Miller: We missed you at Max’s birthday party. I hope you’re feeling better. Also, I have something to tell you. When can I see you?
Me: Still not feeling great. Maybe this coming weekend?
Miller: I can’t wait that long!
Me: Baseball season starts next week. Don’t you want to spend as much time with Kai as possible before we go on the road?
Miller: Do I want to have as much sex with Kai as possible before you go on the road? Yes, you’re right. See you this weekend.
I set my phone on the kitchen counter next to the cheap plastic ring I’ve stared at since I got back to Chicago.
I feel bad lying to Miller, but I know what her exciting news is. I know she got engaged to Isaiah’s brother, Kai, this weekend. I also know I couldn’t show up to Max’s birthday party and act like I’m not legally bound to his uncle. I couldn’t take away Miller’s spotlight on her big day. I couldn’t look at her and lie about the fact that technically, she’s my soon-to- be sister-in-law. And I can’t stand to see her now, with this uneasy pit in my stomach, until I meet with my lawyer and get the reassurance I need that this sham of a marriage will be over as quickly as it began.
I met Miller last season when she started nannying for our Ace pitcher, Kai Rhodes. Miller’s dad, Monty, is also the field manager of the Windy City Warriors, and for the first time in my career, I got to have another woman around the clubhouse. It was refreshing and I’d consider her my first real friend I’ve made since moving to Chicago three years ago.
Before last year, any free time I had was spent flying back home to New York to see Connor, always having some kind of charity event or social
gathering he needed me on his arm for. But Miller wiggled her way past my sometimes-cold exterior, and I couldn’t be more thankful to her for that.
The penthouse apartment I live in is one of the many investment properties owned by my family. It’s extravagant and over the top and a bit lonely when I allow myself to think about it. But it’s also a free place to live and who am I to complain when my current salary isn’t enough to afford me much in the city.
It’s another goal of mine, to be able to afford my own place, hell, my own life without the Kay family name attached to it. With a promotion and a new title, I’ll be able to.
Heading into the second bedroom, I rifle through the closet I never use. Business attire, designer gowns, and high heels worth more than some people’s rent. There’s a gap on my shoe rack where my patent-leather white Louboutins typically sit, but the memory of Isaiah carrying them around Vegas has me hesitant to put them back in this closet. At this point, I want to forget what few memories I have of that night.
I slip on a black pair instead, cramming my feet into the narrow channel before throwing on a camel-colored blazer and black cigarette pants.
I raided this closet for Mallory’s bachelorette party, but other than that, I can’t remember the last time I dressed in my “old” clothes. They’re reserved for mandatory social gatherings, whether that be an excessive dinner at my childhood home, or charity balls my mother likes to host to convince her wealthy friends she cares about someone other than herself, when we all know she only hosts them as a tax write-off.
But my lawyer works for my family, and showing up in my daily uniform of athletic gear would get back to my mother. She’s already going to lose her mind when she hears about what I did this weekend, but I’d rather have a solution before she even learns about the problem.
I’m not sure why their opinion of me matters to me so much. But it always has. I got the best education I could. Became a doctor instead of stopping early and taking a different path in sports medicine. Agreed to marry a man I didn’t want to, simply because my parents told me to.
I barely know my mother. I grew up going to boarding schools and while I was home in the summer, I was raised by nannies. My presence was required for public events, but other than that, we lived completely separate lives.
The same goes for my relationship with my father, and when he died, I didn’t even cry at his funeral. It would’ve felt like crying at a stranger’s funeral.
That’s probably why Connor always called me cold.
My mother married Dean’s father after that. He was my father’s business partner, so it made sense, from a monetary standpoint, that they marry.
My engagement to Connor was for the sake of business as well. Dean wasn’t going to take over the family business, so it was my responsibility to marry someone who would.
It’s all business moves.
However, my marriage to Isaiah Rhodes is most definitely not a business move.
And there’s a part of me, even though I know it was a mistake, that loves that small act of rebellion.
While yes, Connor and I were set up by our parents, it was still eight years of my life, and it hurt my pride when he ended things.
He was vocal that the split was my fault. I wasn’t around. I lived in Chicago when he and my parents were based in New York. I traveled for my job. I’d barely touch him when we were in the same city. The list of my issues is much longer than that, but that’s the gist of what he mentioned during our breakup.
But now that I’ve had some time to process, the realization has finally sunk in that I’m no longer bound by some kind of familial duty. I get to marry whomever I want. I get to date. I get to be a normal woman in her thirties.
I just have to get this pesky little annulment out of the way first.
