Chapter 8

EIGHT

Charlotte groaned and dropped her head into her hands. "My lenders are getting twitchy."

When the image on the computer screen remained silent, she forced her head back up to meet Bridgett's sympathetic face.

"Can you blame them? The costs of supplies are all over the place. But, Charlie, you've got too many balls in the air to negotiate every deal. You can't keep operating as a one-woman show."

"I know." Charlotte raked her fingers through her hair. "My fear is they won't be satisfied with me hiring a CEO. They are going to want to install a stuffy board of directors or worse, make me take Truly public." She shuddered.

"You don't know that."

"It's a slippery slope." Charlotte took a gulp of her afternoon tea, hoping it would calm her. "Have you been able to vet any more candidates?"

Bridgett shuffled some papers on her desk. "The headhunter came up with five more possibilities. Three of them look promising. But we could cast the net wider if you weren't so dead set against moving shop to the US."

Charlotte leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. She'd fled to London after the twins were born to carve out a future for herself, independent of the long shadow of her late father and the safety net of her brother and his new family. Truly You helped her do that. Owning and running a company gave her the self-worth she'd been searching for all her life.

Mostly.

Truly fed her mind and her creativity. Just not her heart. Even her libido was beginning to complain.

Damn Noah Hudson and his smoldering mouth.

She would relocate her business to Baltimore if he asked her to. Except he wasn't ever going to ask. Because she "wasn't his type." No matter how well their bodies fit together.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, she focused on the computer screen and her ever-patient sister-in-law. "Send me the resumés for the five names you have, and we can set something up."

Bridgett nodded just as Vivi appeared on the screen. She was dressed in her Blaze jersey, her dark braids adorned with ribbons in the team colors, red and black.

"Good morning, Sweet Pea," Charlotte gushed. "Looks like you are all set for another Spirit Friday at school."

"Mornin' Aunt Charlie. I miss you. When are you coming back?" Vivi demanded.

Charlotte's chest swelled at her niece's words. She'd been back in London for barely five days, and she missed the twins like crazy. Biologically, she was not the little girl's mother, but she'd carried her and her brother for nine months—she had the stretch marks to prove it. And she loved them as much as any mother could.

Yet another reason she had decamped to the other side of the Atlantic after giving birth. She wanted to give them time to bond as a family. And, if she were honest, it hurt not having the babies all to herself any longer.

She'd thought her maternal connection had waned a bit over the past five years. Given her visceral reaction to the little boy, Dalton, on Sunday, that wasn't the case. Just imagining enduring what those parents were going through had nearly knocked her on her ass in fear. If Noah hadn't been there to talk her down, she wasn't sure what she would have done.

Nope. As much as she wanted to be a part of her niece and nephew's lives, it was better to do it from afar. Like another continent afar.

"I'm not sure, honey," she replied. "But you know I'm always a video chat or phone call away."

Vivi's mouth formed a mulish line. "But you're asleep when we get home from school."

Guilty as charged.

"I'll tell you what," Charlotte said. "I'll wait up for you tonight. Call me after school and you can tell me whose jersey the kids are wearing."

"That's easy." Vivian's expression turned sour. "All the girls want Noah."

So does this girl.

"Go brush your teeth," Bridgett told her daughter. "And tell your brother we are leaving in ten minutes."

"Love you, Aunt Charlie," Vivi called out as she scurried off.

Charlotte blew her a kiss. "Love you more."

"This whole thing with Noah has taken on a life of its own," Bridgett remarked.

"What do you mean?" she asked, despite knowing precisely what her sister-in-law meant. London wasn't exactly the Moon. The social media chatter about her and Noah's supposed relationship had reached a fever pitch worldwide. Their theories bordered on ridiculous given that they both lived an ocean apart.

"The images of you two leaving the stadium Sunday," Bridgett said. "You looked . . . content. I'd even go so far as to say happy."

"I'm always happy," Charlotte argued.

"Uh, huh." Bridgett didn't look convinced.

"I am!"

"Okay, maybe happy is too generic of a word. Blissful would work." Bridgett snapped her fingers. "No. Enraptured. That accurately captions the look on your face in those images."

