It Had to Be You (Chicago Stars #1)(25)

She pulled into the visitor’s space closest to the front entrance and turned off the engine. Phoebe got out. As she approached the building, she found herself wishing she’d brought Pooh along as a security blanket instead of leaving her with Viktor. She caught sight of her reflection in the double glass doors. This outfit, a pearl gray trouser suit, was the closest thing she had to business attire. She wore an indigo silk shell beneath the short jacket and matching indigo sandals fastened with delicate gold chain T-straps. Her hair curved in sleek blond sickles away from her face. The only frivolity she had permitted herself was a purple and white wooden panda pin on her lapel. And her rhinestone sunglasses.

Annette opened one of the double glass doors for her. Each door held the team logo of three interlocking gold stars in a sky blue circle. Pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, Phoebe stepped inside her father’s world.

The semicircular lobby, predictably carpeted in sky blue, held gold vinyl chairs and a curved white reception desk with blue and gold stripes. A trophy case sat at one end, along with citations, posters, and a framed display of all the NFL team logos.

Annette gestured toward a chair. “Would you wait here for just a moment?”

“Of course.” Phoebe removed her sunglasses and tucked them in her purse. Barely a minute passed before a man came rushing out of the left hallway.

“Miss Somerville. Welcome.”

She stared at him.

He was adorable, a short, bookish Tom Cruise with a friendly, deferential expression that went a long way toward settling her nervous stomach. Although he was probably close to her own age, he looked so boyish that he seemed like a teenager. She took the hand he offered and gazed into a pair of glorious Cruise-blue eyes that were on the same level as her own.

“I’m sure you must be tired from your flight.” He had the thickest fringe of lashes she had ever seen on a man. “I’m sorry that you haven’t had a chance to rest before being plunged into all this.”

His voice was soft, his manner so sympathetic, that she experienced her first ray of hope since Dan Calebow had blackmailed her. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him.

“Are you certain? I know there are a number of people waiting to see you, but I’ll do my best to put them off if you’d like.”

She wanted to tie a bow around him and put him under her Christmas tree. Her internal radar wasn’t sending out any warning signals telling her to vamp him, something that generally happened when she was around good-looking men. His small stature and friendly manner were keeping her from feeling threatened.

She lowered her voice so only he could hear. “Why don’t you just stick by my side instead? I have a feeling I’m going to need a friendly face.”

“I’ll be happy to.” They exchanged smiles and she had a comforting sense of connection with him, as if they’d known each other for years.

He led her through an archway into a den of offices decorated with commemorative footballs, pennants, and team cups stuffed with pencils. As they passed through, he introduced her to a number of men, most of whom wore blue polo shirts bearing the Stars’ logo and all of whom seemed to have titles: director, manager, assistant.

Unlike his more casually dressed coworkers, her new ally wore a pin-striped charcoal suit, starched white shirt with French cuffs, burgundy rep tie, and polished cordovan wing tips.

“You haven’t told me your name.”

“Gosh.” He slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand and grinned, producing a charming set of dimples. “I’ve been so nervous about meeting you I forgot. I’m Ron McDermitt, Miss Somerville.”

“Please, Ron, call me Phoebe.”

“I’d be honored.”

They walked through a busy area of staff desks separated by partitions, then turned the corner into the longer back wing of the building. It was decorated as unimaginatively as the lobby: blue carpet, white walls covered with photographs, and team posters in simple chrome frames.

He glanced at his watch and frowned. “We’re due in Steve Kovak’s office now. He’s the director of player personnel, and he wants to get the contracts signed as soon as possible.”

“Coach Calebow made these contracts sound like life and death.”

“They are, Phoebe. For the Stars, anyway.” He stopped in front of a door that bore a small brass placard announcing it as the office of the director of player personnel. “Last season, this team had one of the worst records in the league. The fans have deserted us, and we’ve been playing in a stadium that’s barely half-full. If we lose Bobby Tom Denton, there’ll be even more empty seats.”

“You’re telling me I’d better sign or else.”

“Oh, no. You’re the owner. I can advise you, but it’s your team, and you make the final decision.”

He spoke so earnestly that she wanted to throw her arms around him and give him a big smacker right on his cute little mouth. Instead, she walked through the door he had opened for her.

Steve Kovak was a weathered veteran of decades of gridiron warfare. Dressed in his shirtsleeves, he had thinning brown hair, a lantern jaw, and a ruddy complexion. Phoebe found him thoroughly terrifying, and as they were introduced, she wished she weren’t wearing slacks.

Since she couldn’t flash her legs, she let her jacket fall open as she took a seat across from his desk. “I understand I need to sign some contracts.”