My phone vibrates on the counter, this time with an unknown Chicago phone number. The family lawyer is flying in from New York, so I assume this is him using a local office.
“Paul?” I ask as soon as I answer.
“Umm . . .” The woman on the other end hesitates. “No, this is Denise.
Mr. Remington’s assistant.”
Mr. Remington. Archer Remington. The owner of the Windy City Warriors.
“He’s requesting a meeting with you.”
Fuck.
I want to tell myself that maybe it’s not a bad thing. Maybe he’s meeting with his entire staff before the season starts. Maybe it has nothing to do with the fact that I broke company policy by not only fraternizing with one of the players, but marrying his shortstop.
But in my gut, I know that I’m entirely fucked.
I swallow. “Okay. I can do that. Would tomorrow work for him?” “He needs to see you immediately.”
“Today?”
“In one hour. He’ll be meeting with both you and Mr. Rhodes at the same time.”
And there it is.
I’m fired. I’m done.
But how the hell did he find out?
None of the guys from the team seem to be the type to tattle even if Isaiah did decide to open his big mouth and spill the beans.
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
“See you soon, Ms. Ka—” Denise clears her throat. “Mrs. Rhodes.”
The only two things I’m thinking as I hang up the phone are that I’m about to be unemployed and that I never want to hear someone call me “Mrs. Rhodes” ever again.
The halls of the Warriors’ front offices are empty. The click of my heels against the marble floor is the only thing I can hear in my ringing ears as I walk to my fate. I cannot believe that after three years of putting up with Dr. Fredrick’s sexist bullshit, after grinding and waiting for a position to open somewhere else in the league, I’m going to be fired when I’m only months away from final interviews for my dream job.
I was so incredibly irresponsible this weekend. I’m never rash or reckless.
But the man who fits those adjectives perfectly is standing at the end of the hall, waiting for me.
“Damn,” Isaiah exhales when I meet him outside of Denise’s office. “You look . . .” He whistles.
He, on the other hand . . .
“Really, Rhodes? Your socks don’t even match. You couldn’t have tried to at least look presentable to watch me get fired?”
Looking down, he studies his socks in confusion before returning his attention to me.
“You’re not allowed to be a brat right now. I’m still pissed at you about the other morning. And you’re not going to get fired, Kenny.”
“Don’t.” I hold my hand up to stop him. “Don’t try to make me feel better about this. We both know what’s about to happen in there. We both know one of us is going to lose their job and seeing as you have the team’s best batting average, I’d make an educated guess and say it’s not going to be you.”
An annoying smirk tilts on his lips. “Keeping an eye on my stats, huh?” “This isn’t funny, Isaiah. Everything I’ve worked for is about to get
ripped away from me, so for once in your life, can you grow up and realize there are consequences to your actions?”
“Oh, here we go.” He scoffs a laugh. “My actions? I don’t remember forcing you to walk down the aisle or say, ‘I do.’ If I recall, you seemed pretty fucking excited about the prospect of telling your stepsister and your ex that you tied the knot before them. So don’t you dare put this all on me, Kennedy.”
I knew that’d piss him off. Maybe that’s why I said it. He’s never been mad at me. I don’t think I’ve seen him get mad at anyone. It’s nice to know that he’s got a bite to him.
“Our actions,” I correct. “And I moved our meeting back with my lawyer to eleven. We can go straight from here.”
“Great.” His voice is even, frustrated.
“Isaiah, I didn’t mean that you were the reason—”
“It’s fine, Kennedy. We’ll go get the annulment papers drafted as soon as this is over, and you can go back to pretending I don’t exist.” His jaw flexes. “How the hell did Remington find out anyway?”
“I thought maybe someone from the team told him.”
“Only Trav and Cody know, but they’re not going to snitch. And Kai, but he didn’t even want to tell Miller.”
How the hell am I ever going to look at those three again? Travis and Cody I can handle, but Kai . . . God, what is he going to think of me?
I’ve always respected Kai. He took care of Isaiah when they were kids. He took care of his son when Max was left at his doorstep. He’ll probably hate me for this. Isaiah is not only his little brother, but also his best friend.
Before I can think deeper into it, the door to Denise’s office opens. “Mr.
Remington will see you now.”
We silently enter and I don’t breathe as Isaiah pulls the chair out for me to sit across from the team’s owner, and the oxygen still doesn’t come when he takes the seat next to mine.
The clock on the wall ticks, making it the only sound in the otherwise silent office, which only adds to the overwhelming tension filling the room.
Mr. Remington sits in silence, fingers steepled under his chin and watching us.
