“Yes,” I croaked, even though I didn’t. Not by a long shot. “It’s just warm in here. And I… I hardly slept last night.” I cleared my throat, met my father’s gaze, words toppling out of my mouth. “You know how hard I’ve worked and how dedicated I am to the club. Couldn’t you just…” Forget this? Take my side? No questions asked. Be my father.
Andrew Underwood leaned back on his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. “Are you asking me to treat you differently just because you’re my daughter?”
Yes, I wanted to say. Just this once. But the pressure behind my eyes returned, distracting me.
“No.” He sliced the air in front of him with his hand. “I have never done that and will not start now. You’re still an Underwood and you’re better than asking for special treatment after embarrassing me and the whole club.”
Embarrassing. I had embarrassed myself, my father, and the club.
I had always prided myself on not letting my father’s words or actions as my boss affect me. But the ugly truth was that they did. That this, this boss-employee relationship was the only relationship we had.
This was all I had.
“You breached the code of conduct,” he continued. “This grants me grounds to fire you. And I might be doing you a favor, all things considered.”
I flinched.
In response, Andrew Underwood narrowed his eyes as he looked at me. And only after what seemed like an eternity, he let both his hands drop on the desk. “I don’t like the media requests David’s been getting all day.” He tilted his head. “You’re a distraction, so I want you to leave Miami while we fix this.”
David muttered something, but I couldn’t be sure. My father’s words echoed in my head.
Fix this. There was a solution then.
My father stood up from his chair. “Your assistant. What’s her name?”
“Kelly,” David answered for me.
“She’ll take over all communications and media inquiries,” my father continued with a nod. “Adalyn will bring her up to speed before leaving.” He took a step to the right, opening a drawer and looking back at me. “Get a hold on whatever is going on with you and let us do damage control over here.” He stuck the iPad inside. “And I’d rather you not mention this to your mother. If she learns I’ve exiled her only daughter until the end of the season I won’t hear the end of it.”
Exiled.
Until the end of the season.
That was… weeks from now. Months. Away from the Flames and Miami.
I gave him a nod.
“You’ll leave tomorrow. On an assignment. We have a philanthropic initiative that will require your presence and all that newfound… passion of yours.” He paused. “It’s something I’ve actually been thinking about for a while. So I guess now is as good a time as any.” He walked around his desk. “And, Adalyn? I expect you to take this as seriously as your job here. Don’t disappoint me again.”
CHAPTER TWO
Adalyn
“The Green Warriors?”
I sighed, eyeing my phone on the dashboard of my rental.
“Are you sure that’s the name of the team?” Matthew’s voice came through the speaker again. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them.” A pause. “Hold on, is it the Charlotte Warriors?”
“I think I would know if I was being sent to an MLS team like the Charlotte Warriors.” My shoulders sank as I gripped the steering wheel, but I tried to keep my tone as cheery as possible, which right then amounted to drained. “It’s supposed to be a philanthropic project, so think smaller.”
“Smaller, okay,” he murmured, the keys of his laptop sounding in the background. “Isn’t it a little odd that you’re already heading for this place and you don’t even know what for? Shouldn’t you be briefed for something like this?”
“Odd situations call for odd solutions,” I countered. “But I was briefed. I was given a location, a contact, and the name of the team. The problem is that I didn’t have time to research.” Not when I was left with twenty-four hours to get Kelly up to speed before catching my flight. A wave of exhaustion hit me, making me suppress a yawn. “I barely had time to pack.” Or sleep. “Luckily, I know someone who’s good at research and works well on a time crunch because journalism is his job and passion.”
“Career perks,” my best friend muttered, his voice dripping with something I didn’t understand. I frowned, but he continued before I could ask. “And I’ll help you, if you let me tell you what I really think first.”
“I forgot about that career perk,” I deadpanned.
“What I think,” he announced, ignoring my comment, “is that banishing your own daughter over such an idiotic thing is overreacting.”
“Please,” I said with a breath. “Don’t mince your words.”
“I was mincing my words. What I actually believe is that your dad is being a little bitch.”
The tension pulling at my shoulders doubled.
Matthew had never liked my father, just like my father had never liked him. I didn’t blame either of them. They were as different as… chalk and cheese. Day and night. Water and oil. Just like Matthew and I were. The man was outspoken, rowdy, and charming, whereas I—and my father for that matter—was measured, critical, and way too pragmatic to go around life joking about everything like Matthew did. Laughs and giggles didn’t bring in results. Not in my world, at least.
It had always been a wonder how we were even friends. To me, at least. Not to my best friend. He’d been very clear about his intentions since we first crossed paths years ago in the line at Doña Clarita’s Sandwich Shop.
He’d tried to hit on me and I’d looked him up and down before genuinely asking him if he was high. His reaction was raucous laughter, then an I like you. You’ll keep me on my toes.
We somehow became inseparable after that day.
“My father has a point,” I told him. “There’s a mortifying video of me grunting and growling while I rip the head off the mascot of the team I work for.”
“It’s funny. And the world is vicious right now. People are seeing themselves in you. They’re relating to that show of female rage.” Not the female rage again. “If anything, it’s empowering. Definitely not embarrassing.”
Embarrassing.
You’re better than asking for special treatment after embarrassing me and the whole club.
I swallowed, ignoring the way my stomach dropped at the memory of my father’s words. “I think you know better than to try to sugarcoat this for me.”
“I’ve seen worse things online, Addy. So you had a brawl—”
“It wasn’t a brawl,” I interjected, eyeing the maps app on my phone with a frown. “And don’t call me Addy, Matty. You know nicknames make me feel like a child.” It didn’t matter if they came from my ex or my best friend. I simply hated being called anything but Adalyn.
“Fine,” he relented, ignoring my tone. “So it wasn’t a brawl. You had an altercation—”