Gavin sat back in his chair and propped his elbows on the arms. “Have you changed your mind about what I do for a living?”

  “Not really. I’m not into sports.”

  “Then we’ll always be on the wrong foot. Luckily, I don’t care about your opinions. If this goes according to plan, we will never talk to each other about anything other than what I want you to do for me.”

  My thoughts zoomed to the dirtiest places imaginable.

  Gavin Brawley was one of the most unlikeable people I’d ever met, and yet my brain had no problems conjuring images of us naked, sweating, and doing the unmentionable.

  Fingers snapped in front of my face, and I blinked my way back to the real world. The one where Gavin’s mouth was tight and impatience exuded from every aspect of his body language.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I want you to tell me why you want to work for someone you don’t respect.”

  “I never said I don’t respect you.”

  Gavin released a humorless chuckle. “Football is my life. If you don’t respect the game, you don’t think much of me. You see me as a man who signed a sixty-million-dollar, six-year contract to catch balls and run around slamming into other guys.”

  I tried to school my expression, and failed. My jaw dropped. “How much do you make a year?”

  “A lot.”

  “So why isn’t the pay for this PA job more?”

  Gavin’s brows flew up. Once again, I knew I should have kept my mouth shut, but it was impossible with Gavin dropping knowledge about wanting to pay me the equivalent, to a huge NFL salary, of pocket change.

  “How much do you think you should get?”

  “It depends on what I’ll be doing. So far all we’ve done is vaguely get on each other’s nerves without getting to the job responsibilities. Considering you’re locked down in here with nothing to do but work out or swim, I’m assuming I’ll be driving all over Long Island, or into the city, to do your errands.” I folded my hands together, squeezing them. “And you don’t seem to have any other help around the house, so if I’m also taking on those duties . . .”

  Gavin nodded slowly, rubbing his chin. For the first time, his stone-cold expression cracked with a tiny twitch of his mouth. “Answer my question, and we’ll eventually get to that. Why do you want to work for me?”

  “It would be a good experience.”

  “How?”

  “I told Mr. Carmichael—”

  “I don’t want to hear the rehearsed line of crap you told Joe. I want you to tell me, in honest words, why you want to work for me? Be real.”

  “Because I know I can do it,” I said. “I’m organized, I can multitask, I have good instincts and don’t need micromanaging, and I’ve been entrusted with sensitive material before. I know a lot of people would love this job just for the purpose of being in a professional athlete’s presence, but I don’t care about your celebrity. I care about doing a good job. If you called my references, you would know that I’m anal-retentive and a perfectionist. I don’t do anything half-assed, even if this job has nothing to do with my degree.”

  “Not true. If you’ve got yourself a degree in social work, then you took courses in ethics. I noticed you didn�
��t ask me a single question about that confidentiality agreement, which means you understood why I was giving it to you and what everything meant.”

  That was a good point. I felt like a dick for being surprised that Gavin was an analytical enough creature to make those connections. I needed to stop making assumptions about the intelligence of jocks, but it seemed unfair for Gavin to be athletic, attractive, and reasonably intelligent. There had to be a deficit. Oh wait, there was. His personality.

  “You’re right.”

  “So, what else?”

  “What else . . . what?”

  “You hate football. Why do you want to work for a football player?”

  “I didn’t know you were a football player.”

  “You did when I called you back,” Gavin said. “And you sucked up so hard I’m surprised there was any air left in your immediate vicinity.”

  I had never been a blusher before meeting Gavin. Now, I felt like my face was almost always on fire when in the other man’s presence. Even so, there was no sign of the creeping nerves or icy-cold fingers of intimidation and dread that had crept over me while face-to-face with Joe. Gavin inspired . . . other feelings in me. Like rage. And embarrassment. Also attraction, but I was determined to ignore that.

  “I wanted a second chance.” I stopped clenching my sweaty fingers together. “Look, I realize you want real talk, so I’ll give it to you. The main reason I want this job is for the money. I grew up in a tiny apartment in Elmhurst, applied for every grant imaginable to get into college, and still needed to borrow. Now, I’m drowning in student loans and credit-card debt. I’m also helping my father financially because he lost his job. So, unless something happens now, I’m screwed. Broke but also in debt. So broke to the millionth power.”

  I swallowed the sour ball swelling in my throat. Gavin would never have my problems. He would never be able to understand. To him, my thirty thousand dollars of debt was the equivalent of a few careless fines in a couple of games. Even so, I pressed on. “Do I like football? No. I buried myself in books and make-believe worlds to escape my childhood. But do I understand why other people care so much about it? I guess you can say I do now. If I learned anything from meeting you, it’s that.”

  ***

  Gavin

  If I was a sucker for anything, it was for a bastard with a story just as shitty as my own. I’d received more gut punches than Noah in my day, but when it came down to it . . . it was all about the money.

  I’d signed with the Barons with the understanding that I would be under the microscope. I’d known I’d have to be closeted, that my every move would be scrutinized and ripped apart, and that I’d painted a big target on my back every time I refused to smile or wave to the cameras. And every time I let my temper get the better of me.

  But I’d taken the deal because sixty million dollars would ensure I would never end up poor again. Even if that meant selling my freedom and hiding my sexuality forever. It seemed like that was where Noah was now. Which made him both relatable and dangerous. I didn’t want to feel bad for this guy. I wanted him to do a good job and stay out of my way.

  “So, what’s to stop you from selling info and pictures to TMZ?”

  Noah’s eyes opened wide. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Why not? They pay tens of thousands for good enough dirt.”

