Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Hi,” he says, and Lizzie turns to him. “I’m Francis, Becca’s brother.” I look at him, and not one part of him resembles her.
I see Lizzie look at his hand, and she reluctantly shakes it. “Lizzie. I’m Nico’s right-hand.”
I’m watching the exchange between Francis and Lizzie when I hear Becca laugh. “From what I’ve seen, she’s your right and half your left.”
I look over at Lizzie, who nods her head in agreement. “Sometimes I’m both arms.”
“Do you guys have seats?” I ask, and I see Lizzie shaking her head.
“They own the box next to yours,” she whispers in my ear, and I laugh.
“Forgive me,” I say. “I’m usually in the press box and not in my actual box.”
“Well, I don’t know about you guys,” Francis says, “but I could use some food and a drink. Lizzie, would you care to join me?”
“I’m working,” she says to him, “but I think those four girls whispering behind you might be available.” Lizzie looks at me. “If you need me, text me.” She looks at Becca. “I’ll see you soon.” Then she turns back to Francis, who stands there with his hands in his pockets. “Francis, nice meeting you.”
He smirks at her. “The pleasure was mine.” He’s about to say something else when she walks away from him, leaving him hanging.
“She’s a smart girl,” Becca says to Francis, and he just shakes his head.
“I’ll meet you in the box,” he says and nods, walking away from her.
“How are things?” I ask, and she looks down at the floor and then up.
“I got the flowers,” she says. “Sorry I didn’t text you. It’s been a crazy day.”
“How many calls came in for Manning?” I ask. I had over one hundred calls, so I could just imagine how many she had.
“Serious ones?” She looks at me. “About fifty. Then about five hundred bullshit ones.”
“How did you know which were serious and which weren’t?” I ask, and someone walks by her, hitting her shoulder. I reach out my hand and hold her arm. “We should get out of the way.” My hand falls from hers, and I want to grab hers as we walk away from the crowd and toward the stairs that lead to the private boxes. Instead, we walk with our hands beside each other. I notice the men do a double-take when they look over at her. I’ve been around beautiful women before, and most times, they know the looks they are going to get but not Becca. She walks like she’s on the catwalk and doesn’t even notice the men and even some women looking at her. Instead, she walks with the confidence of a woman who knows what she wants.
“Have dinner with me.” I look over at her as we walk up the stairs. “Not here. After the game.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says when we get to the top of the steps, and I see two reporters approaching us.
“Nico,” one of them says.
“Christopher.” I say his name, and then he looks at Becca.
“If it isn’t the super agent,” he says, and Becca laughs.
“I don’t know about super agent,” she says, “but I did have my cape dry-cleaned.” Even I laugh.
“So what’s it going to be?” he asks her, and she tilts her head to the side. “Manning.”
“Mr. Simmons,” she says, using his last name, and I know from her tone that this is the business Becca. “You know full well my client doesn’t give interviews.”
“There are so many rumors,” he says, and she just rolls her eyes.
“You know the saying, those who feed on rumors are small suspicious souls.” His eyes almost bug out of his head. “Now that isn’t you, Mr. Simmons, is it?” Before he can even answer, she gives him more to stew on. “Weren’t you the one who spilled the beans on someone’s wife being pregnant even before they told their families?”
“That was an accident,” he says with his teeth clenched. “I apologized.”
“Oh, I heard,” she says. “Now, I would hate for you to get stuck in another snafu because of a rumor.” The sound of clapping fills the arena. “Oh, that’s my cue,” she says, smiling at him. “Have a great evening, Christopher.” She turns and walks away from him, going straight to her owner's box.
“That woman,” he says under his breath, and I just glare at him.
“I suggest that you keep whatever comment you were going to make right then to yourself,” I say, and he just looks at me. “Besides, the way I just saw it, she handed you your balls on a platter.”
“Whatever,” he says and walks away from me. The other reporters just laugh.
“He never learns.” He shakes his head, and I walk to the box where she just entered. Opening the door, I find the box empty, but I see her jacket on the couch next to her purse.