The clock ticks its timely beat, grating on my fragile nerves.
His desk is large and overwhelming even in his giant office, which includes a wall of windows with a million-dollar view above one of the most iconic parks in the league. His other wall is full of banners from the years the Warriors have won it all. There’s a single framed photo of him and his late wife, his son and daughter-in-law, and his only granddaughter, who is rumored to be taking over the family legacy as team owner soon, seeing as Arthur Remington is in his seventies and would be retired already if his son had any desire to work with the team.
“I heard you two had a great time in Las Vegas this weekend,” are the first words uttered out of his mouth.
Shit.
Isaiah and I both stay frozen in our seats. The tick of the clock only gets louder.
“I have an old friend who owns the Chicago Tribune. He and I have an agreement that if there’s any news related to my team or my organization, he will give me a warning before it goes to print.” Mr. Remington turns the computer screen on his desk to face us. “This is going to be the cover of tomorrow’s sports section.”
Right there, blown up on the screen, is a full-color photo of Isaiah and me outside of the little chapel where we drunkenly said some vows. I’m in my white dress, denim jacket, and Vans. He’s in black slacks and a black button-up. He’s got me tucked under one arm, holding me close to him, the
other fisted in the air in victory, dangling my white high heels above his head.
I don’t remember much of this moment, other than a random stranger on the street snapping our photo, but regardless of how blurry my memory is, it’s clear by the way I’m looking up at Isaiah that I’m just as happy as he is to be there.
Both my arms are around his waist, my cheek is resting on his chest. I’ve even got a single foot popped like the main character in some kind of rom- com, for goodness’ sake.
It’s evident, right there on the computer screen, that none of this is his fault. I wanted it too. There was no coercion. No pressure. I was a fully complying participant—a stoked one, by the looks of it.
In big block letters across the top, the article reads “CHICAGO SHORTSTOP MARRIES LONG-TIME LOVE IN LAS VEGAS.”
I choke on my own saliva.
If I could find my voice through the shock of this moment, I’d ask what the hell that meant, but I can’t even find the oxygen to breathe. All I can do is stare at the computer screen with my fate displayed in full color.
Through the silence, I continue to read a direct quote from the man at my side.
The subhead reads, “I’M FINALLY MARRYING THE GIRL I’VE BEEN OBSESSED WITH FOR YEARS.”
I vaguely remember him saying that, but that’s not what he meant. He hasn’t loved me all this time. He simply had a superficial crush on someone he doesn’t even know, and now all of Chicago is going to think that their starting shortstop and I had some kind of long-term secret relationship.
A foot nudges mine and I look up to find Isaiah watching me.
You okay? he mouths.
I simply shake my head in response, and instantly watch the spark of fire ignite in his eyes.
He clears his throat, sits up straighter, and looks right at Mr. Remington when he says, “I don’t see what the problem is here.”
I can feel my eyes widening in disbelief because though I know Isaiah is typically the team clown, he’s not stupid.
“The problem here, Mr. Rhodes, is that you and Miss Kay clearly broke the organization’s code of conduct. Casual relationships between players
and staff are not only against the rules, but cause for termination.” And there it is.
Everything I’ve worked for is about to be thrown out the window because of one drunken mistake.
“I have no choice here,” he continues. “You both signed agreements that you’d follow our code of conduct. Kennedy, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to—”
“You said casual relationships are cause for termination,” Isaiah interrupts him. “Look at the headline. You see what was quoted. I’ve been in love with her for years. There’s nothing casual about this.”
What the hell is he doing?
Isaiah reaches for my hand, and holds it tight enough to disguise my reflexive flinch.
“I’m sorry we didn’t come to you or HR sooner, but Kennedy and I have been involved with each other for quite a while now. We planned a Vegas elopement. There’s nothing casual about our marriage, and there’s nothing against team policy that says a husband and wife can’t work together.” He laces his fingers through mine, really selling the whole thing. “In fact, you remember Oscar Henderson, our old catcher? His wife was the team photographer. There’s nothing different about our situation than theirs. Kennedy is the best trainer we have on staff, and you can’t let her go just because she finally put me out of my misery and let me marry her.”
I’m no longer the only one sitting in this office stunned silent. Arthur Remington is too.
His white eyebrows cinch in confusion. “You eloped without your brother there? I can’t believe that.”
Isaiah pops his shoulder as if he’s had the answer to this rehearsed for days. “Kennedy is an only child. It would have been strange if I were the only one to have someone with me.”
“And your rings?” Mr. Remington zeroes in on our bare left hands. I hadn’t realized Isaiah took his ring off too. “Where are your rings from the photo?”