"Don't be silly. It's not at all what you think."

And there she went lying to her sister-in-law again. Charlotte was more than enraptured by Noah. Too bad he wasn't enraptured by her.

She's not my type. Not worth the effort.

The words he'd spoken three years ago still haunted her. Still rattled her confidence. Sure, they would burn up the sheets together. Their kisses assured her of that. But she wanted more from Noah. More that he very succinctly told her he wasn't ever going to give.

"Then what is it?" her sister-in-law prodded.

"Don't you have to get the kids to school?"

Bridgett rubbed her hands together. "I've got eight minutes. Spill."

Charlotte wasn't spilling anything. "Yeah, but you might want to get yourself ready. You know how catty those carpool moms can be if you're not looking your best."

She was being ridiculous. Bridgett was just as beautiful in sweatpants as she was in a power suit. And this morning she boasted the added rosy glow of a woman well-loved the night before.

Damn her.

She also wasn't falling for Charlotte's ploy. "There's more to this story, Charlie. If you don't want to talk about it with your family, that's fine. Just say so. Don't play us for fools."

It was no wonder Bridgett was a winning trial attorney. She played dirty.

"That's not what I'm trying to do," Charlotte told her. "Really, I'm simply helping him divert the negative press. He doesn't deserve it."

"Well, it's working. No one would dare say a disparaging thing about him now. Your Trulies would cancel them in a hot second." Bridgett leaned forward. "But the question is, why did you feel the need to jump in and lead the charge to avenge Noah? There's an entire department in the Blaze front office dedicated to handling that type of thing. Not to mention Noah's agent and his team."

As if they were all doing a bang-up job.

She couldn't very well tell her sister-in-law it was her fault Noah was being besieged by Bucky Kincaid and his band of muckrakers. That would require an explanation she didn't want to divulge. Mostly because her feelings for Noah were complicated.

And unrequited.

Charlotte was saved from the continued interrogation by Grayson's shriek.

"Momm-eee! I can't find my other shoe!"

Bridgett snapped her eyes shut. She looked like she was counting to ten.

"I'll let you go so you can deal with your domestic crisis." Charlotte reached for her mouse to end the call. "Don't forget to send me those resumés. I'll look over them tomorrow."

"This discussion isn't ov?—"

She suppressed the twinge of guilt at cutting her sister-in-law off like that. What was over was this thing with Noah. There was no point in dissecting it. Not without alcohol involved, anyway.

Charlotte glided the cursor over to her email box, already dreading the urgent messages she knew had piled up during her thirty-minute phone call. Of course, there were twelve new ones. Her attention was drawn to one containing a Google alert about Noah. The fires would still be burning in the few minutes it took her to read whatever new article had been written about the Blaze quarterback. She clicked the link, smiling at the photo of him passing for a touchdown in Sunday's game.

The revelation he'd shared about his sister explained a lot about his personality. His stoic demeanor and soft-spoken character made a lot more sense knowing what she now did. Her heart ached for the little boy he'd been. He hadn't been the sick one, but he'd lost five years of a happy, normal life, nonetheless. Yet she was proud of the man he'd become. A man who didn't hesitate to rescue a stranger, asking nothing in return for his good deed.

The article was about the Blaze's upcoming game. It would be played in Pittsburgh, against their division rivals. Baltimore was predicted to win. The pundits were basing their analysis on Noah's much improved ability to read the playing field. Charlotte snorted.

"He could read the field last season," she said to her empty office. "It was the rest of the team that let him down."

Not anymore, though.

"Noah will be player of the week again this week and the Blaze will be two and O."

With that happy thought, she tackled the rest of her emails.

"Does that blowhard ever shut up?" Blaze tight end, Brody Janik, murmured to no one in particular. "I can't believe that asshole Kincaid has the balls to spew the lie that our loss was on you."

