Donovan’s chin lifted. “I was polite.”
A loud snort sounded from behind Donovan.
Donovan whirled toward the counter. Ella cleared her throat, gesturing toward her face. “Sorry. My nose. Allergies. Must be some pollen in the air.”
Donovan glared. “Aren’t there some dishes that need to be washed? Some inventory that needs to be taken?”
“Yep. On it, boss.” She said it with a giggle, not in the least intimidated. That’s what happened when you hired kids you’d babysat when you were a pimply faced teenager. No respect. She rounded the corner and slowly, very slowly, headed to the back of the building.
“Any chance the mystery shopper makes a return visit?” Nicholas asked, clearly not interested in being deterred from his gossip-gathering mission.
“Hell no.” He ignored the sting of disappointment that swept through him, just like it had yesterday as she walked out of the store.
“Too bad,” August said. Donovan shot him a look. Now he chose to speak?
Nicholas shook his head. “Man, I am so sorry I missed the show.”
Donovan wasn’t. It had not been his finest moment. More witnesses would have only made it worse.
“Was she cute at least?” Nicholas pressed.
A crystal-clear vision of stunning chocolaty brown eyes and perfect red lips filled his mind. Donovan threw up his hands. “Man, I don’t know!”
“Yeah, she was,” Ella tossed over her shoulder. She’d made it as far as Donovan’s office down the hall, which was to say, not far at all.
“Something must be wrong with you if you didn’t notice a pretty face.” A considering light entered Nicholas’s eyes. “Maybe you did notice.”
“But you didn’t like noticing,” August said.
“Yep, sounds about right,” Nicholas said. “Which makes the situation even more interesting.” He and August nodded in unison.
Donovan pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it, he needed new friends. Today. Right now. His phone dinged with the familiar appointment reminder tone. Thank God. “As much as I’d love to stay and continue this riveting conversation, I have somewhere to be. See you fools later.”
He strode toward the door.
“Chicken,” Nicholas called after him. Donovan kept walking, shooting his friends the deuces over his shoulder as he exited. He rounded the building to the parking lot and climbed inside his black Mercedes SUV.
Yeah, he’d engaged in very un-Donovan-like behavior yesterday, arguing with Cupcake Shop Critic, then thinking about her at random times since. But he’d returned to his senses. It was time to seek out the advice of someone he trusted implicitly.
Some might question his loyalty to the team owner. Football was a brutal sport with brutal economics. Those economics rarely, if ever, worked out in favor of the players. Yeah, they got paid well, but not as well as athletes in other sports. Worse, though, their contracts weren’t fully guaranteed. But Mrs. T had always been straightforward with him. She said what she meant and meant what she said.
Her late husband had bought the team twenty years ago, and after he passed away five years later, she hadn’t sold the team like all the experts had expected her to. Today, the Knights were one of the league’s most successful franchises and worth over three billion dollars.
In other words, there was no one else he’d rather get advice from. If anyone knew how to beat the odds, it was her.
Twenty minutes later, he greeted the petite woman with a hug. She always smelled like expensive perfume. She cared not one iota that her most famous employees towered over her and outweighed her on average by 130 pounds. He stepped back. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair in its customary I-mean-business bun, along with a sleek designer black dress. “How are you doing, Mrs. T?”
“I’m fabulous as always, Donovan.” She gestured for him to follow her into her office that overlooked the practice field at the team’s state-of-the-art training facility. “I can evaluate the players and coaches while getting other work done at the same time,” she liked to say.
The office was actually a suite. Yes, it had the prerequisite working area of desk and chair, but it also housed a separate sitting area with a loveseat, several armchairs, and a minibar. A huge TV dominated one wall above a mantel, while shelves crammed with books lined the opposite wall. Photos of her family dotted the room, along with Knights memorabilia. He spotted a helmet he’d signed on his draft night on the mantel.
“Can I get you some coffee?” She gestured to the bar. “Or maybe something stronger?”