“Getting resized,” Isaiah says without missing a beat.
I exhale a laugh and quickly cover it with a cough, hoping to God that Mr. Remington’s eyesight is too poor to realize we’re both wearing plastic wedding bands in the picture on his computer screen.
Isaiah squeezes my hand and for the first time since that night in Vegas, I feel like we’re in this together.
“You’d be making a mistake, Mr. Remington. Kennedy is not only great at her job, but the entire team loves having her on staff. Nothing has changed. The only difference between today and last season is that now I get to call her my wife.”
How is he so good at this? Thinking on his feet with an answer for everything. He’s so convincing that even I almost believe him.
“Miss Kay, is this true?”
Is this true? Hell no, this isn’t true. For years, this man at my side has driven me nuts with how impulsively he lives his life, doing whatever sounds fun to him that day. It’s vastly different from the way I’ve been allowed to spend my last thirty years.
Only now, his impulsiveness is what’s saving my job.
As the owner of the team waits for my answer, the only thing I can think of is the position waiting for me at the end of the season. How badly I want to prove to Dr. Fredrick that he made a mistake all those years ago by not allowing me to work at my full potential simply because of my gender. I want to prove to myself that I can do it. I want to prove to all the other girls out there that want to work in sports that there’s room for us too.
It’s what has me looking up from my lap, making eye contact with the man who holds my future in his hands and correcting him. “Mrs. Rhodes, actually.” The words taste like acid. “Yes, it’s true. This thing between Isaiah and me has been going on for years.”
Not a complete lie. This thing could mean a lot of different things.
For example, we have this thing where he blatantly hits on me, and I ignore him.
Mr. Remington’s face is frozen in shock.
Would we be liable if our lie caused a seventy-six-year-old man to go into cardiac arrest? I should ask the family lawyer today when we meet with him.
“Okay,” Mr. Remington relents. “Okay. Well, I think it’s safe to say that I did not imagine this outcome when this article came across my desk this morning.”
Isaiah’s thumb runs along the skin of mine and while Mr. Remington isn’t paying attention, I pull my hand away and tuck them both between my
legs.
“There will be some rules, however. You must stay professional while at work. You two are an athlete and a member of the medical staff while here at the field. On the road, I understand that’s a lot of time together. I don’t expect you to keep your hands to yourselves for ten to fourteen days at a time.” He chuckles heartily. “That’d be a long time, especially while in the honeymoon phase. So, we’ll make the same rule for you two as we did for the Hendersons when they worked for us. During baseball hours, you are trainer and athlete, and during your off hours, you’re free to be husband and wife.”
There will be no difference in the way Isaiah and I interact during baseball and non-baseball hours on the road, and at Mr. Remington’s age, he can no longer physically keep up with the team’s travel schedule, so he’ll never know the difference.
“If,” he continues, “heaven forbid, something happens and you two no longer find yourselves in a relationship, I don’t see how it’d work to keep you both employed here. Not to put pressure on you two, but I don’t see any outcome, other than having to let one of you go.”
“We understand, sir.” Isaiah speaks for us while I’m still mulling over those words.
If this doesn’t work, someone is getting fired.
I’m getting fired.
But do I even want this to work? I can hardly think straight right now.
Too much is happening too quickly.
“All right, you two. Well, thanks for coming in. I’ll see you both around the clubhouse. Exciting week, huh? Baseball is back.” He finishes with a playful fist hitting his desk.
With that, we both offer him placating smiles, do the same to Denise on our way out, before closing the door and leaving ourselves alone in the hallway.
“What the hell just happened?” is all I can manage to say.
Isaiah puts his hand on my back, at a completely respectful height to usher me away, but still, I jerk away at the unexpected contact.
“Sorry.” He quickly takes his hand away. “But I think we should talk about this away from the offices.”
He moves, giving me space to walk by him, and follows behind until we’re far enough away.
“I can’t do this,” I admit to both him and myself. “I can’t pretend that what we did this weekend wasn’t just one big, drunken mistake.”
“Yes, you can, Kenny. It’s one season. Seven months if we make it to the postseason.”
“Then what? We get a divorce and one of us gets fired? And by one of us, I mean me.”
“You get the job in California. The distance doesn’t work for us. We divorce amicably. No one in the front offices will even give a shit once you’re working for a different team.”
“And if I don’t get the job? If I’m still here next year?” He rolls his eyes. “You’re getting the job, Ken.”
Isaiah’s voice is so even, so sure. The rarely serious Isaiah tends to be very serious when it comes to his confidence in me.