Sitting beside him at the bar in Devlin's, Noah assumed his teammate's question was rhetorical and didn't bother answering. As if Devlin's cantankerous opinions weren't enough, Brody, the senior member of the team's receiving corps had crashed tonight's dinner. Noah wasn't sure if the tight end's presence added anything to the painful postmortem of Sunday's game. Still, he appreciated the support.

It had been four days since they'd lost to their division rivals, thanks to multiple dropped passes and the three interceptions Noah had thrown. It was as if he was living last season's nightmare all over again. Except this year, there was a horde of young girls and women wearing his jersey and screaming his name. Even though it was an away game.

Of course, the Pittsburgh players and fans didn't appreciate that fact one bit. And they'd let him know with their taunts and boos. The entire game had been a shitshow.

"None of those picks were his fault," Brody yelled at the television mounted above the bar. "I would have had one of those balls had I not been mauled by the cornerback. But did the zebras call it? Hell, no!"

Devlin slid a bowl of pretzels to the tight end. "Here, eat these. Your erratic blood sugar is making you cranky."

"If I'm cranky, it's because this dickhead is badmouthing my QB for no good reason." Brody chucked a pretzel at the flat screen.

Devlin signaled to the bartender. "Change the channel to the Food Network before Kincaid causes everyone in the place to lose their appetite."

"You got it, boss." The bartender hunted for the remote. Not fast enough for the occupants of the bar to miss Bucky Kincaid's cockamamie theories, however.

"Of course, everyone in the world knows what is throwing Noah Dudson off his game." Kincaid smirked for the camera. "The guy can't perform—" Kincaid faked a cough "—without his woman cheering him on."

"Oh no, he didn't," Brody growled.

The bartender pointed the remote at the television.

"Don't," Noah snapped. He wanted to hear what the twit said before he had to read about it every time he picked up his phone.

"Ignore him, Hudson," Devlin said. "The guy is just tossing out click-bait."

Noah held up his hand. As much as he'd love to, no way was he ignoring this. Devlin sighed wearily as he shook his head.

Kincaid babbled on. "Which begs the question, where in the world is Princess Charlotte? I mean, she paid twenty-five thousand bucks to possess the Blaze quarterback. Every piece of him." The idiot winked at the screen. "Some would argue she overpaid." Kincaid raised his hand. "Of course, she probably has shoes that cost more than that. Either way, if these two really are an item, shouldn't she be in the stadium watching him play? Or has she given up on him just like I've been telling her brother's team they ought to do?"

"Is this guy for real?" Brody croaked out.

"Know what I think?" Kincaid asked his toady sidekick. "I think the guy is just as big of a dud off the field, if you know what I mean."

Laughter echoed throughout Kincaid's set. Devlin snatched up the remote and changed the channel to the weather.

"Mother of God. How does that pompous shit get away with saying those things on television?" Brody demanded.

"It's a replay of his podcast," the bartender explained. "They give him a little more leeway there. The more outrageous he is, the more people tune in."

Brody stabbed at his phone screen. "I don't care. Slander is slander. Lucky for you, Huddy, my sister is a brilliant attorney. And married to the team's owner. She'll take your case pro-bono."

"I'm not suing the guy." Noah yanked the tight end's phone out of his hands and hit end call. "It would give Kincaid a bigger platform for his ego."

"Hudson's right. The weasel doesn't need a bigger megaphone." Devlin shot a look at Brody, gesturing to the tight end's phone in Noah's hand. "And you need to tighten your grip. No wonder that DB was able to wrench the ball away from you so easily."

Brody sputtered a protest that didn't register with Noah. He was too angry to think. His phone was already blowing up with calls from his agent. No doubt the guy wanted to get into a pissing match with Kincaid, too. Ignoring his phone, he tossed back what remained of his beer and stood. "I'm out of here."

Devlin stood, too, blocking the way. "Hudson, this loss is not on you, no matter what that loudmouth says. You executed the game plan exactly the way it was designed. You're not going to win every game. Put it out of your head and move on to this week's opponent."

It was ironic how much the former quarterback sounded like Noah's dad. He'd heard that same speech a million times before. The words were practical and true. Except they never quite wiped all the sting out of a loss.

