Read Online Thrown By Love by Pamela Aares - Free Book Online Page A

her to face him.
She wanted to fold into his arms, to burrow into the warmth and strange bliss that sang in her whenever he touched her. Tears pooled at the back of her eyes. She was not going to cry. Not now. And not during the meeting. And definitely not at the blasted press conference. She was pretty sure she’d be crying later tonight in the condo her father had left to her. But that was her business.
She stepped back. She couldn’t think with him touching her. Besides, he wasn’t supposed to touch her. She wasn’t supposed to touch him. There were going to be way too many things they weren’t supposed to do. Until she sold the team . Even then any relationship between them would be dicey.
There was no gentle way to say it.
“He left me the team.”
Neither of them moved.
She saw the significance register in his eyes. She’d had a week to get used to the fact that she owned him—really, truly, legally owned him. He hadn’t had that luxury.
“Jeez.”
“Yeah,” she said, letting out the breath she’d been holding. “Jeez.”
She wanted to tell him that she was going to sell the team, but that news wouldn’t have been appropriate. As she fished around for something to say, she recognized that nothing about their relationship had been appropriate.
What she would’ve said, she’d never know. The Sabers’ manager, Charley Kemp, barreled down the tunnel and took her by the arm.
“Go work on your fastball,” he said to Scotty. “I’m walking this girl to a meeting.”
She put Scotty out of her mind as Charley hustled her through the hallways of the stadium.
Dick Fisher met Chloe and Charley at the door of the conference room.
“I’ve got this, Kemp,” Fisher said with a dismissive nod to Charley.
“I asked him to stay,” Chloe said.
Fisher stiffened. “That’s not necessary.”
She could’ve walked the line of tension between the two men. The day had gone from bad to worse.
“Miss McNalley can decide what’s necessary,” Mike Thomas said as he walked up behind them.
Chloe tracked her fingers to her throat, rested the tips along her collarbone, as the four of them entered the room. Under her fingertips, her pulse beat faster than she liked. Maybe she’d just imagined the tension between Charley and Fisher. But there was no mistaking Mike’s tone of disdain.
She headed for a seat at the side of the conference table, but Mike squeezed her elbow and led her to the head of it.
“You’re the boss,” he whispered.
She was glad for the ritual introductions. Even more thankful that she’d taken Mike’s advice and sent an email a few days before, calling the meeting and announcing that she owned the team. At least she hadn’t had to break that news face to face.
Many of the staff around the table were new to her, especially the front office people and the marketing honchos. Everyone minced around her as if she were fragile, foreign, as if she might shatter and send shards of glass lancing through them. Though they tried not to show their doubts, the tone of their words made it painfully clear they were less than sure about having her at the helm. Mike poured her a glass of water from a pitcher on the table. The cool glass felt good against the heat of her palms.
She listened to their plans, but found focus hard to maintain. The look in Scotty’s eyes when she’d told him she owned the team haunted her. She dragged her focus back. A staff member halfway down the table was saying something about the advantages that keeping the team in the family would provide. She nodded politely and gave a half smile. She wanted to tell them not to spend too much time spinning her to the press since she planned to sell the team.
But she wasn’t ready to tell anyone that, not yet.
Mike had cautioned her to keep her plans to herself. He’d said there was a buyer who’d been lurking for over a year—the man had the money and he was hot to get the Sabers. She’d already had Mike set up a meeting for next