“Why would you go along with this?” I ask.
“Why would I go along pretending that the wedding I had with this girl I’ve had a crush on for years is legitimate? Why would I force myself to spend time with her for an entire season to make sure she lands her dream job at the end of it? Hmm, I’m not sure, Kenny. Let’s think about that.”
“Isaiah,” I sigh in resignation, because there’s no reason he should have a crush on me. After all these years, I haven’t done anything to make him like me. “You don’t even know me.”
“Everybody begins as strangers.”
“And it doesn’t bother you that I can’t really stand you most of the time?”
There’s a playful glint in his brown eyes. “I think that’s what I like most about you.”
“You like what you can’t have,” I correct.
“Nah. I just like annoying you. You get that flat line across your lips and that death glare. Very hot, Ken.”
My eyes roll.
“Mmm,” he moans. “The eye roll too.”
“Please try to be serious for once in your life. If we do this, I’m basically using you.”
“Sounds terrible. Please, Kennedy, use me all you want.”
“I can’t . . .” I gesture between us. “I won’t be able to fake this.”
I couldn’t even pretend for a legitimate relationship, let alone a fake one.
He shrugs his shoulders. “You heard Remington. We have to be professional while here at the field, and it’s not like he travels with us anymore. He’ll never see us during our time off.”
He’s really thought this all through. And he’s doing all of this for me.
Isaiah gets nothing out of this arrangement.
Arrangement. This is yet another arrangement. I’m accustomed to arrangements.
It makes the idea a bit easier to swallow.
“You just did that all for me, but I thought you were mad at me?”
“I am.” He runs a hand through his hair, causing the veins in his forearm to flex. “Doesn’t mean I want you to lose your job.”
“You’d be married to someone as a business arrangement, you know? One day, you’re going to have to tell other women that technically, you’re a divorcé.”
He holds eye contact. “I’m not worried about other women. Haven’t been for a long time.”
That’s not true in the slightest.
Isaiah Rhodes has had plenty of women to worry about in the years I’ve known him.
I stand straighter, arms crossed over my chest. Part of me wants to hug him for doing this for me, and part of me wants to talk both of us out of this madness.
But we don’t have to pretend to be in love. We don’t have to put on a show. We have to remain professional. Maybe we’ll need to arrive in the same car to keep up appearances, but other than that, we shouldn’t have to fake much of anything.
Maybe this could work.
“Kennedy,” Isaiah says, pulling my attention to him. “I’m going to need you to loosen up and look at the bright side here. We just kept your job. Nothing has to change except wearing a ring on that finger.” He points to my left hand. “You still got yours?”
I chew my lip. “Maybe.” “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”
I glare at him. “Yes. I still have the ring.”
Isaiah smirks at that.
“I haven’t gotten around to tossing it yet.” “Sure.”
“They look like they’re out of a vending machine.”
He huffs a laugh. “I’m pretty sure they are. I’ll work on getting you something different.”
“Hold up.” I lift my hand to stop him. “I haven’t agreed to this yet. We need to think this through. You need to think this through.”
“I’ve thought it through. I’m good with it.”
“Isaiah, I’m serious. If we do this, you understand what this is, right? We’re not in any kind of a relationship here. This is a business arrangement that will end in six or seven months.”
“A business arrangement,” he parrots. “Whoever said romance was dead?”
“I need some time to think this over.”
“Well, while you’re making your decision, I’ll work on getting you a ring.”
“Isaiah—”
“Don’t worry. You’ll like what I get you.” I raise a brow. “How very cocky of you.”
“That’s not me being cocky. That’s me telling you how it’s going to be. I’ll let you be a brat about a lot of things, but you’re not allowed to be a brat about this.”
He holds his hands up, index fingers outstretched as they reach for my face, bringing them to my lips. Each one tugs at the corners of my mouth, pulling up my frown and flipping it into a smile.
“Smile, Kenny. We just saved your job.”
He’s forcing me to smile, and he couldn’t be more pleased about how stupid we look, judging by the mirroring grin on his own lips.
He’s strikingly handsome when he smiles, but then again, Isaiah Rhodes is always smiling, even when he doesn’t want to.
With that, he rounds my body to head towards the exit, but before he goes, he turns, putting his chest to my back. I can sense his domineering height. Can feel his overwhelming body heat.
Isaiah’s breath tickles the back of my neck, and every nerve in my body comes to life, including the ones between my legs that I wasn’t sure
worked.
“Just think of this as one big game.” His tone is low and deep when he leans down to my ear and whispers, “C’mon wife. Play along.”
