is wealthier than some of the ladies he’s dated,” Carole pointed out. “But I hope she’s just stirring trouble with us and not—” She stopped speaking suddenly and leaned forward. “Wait. Did he just say he has a personal announcement? What is he doing?”
From across the room, Adelaide noticed all of the PR coordinator’s focus was on the lectern where Dempsey was facing down the media.
The audience sat in stillness, making her wonder what she’d missed. In the hushed moment, Dempsey held the room captive as always, but more anticipation than usual pinged through the crowd. She could see it in their body language, as the journalists sat straighter in their seats, all dialed in to whatever it was the Hurricanes’ head coach was about to say.
“I got engaged today.” He announced it as matter-of-factly as if he’d just read the latest update on a linebacker’s injury report.
Murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd of sportswriters while Adelaide reeled with shock. Engaged?
The floor seemed to shift beneath her feet. She reached behind her, searching for something to steady herself. He’d never mentioned an engagement. Her chest hurt with the weight of how little he trusted her. How little he cared about their old friendship. How much this new betrayal hurt, not to even know the most basic detail of his personal life—
“To my personal assistant,” he continued, his gaze landing on her. “Adelaide Thibodeaux.”
Adelaide reeled back on her high heels.
Dempsey had just publicly declared an engagement. To her.
The man who was so cautious about every aspect of his personal life. The man who trusted her never to betray him even though he’d betrayed her in a million little ways over the years. How could he?
In her ear, Adelaide heard Carole squeal a congratulations. A few other members of the press who knew her—women, mostly, who were still vastly outnumbered in the football community—turned around to acknowledge her. Or maybe just study her to see what renowned bachelor Dempsey Reynaud would find appealing in the very average and wholly unknown Adelaide Thibodeaux.
Of course, the answer was obvious. She had no appeal other than the fact that Dempsey didn’t want her to leave the team. And he was a man who always got his way.
She’d naively thought she could just turn her back on her job as his assistant and start a company that would rely upon good relations with the Hurricanes and the league in general for securing merchandising rights down the road. Something she couldn’t afford to jeopardize if she wanted her company to be a success.
If she stood up and challenged him, she’d lose team support instantly. She didn’t dare contradict him. At least not publicly. And no question, Dempsey absolutely knew that, as well.
Realization settled in her gut as smoothly and firmly as a sideline pass falling into a wide receiver’s hands. She’d been outflanked and outmaneuvered by the smartest play caller in the game.
Her brand-new fiancé.
She needed time to think and regroup before she faced him and blurted out something she would regret. Adelaide darted out of the press conference just as a reporter began quizzing Dempsey about the quarterback’s thumb. She didn’t know what else to do. She lacked Dempsey’s gift for complicated machinations that ruined other peoples’ lives in the blink of an eye. Storming off was the best she could come up with to relay her displeasure and give herself time to think.
She tore off her earpiece even though Carole currently informed her she needed to stick around the building for any follow-up interviews.
Like hell.
Adelaide picked up her pace, heels grinding out a frantic rhythm on the concrete floor as she burst through a metal door leading to the stairwell. She headed down a flight to the custodial level of the dome, taking the route where she was least likely to encounter media.
The sports journalists hadn’t really known what to do with the story about the Hurricanes’ coach getting married. Sure—they would recognize the news value. But in that he-man room full of sports experts, no one would quiz the tersest coach in the league about his love life. They would hand that off to the social pages.
Who, in turn, would eat it up. All four of the Reynaud brothers had been in People magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive list for two years running. The national media would be covering Dempsey’s engagement, too. While she ran away.
She stumbled as her heel broke on the bottom step because her shoes were meant for work, not sprints. Hobbled, she shoved through the door on the ground level just as her phone started vibrating in her bag. She ignored it, trying to think of the most discreet way to reach her car two floors up.
A car engine rumbled nearby. It was the growl of a big SUV—a familiar SUV that slowed as it neared her. Dempsey’s Land Rover, although it had probably never been operated by the owner himself.
Evan, his driver, lowered the tinted passenger window. He could have passed for a gangster with his shaved head, heavily inked chest and arms and frightening number of face piercings; his appearance gave Evan an added advantage in his dual role serving as personal security for their boss.
“Miss Adelaide,” he said, even though she’d told him a half dozen times it made her feel like a kindergarten teacher when he called her that. “Do you need a ride?”
“Thanks, Evan,” she huffed, out of breath more from runaway emotions than the mad dash out of the dome. “My car is on the C level, if you don’t mind bringing me up there.”
Relief washed through her as she limped over to the side of the vehicle. Before she could get there, Evan jumped out the passenger side and jogged around to help her, all two hundred sixty-four pounds of him. Before he blew out a knee, he’d been a top prospect on the Hurricanes’ player roster, one she knew by heart.
She’d worked so hard to impress Dempsey over the years, memorizing endless facts and organizing mountains of information to help him with his job.
Only to be rewarded like this—by having him ignore her notice of resignation, refuse to discuss her concerns and announce a fake engagement to the very industry whose respect her future work depended upon.
“No problem.” Evan tugged open the door and gave her a hand up into the passenger area of the vehicle specially modified to be chauffeur driven, complete with privacy screen. “Happy to help.”
She waited for his knowing grin, certain he’d been listening to the press conference in the garage, but his face gave nothing away, eyes hidden behind a pair of aviator shades.
“I appreciate it.” She tried to smile even though her voice sounded shaky. “I parked on the west side today. Close to the elevators.”
Ticket holders had cleared out after the game, leaving the lot mostly empty now, save for a few hardcore fans that stuck around for autographs. The press parking area was separate, three floors up.
“Got it.” Evan shut the door with a nod and she settled into the perforated leather seats. The bespoke interior was
