HERE TOMORROW 7 PM PST. WELCOME MAGGIE WELLS AUTHOR OF: LOVE GAME (SEE EXCERPT)
7 PM PST.
WELCOME MAGGIE WELLS
Kate Snyder scored her first national championship in her undergrad days at Wolcott University, and now she’s a coaching legend. The last thing she wants is to work beside a washed-up coach escaping scandal, but the university hands her Danny McMillan.
Danny was hoping his transition at Wolcott University would go smoothly, but clashing with snarky Kate has made things difficult. Even as she finally lightens up towards him, a local reporter can’t get enough of their verbal fireworks on camera. What the cameras don’t know is that the sparks are even hotter behind the scenes…
“Way to put him in his place last night, Coach.”
Kate jumped and winced when her knee connected with her desk. Her hand lashed out, sending her half-empty travel mug flying. Proving he still had the reaction time of an athlete, Mike Samlin stepped out of spatter range as the droplets of mocha arced through the air.
“I, uh…” She gathered the glossy trifolds to her bosom and clung for dear life, wondering how the hell the boss could know exactly how many places she’d put his good friend Danny in the past couple of weeks.
“Millie tells me the ratings went through the roof.”
The show. He meant . They’d engaged in the Title Nine debate Millie campaigned for. Doing his best to play the misogynist, Danny’d made a crack about her using university money to order pink basketballs. It set her up beautifully for a line about her players knowing how to use their equipment.
She telegraphed a silent thank you to Millie and gave her boss a tremulous smile. “Thanks.”
Mike’s focus sharpened, and his friendly brown eyes narrowed a fraction. This was the moment she’d been dreading. She was a horrible liar. Never had the talent for it. So she’d been avoiding him. Millie too. Jim Davenport had proved to be a little more assertive than expected, but she’d managed to slip past him the minute they stopped taping.
But Mike was a diplomat as well as an administrator. He didn’t go straight for the jugular. “Looks like your camps are sold out.”
Relief mingled with pride as she grabbed the change of subject and made a break with it. “Middle grades start this week. We’ll have varsity in July. Don’t worry. We’ll be out of the way when it’s time for the boys to play.”
The look of wounded surprise in his eyes said he didn’t think he deserved her sharp tone. “I’m sure Coach Ransom will appreciate that,” he said mildly. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat in the guest chair opposite her. “I got an interesting phone call from Jonas Matthews.”
Kate braced herself for battle. This was it. She’d let her agent off the leash. Told him to go after everything he could get. And now, the battle would begin in earnest. “Did you? That’s nice.”
Mike smirked. “He was tossing around some crazy numbers.”
The dire warnings she’d heard from Jonas rang in her ears. That was Jonas’s job, and it was time for him to earn his cut. Still, the implication that she didn’t deserve every digit rankled.
“I’ve put up some crazy numbers over the years. I’m sure someone will find a way to make them match.”
The threat was barely veiled. Why bother? They both knew it was time for Wolcott to put up or shut up. Regardless of gender, hers or her team’s, she was a proven winner, and many schools would be happy to have her. A few might even deign to let her coach their precious men’s team.
“Blown the budget on football?” she asked, cutting him off. “Not my problem.”
“It’s not that—”
“I’m not discussing this. Talk to Jonas.”
“I will when he stops talking crazy.”
She held his gaze, summoning the glare she usually reserved for slacking point guards or blind refs. “Don’t hold your breath.”
Mixing business and pleasure is a dangerous game…
Tyrell Ransom, the new men’s basketball coach, is ready to whip his team into shape and start winning some games. But when compromising photos of his soon-to-be-ex-wife with one of his players go viral, everything comes crashing down. With reporters thick on the ground, Ty and his team need some serious damage control―now.
When public relations guru Millie Jenkins arrives in her leopard-print cape to save the day, things really heat up… Soon they’re going to have to work double time to keep their white-hot chemistry out of the headlines.
“Wow. You really suck at the sympathy thing.”
Millie had the good grace to grimace. “I’ve never been very touchy-feely.”
Ty cocked his head. “I’m surprised.”
He took a half step closer. “You don’t strike me as the kind of woman to shy away from anything.”
Proved how much he knew about her. It was all she could do to hold her ground. Not because she was scared of him. More that she might not be able to keep her own impulses in check. Ty Ransom was not only tall, built, and too handsome for his own good, but he was sweet and funny in a self-deprecating way that more successful jocks never quite mastered. A flutter of nerves tightened her belly.
Flattening her hand on her midriff to quell the internal uprising, she plastered her public relations smile on her face. “Well, I do like a good fight.”
“That’s why I’m here. We don’t have to let the press run this thing. Take control of your message instead of spouting off. Make the story the one you want to tell.”
“I don’t see what there is to control,” he said with feigned nonchalance. “My wife left me for a first-round draft pick. Can hardly blame the woman for upgrading, can you?”
“He’s got two working knees, more vertical lift than I had on my best day, and according to our good friend Brittany at NSN”—he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as he referred to the perky blond reporter from the sports network—“charisma.” He nodded to the darkened screen, then shrugged. “God knows Brittany would know.”
“Brittany doesn’t know squat.”
He guffawed. “You do have a way with words.” He crossed to the wet bar and plucked another clean glass from the shelf. “You’re hired.”
“Thanks, but I already have a job.”
“See? You don’t even want me,” he muttered as he pulled the stopper off a decanter. “Charisma,” he growled. “Don’t think I ever had any, even when I had game.”
She hated this. Hated seeing this proud, cocky man lose his swagger over a woman who was little more than a piece of dandelion fluff. Sucking in a deep breath, she approached with caution. “Ty—”
“My game was okay one-on-one.” This time, he sloshed three fingers of whiskey into the glass and sucked a few droplets from the back of his hand before replacing the stopper. “Took a lot of English classes in school, so I could quote poetry and shit.” He picked up the glass and stared hard at its contents, then took a healthy slug. He didn’t even gasp as the liquor went down. “Girls always liked that.”
She placed a gentle hand on the center of his back. “Don’t.”
He stiffened, then slowly lowered the glass to the bar. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t downplay who you are. Don’t brush off everything you’ve accomplished.”
By day, Maggie Wells is buried in spreadsheets. At night, she pens tales of people tangling up the sheets. The product of a charming rogue and a shameless flirt, you only have to scratch the surface of this mild-mannered married lady to find a naughty streak a mile wide. Maggie has a passion for college football, processed cheese foods, and happy endings. Not necessarily in that order.
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