"Yeah, Huddy," Brody added. "You have the support of everyone in our locker room. We win as a team. We lose as a team. You're too skilled of an athlete to be distracted by off-the-field chatter. Or a woman, no matter how hot she is." The tight end winked.

Devlin rolled his eyes. "Guess you aren't as skilled, then, because I remember you being very distracted by Shay."

"Hey! That's not how it was at all," Brody argued.

Noah left them to their good-natured bickering and headed for the exit. The thing was, Charlotte had become a major distraction. He resented how much headspace she took up. She was on his mind day and night.

Especially at night.

It was no surprise that he wanted her in his bed. A man would have to be dead not to. It was the idea of how much he wanted out of bed that was messing with his psyche.

The only time he could tune her out was when he was on the field. He'd spent years cultivating the skill of shutting off the extraneous noise when it mattered. Bucky Kincaid and his crowd of critics weren't even a whisper when the football was in Noah's hands.

Brody was right, though. Noah wasn't the problem. Still, he didn't want to throw shade at his receivers. They all caught his passes perfectly in practice. It was when the stands were full that they got the dropsies. He needed to work harder to make sure they got better at their craft.

Noah parked his truck in the garage of the modest townhouse he owned near the Blaze training facility and glanced down at his phone. It had been buzzing non-stop throughout the drive. He relaxed when a photo of his Meemaw popped up on the screen. He didn't dare ignore her.

"Hey there, gorgeous. What's up?"

"My blood pressure after watching that dang game on Sunday."

His grandmother didn't mince words. Nor did she believe in coddling. She'd been the one who had cared for Noah while his parents and sister traveled back and forth between Duke Medical Center and their small town in western North Carolina all those years. She was a no-nonsense woman who'd been widowed for longer than she was married.

Meemaw didn't believe in excuses, either. Beneath her gruff exterior, she had a heart of gold, however. And Noah credited her for every success he'd ever had. If his family were his rock, his grandmother was the boulder that centered them.

He tossed his keys into the ceramic bowl his niece made for him in vacation bible school this summer before heading to the fridge where he refilled his water bottle.

"I told you to stop watching those boys from Dallas," he teased. "They break your heart every year." His grandmother's greatest disappointment in life was that Noah hadn't been drafted by her favorite team.

Meemaw snorted. "Don't be smart with me, young man. You're not so big that I can't still tan your hide."

It was his turn to snort. Although, a small part of him didn't doubt the octogenarian's determination. If she wanted to lay a hand on Noah, she'd figure out a way to do it.

"It's a long season," he said, reciting the mantra of the week.

"Mmm. Tell that to that bully, Bucky Kincaid."

Noah grabbed the mail his cleaning lady had left on the counter and wandered into the family room, where he slid down onto the leather recliner that he'd paid an outrageous price for.

"Meemaw, I'm going to have dad cut off your cable if you keep tuning in to that idiot's show."

Noah's father had converted an old barn into a two-bedroom, two-bath home for his mother, complete with all the amenities she would need as she aged. The house was connected by a long breezeway to the home where Noah grew up. His grandmother had been living there for four years now and she didn't show any signs of needing the conveniences for elders any time soon.

"It never hurts to hear what people are sayin' about you. Even if most of it is a bunch of twaddle," she said. "Although I agree that your girlfriend could be a bit more supportive."

He banged the back of his head against the leather chair a few times. "I've already told you this. Charlotte Davis is not my girlfriend."

His grandmother made a disgruntled sound. "Nonsense. Pictures and videos don't lie, boy. That woman looks at you like you hung the moon. And your daddy still looks at your momma the way you were eying the princess. Don't even try to tell me there's nothing there."

There was plenty there. His junk grew tight just thinking about it. But even if he became a flashy superstar quarterback, he'd never be able to make a woman like Charlotte happy. She was playing in a different league. The attraction would fizzle eventually. His small-town world view would no longer be a novelty for her. She'd get bored. And that would be the unhappy end of it.

Noah had spent his life playing it cool, not making a scene, avoiding the drama while giving whatever he took on his all so as not to be a bother to his family. Or his teammates. He didn't like to let anyone down. And the thought of being a disappointment to Charlotte Davis was too much to consider.

