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Authors: Jami Davenport
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said.
"I can't wear power suits in the barn."
"You can wear a nice pair of breeches and a polo shirt. We'll work it. We're not talking always wearing power suits. We're going for casual business wear.” Cass held Rachel's hair back from her face.
"Okay.” She chewed on her lower lip.
"Your raw material is incredible. You've got those exotic green eyes with insanely long lashes going on. Your lips are just the kind men dream of having around their cocks."
Rachel choked while her unruly imagination swerved off the road and indulged in a little fantasy of her kneeling before a naked Derek, her hands on his cock. She lowered her mouth to the tip, paused, and glanced up to see the lust burning in his dark eyes. She licked the tip, his groan rewarding her efforts.
"Rachel!"
Rachel jumped with a guilty start and cringed at Cass's knowing smile.
Cass shook her head. “Your hair is beautiful, fantasy material. Your breasts are the perfect size for most men. Tyler likes them bigger, but we're not after Tyler here."
"I'm not after a man. Just the opposite."
"You've got the best set of legs—long, shapely, great thighs."
"Cass, I said professional businesswoman, not professional hooker."
"One and the same, honey—prostitute your mind, your body, your wares, whatever they may be. Guys think with their cocks first. When you're a woman in a man's world, you can't fight like a man. Let them hire you initially for your sex appeal, after which you wow them with your football knowledge and instincts."
"I'm not sure I came to the right place."
"Oh, you did. You did. Trust me. This is my area.” Cass smiled her most predatory smile. “I'll make over your appearance and your uptight attitude toward sex. With your body fitted into business suits and hair pulled back in a bun, you'll be gorgeous, an untouchable, pure woman. Nothing will drive men wilder. You'll have ten job offers in no time."
"Yeah, but what kind of job offers?"
"Trust me."
"Coach, you wanted to see me?” Derek hesitated in the doorway. His eyes swept the coach's office. Besides HughJack, the offensive coordinator and wide receiver coach sat around a small conference table. Their grim expressions didn't bode well. Derek met each man's gaze with false confidence, determined not to show the slightest weakness. They didn't look ready to congratulate him on a great catch or welcome him to the team.
"Thanks for joining us.” HughJack leafed through some paperwork in front of him.
Derek cleared his throat but couldn't dislodge that lump of fear, and he'd be damned if he'd let them hear his voice crack.
"Have a seat.” HughJack gestured to an empty chair. Derek nodded and eased his bruised body onto the hard seat. Coach consulted the papers on the table, then looked up. “Derek, your attitude this year is impressive. You're trying, maybe too hard."
Derek swallowed and nodded. He clenched his hands under the table and waited.
Frank, the offensive coordinator, added his two cents. “You have more raw talent than the rest of our receiving corps combined.” His gaze held Derek's, steady and unreadable, giving him hope.
Talent counted for something. Right? Derek relaxed, a little. This would go well. He'd made the team. He knew he had. Still, something didn't feel right. He glanced at the receivers’ coach. Razor Barnes, a future Hall of Famer and one of the best receivers ever to play the game, squirmed in his seat and stared at his own pile of papers. He said nothing.
Derek chewed on the inside of his cheek. Had he heard a “but” in Hughjack and Carter's words of praise? Forcing his expression into a mask of indifference, he clenched his jaw until he thought his teeth might shatter from the pressure. Under the table, he wrung his sweaty hands and prayed for this torture to be swift and painless.
"This was a tough choice for us. We made the final decision only fifteen minutes ago.” HughJack took a deep breath, then looked him in the eye. Derek
"I can't wear power suits in the barn."
"You can wear a nice pair of breeches and a polo shirt. We'll work it. We're not talking always wearing power suits. We're going for casual business wear.” Cass held Rachel's hair back from her face.
"Okay.” She chewed on her lower lip.
"Your raw material is incredible. You've got those exotic green eyes with insanely long lashes going on. Your lips are just the kind men dream of having around their cocks."
Rachel choked while her unruly imagination swerved off the road and indulged in a little fantasy of her kneeling before a naked Derek, her hands on his cock. She lowered her mouth to the tip, paused, and glanced up to see the lust burning in his dark eyes. She licked the tip, his groan rewarding her efforts.
"Rachel!"
Rachel jumped with a guilty start and cringed at Cass's knowing smile.
Cass shook her head. “Your hair is beautiful, fantasy material. Your breasts are the perfect size for most men. Tyler likes them bigger, but we're not after Tyler here."
"I'm not after a man. Just the opposite."
"You've got the best set of legs—long, shapely, great thighs."
"Cass, I said professional businesswoman, not professional hooker."
"One and the same, honey—prostitute your mind, your body, your wares, whatever they may be. Guys think with their cocks first. When you're a woman in a man's world, you can't fight like a man. Let them hire you initially for your sex appeal, after which you wow them with your football knowledge and instincts."
"I'm not sure I came to the right place."
"Oh, you did. You did. Trust me. This is my area.” Cass smiled her most predatory smile. “I'll make over your appearance and your uptight attitude toward sex. With your body fitted into business suits and hair pulled back in a bun, you'll be gorgeous, an untouchable, pure woman. Nothing will drive men wilder. You'll have ten job offers in no time."
"Yeah, but what kind of job offers?"
"Trust me."
"Coach, you wanted to see me?” Derek hesitated in the doorway. His eyes swept the coach's office. Besides HughJack, the offensive coordinator and wide receiver coach sat around a small conference table. Their grim expressions didn't bode well. Derek met each man's gaze with false confidence, determined not to show the slightest weakness. They didn't look ready to congratulate him on a great catch or welcome him to the team.
"Thanks for joining us.” HughJack leafed through some paperwork in front of him.
Derek cleared his throat but couldn't dislodge that lump of fear, and he'd be damned if he'd let them hear his voice crack.
"Have a seat.” HughJack gestured to an empty chair. Derek nodded and eased his bruised body onto the hard seat. Coach consulted the papers on the table, then looked up. “Derek, your attitude this year is impressive. You're trying, maybe too hard."
Derek swallowed and nodded. He clenched his hands under the table and waited.
Frank, the offensive coordinator, added his two cents. “You have more raw talent than the rest of our receiving corps combined.” His gaze held Derek's, steady and unreadable, giving him hope.
Talent counted for something. Right? Derek relaxed, a little. This would go well. He'd made the team. He knew he had. Still, something didn't feel right. He glanced at the receivers’ coach. Razor Barnes, a future Hall of Famer and one of the best receivers ever to play the game, squirmed in his seat and stared at his own pile of papers. He said nothing.
Derek chewed on the inside of his cheek. Had he heard a “but” in Hughjack and Carter's words of praise? Forcing his expression into a mask of indifference, he clenched his jaw until he thought his teeth might shatter from the pressure. Under the table, he wrung his sweaty hands and prayed for this torture to be swift and painless.
"This was a tough choice for us. We made the final decision only fifteen minutes ago.” HughJack took a deep breath, then looked him in the eye. Derek
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