didn’t think men like this really existed. A modern day Goliath sneered at me from his isolated castle outside of the city. He was more animal than man, especially surrounded by acres and acres of forested hills separating him from civilization.
Every perfectly tanned muscle in his body popped and tensed. The tattoo swirling on his arm streaked him with angry reds, blues, and greens. His thick, defined abs clenched as the waistband of his sweat pants hung low.
A little too low.
I forced my gaze up and not on the sleeping beast bulging against his sweatpants.
I shouldn’t have made eye contact with him.
Not because he was fierce. Not because his thick jaw tightened in a scowl. Not because the mane of his wild, blonde hair cascaded over his shoulders and obscured his violent ink.
I met his stare and lost myself. His eyes shimmered unbelievably blue…and achingly intense. What might have been icy and frightening was brightened in a storybook blue, something charming and knee-shakingly intimidating.
“I…”
I couldn’t even hear myself talk. The doorbell, fire alarm, and security system blasted a deafening cacophony that echoed through his house and scattered the doves in his rose garden.
And he stared at me as the culprit, his eyebrow rising.
Oh God. I was soaked in a white blouse.
The thin material plastered to my dark skin, and the dress shirt clung to my curves. My bra contained the girls, but even after weaning Rose, they were still…ample. I crossed my arms. We weren’t that desperate for his signature yet.
Cole pulled out his phone and silenced the fire alarm and security system with an entered key code. Unfortunately, the chiming doorbell was the most obnoxious of the three.
I swallowed and braved a professional nod. “Hello. I’m Piper Madi—”
Cole extended his hand, but not to shake mine. He slammed his palm against the doorbell and clawed the box from the stone. The wires snapped. The estate fell into silence.
This…wasn’t going well.
He dropped the electronics at my feet.
“You…” I regretted speaking. This wasn’t a man who wanted explanations. He was the type who’d tear apart his own house when it annoyed him. “You didn’t answer your door.”
Cole’s voice was a heavy scrape of gravel and irritation. “I was in my weight room. In the basement. Working. Didn’t hear any knocking until…”
He stepped on the doorbell, pulverizing the plastic under his heel.
Point taken.
I raised my chin and faked some confidence. Usually I could get tough enough to dissuade my toddler from licking electrical outlets, but I hoped I could pull off authority against an egotistical, alpha-male, bastard jock.
“I’m sorry about the interruption. I’m with Sports One, your agency—”
Cole didn’t care. “You’re not Maddy.”
“Paul Madison, Maddy, is my father. I’m Piper Madison.”
I smiled. Cole didn’t. So much for the professional tone. Since when were football players harder than masters’ theses?
“My father asked me to meet with you regarding your contract—”
“Not interested.”
“Oh, but—”
The behemoth returned to his house. I leapt away as the door slammed in my face.
What. The. Hell.
No greetings. No introductions. No pleasantries.
Did I knock on his door and fall back in time to some crazy feudal era?
Cole had glanced me over—one stare that was as invasive as copping a feel—and then bashed the door so hard his whole mansion grumbled.
What sort of pompous, ill-mannered, egomaniac was this man?
No wonder Dad sent me. As if fetching his coffee and cleaning his office wasn’t demoralizing enough, he set me up to fail! He knew Cole would act like this.
I was not letting defensive diva Cole Hawthorne get his way, not when I came to help his career.
I balled my fist and pounded the wood. The windows rattled, but I didn’t stop until the glass nearly crashed into his foyer.
The door opened. If possible, Cole was even less welcoming this time.
“Get off of my property.”
Not until I got what I came here for. “My father sent me with the paperwork for your contract. When you signed with the Atwood Monarchs, you and the team agreed on a consensual trade clause. You couldn’t be traded unless you consented to the transfer.” I held up the folder. “I have the waiver here. Sign this, and the Monarchs will begin the process for the trade.”
“I told you once…” He spoke slowly, not to intimidate me, but as if each word sharpened his teeth. “I’m not interested.”
A crazy desperation seized me. Sixteen months of interrupted sleep had culminated this morning when I poured two tablespoons of salt into my coffee. My descent into sleep-deprived madness continued as I