He sighed. "What you're seeing is simple chemistry, that's all. Just two people attracted to one another."

"I hate to break it to you, Noah, but that's how most relationships start."

"We live on different continents." In different worlds.

"Pfft. What have I always told you about obstacles?"

"Every path has a few puddles. Sometimes you have to get your shoes wet," they both recited at the same time.

He smiled despite his mood. "The Atlantic Ocean is a pretty big puddle to wade through, Meemaw."

"So? Give her a reason to come back."

If only it was that simple.

For starters, he'd had the story all wrong for three years. She hadn't snuck out of his hotel room that night in London for the reasons he'd thought. Instead, she'd been protecting him. And then she'd come back. Noah scrubbed his hand down his face, embarrassed by the ugly things she'd overheard him say that day.

Christ, he deserved to be alone.

All this time, he'd thought she'd been conning him for his protection. That the woman he'd spent one of the best nights of his life with was an illusion. He'd believed she'd played him for a fool, saying what she thought he wanted to hear.

He'd been a fool, all right.

Charlotte hadn't been playacting with him any more than she had been with the little boy, Dalton, last week. Or when she'd confided to Noah about her lack of confidence. The woman he'd met and fallen for in London wasn't a mirage. He'd been angry at her all this time for no justifiable reason.

Or maybe he did have a good reason.

Self-preservation.

He couldn't fail her if he didn't try.

Meemaw rambled on. "The fans love that she's your good luck charm."

"Us losing on Sunday has nothing to do with Charlotte and me. You know that, right?"

"Of course, I do. And don't tell your daddy I said this, but football is only a game. Life, it's the real thing. And in twenty-eight years, I've never seen you look as content in your own skin as you did when you were looking into that woman's eyes." She sighed. "When you look at her, the weight of trying to shoulder all the burdens within this family or within your team is washed away. You've got to stop taking the blame for things that aren't your fault. Go find yourself something else to focus all your positive energy on. Or someone."

"I'm not sure I've got what it takes to hold on to a woman like her," he surprised himself by admitting.

"Pish posh. What does that even mean? You know how to treat a lady. You are kind and compassionate, with a great job and a college degree to fall back on when football ends. A catch by any woman's standards."

Except Charlotte Davis isn't any woman.

"Invite her to my birthday party next weekend," she insisted. "If it's just chemistry, she'll show her true feathers. Consider it your birthday gift for me. You never know. I'm getting up there in years. I've always wanted to meet a princess. This could be my last chance."

Was she serious right now?

The idea of Princess Charlotte accompanying him home to his rinky-dink town for any reason, much less a potluck birthday party for his grandmother at the VFW, was laughable. So why wasn't Noah laughing?

Because he wanted the happy ending, dammit. With Charlotte. The question was, could she want one with him? Somehow, he doubted it.

"She's not an actual princess. That's just a nickname the tabloids gave her. And I told you a million times already, we are not a couple. Stop trying to guilt me into bringing her. You'll have to be satisfied with me showing up solo to your party."

She made a rumbling sound from deep in her throat. "Can I help it if I want to see my only grandson settled and happy?"

"I am happy." Sort of . "And you've got plenty of life left in you to see me settled."

"Says you!"

His chest tightened up. Was there something his grandmother wasn't telling him? His family wouldn't be holding back bad news because it was the football season, would they?

"Meemaw, is everything okay with you? Tell it to me straight or else I'm calling dad."

She huffed into the phone. "Everything is fine. I'm fit as a fiddle. Leave your dad out of this. He's already smothering me."

"He cares about you. We all do."

"If you care so much, see what you can do about throwing passes to your receivers so they can catch ‘em. That'll be a nice birthday present for an old lady. Not as nice as meeting a princess, but as you say, it'll have to do."

He bit back a groan. Because really? His passes were landing right in the receivers' bread baskets. It wasn't his fault they couldn't hang on. But it was no use pleading his case with his grandmother. She never lost an argument.

"I'll do my best."