  “But—” Noah hunched forward as his brows crashed down. He not only looked alarmed, he looked offended. Those bright blue eyes were once again flashing behind his glasses, and his jaw was clenched. “Look, we just talked about ethics. I would never sell your information. I thought that was the purpose of the confidentiality agreement.”

  “It is, but that doesn’t stop some people. Why the fuck do you think I don’t have any staff in this big-ass house?”

  “I thought it was because you hated other people.”

  “Heh. That too. But it’s also because the public hates me almost as much as they love Simeon Boudreaux, which means they’re equally hungry for good gossip.”

  “Fine. I get it. But . . .” Noah’s tongue flicked over his lower lip, leaving a wet sheen. “Look, that’s not me. I want to work, not sell you out. If you called my references—”

  “I did.” I was loath to show my other hand, but watching Noah squirm was more entertaining than it had any right to be. The kid was flushed and sweaty, and he wet his lips often enough for it to be a serious distraction. “I did some looking around.”

  Relief briefly crossed Noah’s face. Then it drained away like rainwater going down the gutter. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I called the references you provided and then had my people call some of their own.” I smirked. “Why didn’t you put Jamie Gallagher on your list?”

  Noah ran a hand through his hair, but it was steady. Despite the sudden fading color in his handsome face, he wasn’t shaking. “Gallagher and I had a conflict of interest.”

  “You had a relationship with him. Seems like you were both pretty interested.”

  “Wow.” Noah went back to clenching his hands around the arms of the chair. “Who told you that?”

  “I have ways of getting information.”

  More accurately, Joe had ways of getting information. He’d thought the tidbit about Gallagher would prove something about Noah’s character and cause me to change my mind, but I wasn’t in the habit of judging people based on who they slept with.

  “Why does this matter?” Noah asked, sounding weary.

  “Because I want to know how someone like you wound up in a situation like that. I’m curious.”

  “So I’m supposed to talk about my personal life just to satisfy your curiosity?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. Also, Joe doesn’t think I should hire someone who sleeps with their bosses. It’s apparently not a good look.”

  “Jamie wasn’t—” Noah took a deep breath. “Mr. Gallagher wasn’t the one who hired me. He was the director of SafeZone, but I was never assigned to work with him while interning. He had an office at the Manhattan location, but he mostly worked in Brooklyn. He started checking in on our location a while after I got hired full-time, and then things happened.”

  “Happened poorly, apparently. Did he fire you after he had his fill? Or did you quit because he wouldn’t give you perks?”

  “No,” Noah snapped. The fire was in his gaze again. I had a hard time thinking this ball of resentment and anger would willingly spread for anyone just because they had a fancy title. Noah was too aware of where he’d come from, and the fat pockets of everyone around him. “We connected after meeting at a company gala. Long conversations about our pasts and our reasons for wanting to do social work resulted in us making plans to have dinner again. I didn’t realize he was interested in me right away and when he told me, I was flattered. But I never thought it would lead to him giving me perks. Eventually, I found out he wasn’t the man I’d thought he was. And I quit.”

  “That it?”

  Noah swung his gaze away. “That’s it.”

  It was clear the kid wasn’t giving me the whole story, but I had to give him credit for saying as much as he had. And I liked that he didn’t apologize or go on at length about what a mistake it’d been. He was owning his actions.

  “Anyway, I still plan to go into social work, but I need a fresh start. Who I dated in the past has no bearing on this job. Especially since there is no danger of history repeating itself.”

  If Noah knew how many times I’d pictured my dick in his mouth during the past fifteen minutes, he’d be rethinking that position.

  “Look, if you’re that offended by my past . . . indiscretion—”

  “I’m not. I give no fucks about who you got horizontal with. I just wanted to hear your side of the story. Joe was the one making a big deal about it.”

  Noah’s glare blazed again, but this time it wasn’t directed at me. I probably needed to stop feeding his dislike of Joe, but Joe made it so easy.

  “You had the job as soon as
you told me why you wanted it,” I said. “You want money? Fine. I got money. As long as you do what you’re supposed to do and don’t try to fuck me over.”

  Noah slumped back in his seat. “If you knew, then why did you make me explain all of that? I didn’t take you for the kind of person who liked playing games.”

  I stood. My crotch was level with Noah’s face. I hadn’t planned it that way, but it worked.

  “Playing games is my expertise. If you want to work with me, and temporarily share this stupid house with me, you’d better get used to it.”

  Noah didn’t move. “So I’d be living here. With you.”

  “During the week, yeah. I can’t go out.” I lifted my foot and pressed it against the armrest of his chair. My beautiful ankle bracelet glinted in the sunlight. “If I leave the property, the police will hunt my ass down and drag me down to County. I need permission from the court to go anywhere.”

  A cringe pulled at the side of Noah’s mouth. “At least your house arrest is in a palace, and you’re not in jail.”

  “Right.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Is the living situation negotiable?”

  I dropped my foot back to the ground. “We’ll talk. Just keep it in your head that I’m not going to morph into Mr. Happy Fun Times. I couldn’t give a fuck about making you comfortable as long as you do your job. And if you do something shady, I will crush you.”

  Noah visibly swallowed, but he finally rose so we were eye level. “I can handle it, Mr. Brawley. Believe me when I say this would hardly be the biggest challenge of my life.”

  A three-tone chime rang through the property. I ignored it.

  “Don’t underestimate me. Or what it will be like to be locked in this mansion with me. I’m not a pleasant person, and no amount of anger management or therapy will turn me into one.” I held his gaze for a full moment longer before heading back inside. “And never call me ‘Mr. Brawley’ again. Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To nail down the details with Joe. I told him I was meeting with you. He can handle the rest.”