Focused: A hate to love sports romance(16)

"Beatrice thinks I got this job because of my brother," was the thing that came out of my mouth first. There'd be no filter, not for this conversation. While he and I were alone, honesty was the best thing I could give him.

At the sound of my voice, Noah stilled even further, which didn't seem possible. His massive frame held almost preternaturally motionless. The span of his back was so broad, emphasizing the way his body tapered at the waist and hips. A true athlete, no one would ever look at him and question that he was born to do this.

I knew the kind of dedication it took, and the sacrifices that people like him made to reach that kind of strength and stamina. It was why I did what I did, worked where I worked, and why I'd overlooked his opinion of me and Beatrice's doubts in order to do my job.

"Is she right?" he asked.

I smiled. "I'm sure it helped me get my internship in college. But they never would've given me a job and they definitely wouldn't have kept me around if I sucked at it."

Noah didn't answer, and he didn't turn to face me. I preferred it that way.

"The only way I'll prove to my boss that she's wrong about me is by doing. There aren't enough words in the English language to convince her that I'm not the sole product of nepotism, and this job, this opportunity, is the platform she's allowing me to do that." I stared intently at his back. "To prove that I earned my place here by my actions."

His face tilted in my direction, enough that the light from the window caught the sharp jut to his jaw. The muscles under his skin popped, and I found myself staring at that little square of skin, marveling at how something so tiny could be so potent.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

Leaning back in my chair, I folded one leg over the other and chose my words carefully before saying them. Noah wasn't yelling, he wasn't making a scene, but his annoyance at being in this position was loud and clear, like a blinking sign over his head.

"I didn't pick you for the documentary, Noah. That was Beatrice and Amazon. It's not my choice to be stuck with you. I actually tried to tell her I thought the rookie from New England would be a better choice."

That made him turn. A slow pivot with his hands bracketing his hips. "Why's that?"

Ah, there it was, a bright burst of irritation behind his eyes, probably because I insinuated that someone else would be more interesting than him. If there was one truth in this industry you could take to the bank, it was the competitive nature of these men. God bless their predictability in this single regard.

"My reasons don't matter because they went with you."

He must have clenched his teeth because his jaw did that thing again. I tore my eyes away.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said.

"You'll only disappoint me if you get in my way."

His eyebrows lifted slowly. "That so?"

My hands shook slightly, and I tightened them in my lap. He couldn't see the frantic bouncing of my foot, but if he had, it would have betrayed whatever badass version of myself I was trying to portray.

I had one shot. I thought about what Beatrice said in our very first meeting. That we rarely had the chance to revisit someone’s first impression of us.

One chance to rework whatever definition he had in his head about me.

One shot at this conversation that would set the tone for us to work together.

To prove Beatrice wrong.

"You think you're the only person who understands pressure?" I asked. I stood from the chair and dropped the clipboard onto the desk with a sharp slap of sound. He didn't need to tower over me like an overbearing ... whatever he was trying to be right now. "I'll forget our interaction in the elevator yesterday because we were both taken by surprise." I lifted my chin. "But it's been almost ten years since you've seen me, Noah. I'm not the same girl, and you are not tempting enough to risk the opportunity that's been given to me. If I can get over what happened, then you need to too. It's not like I'm ripping my shirt off and begging for another chance."

Those eyes flicked down my body, an intentionally derisive motion that took my measure in no more time than a single thud of his icy chunk of a heart.

"Sweetheart," he drawled, "it wouldn't matter if you were."

Heat burned my cheeks, but I refused to drop my gaze. "Glad to hear it."

Noah's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't say anything else.

"If you're free after practice tomorrow, my office is two doors down on the right. We'll meet with Rick, he's the Amazon producer, and go over our filming schedule for the next couple of weeks. We'll need on-field and off-field access to you."

At that, he made a sound that could almost be confused for a laugh, if he wasn't a soulless robot with no emotions.

Scratch that.

Noah had emotions. They just seemed to be slight variations of irritation.

"Off-field access to me will be pretty boring," he admitted. "But they're welcome to film it all the same."

"Good." I held out my hand, but he didn't move closer. If he wanted to shake on it, he'd have to come to me, and based on the dangerous gleam that entered his eye, he knew it. "See you tomorrow?"

For a second, my hand was frozen in the air, and I worried that he'd let it stay there. But then he took two steps and enveloped my hand with his. My whole arm tingled, chills slipping up my skin at the dry, hard calluses on his fingers. It had been a minute since a man had touched me, and I hated that he was the one to elicit the reaction.