***

When Coop awakened the next morning, he was alone and hungover. He dragged his arm across his eyes. For the first time since the club had opened, he’d gotten drunk. It had started a few hours before closing when he’d had a couple of drinks, then a couple more, a few more after that, until he didn’t trust himself to drive home. He’d never been a big drinker, preferring pot in his younger days and, as he’d gotten older, happy with a couple of beers. But last night, as he’d watched Piper moving around the club, things had gotten away from him.

She was everywhere at once—keeping an eye on the guests, the servers, and on him. She’d gotten her way with the bouncers, and one of them was always nearby. It was easier not having to watch his back, but he objected to the principle. Just because he was no longer in the game didn’t mean he couldn’t watch out for himself. He’d growled at Jonah to call off his boys, but the son of a bitch was more afraid of her than of him, and nothing changed.

He wished he could kick her out of this apartment. He needed the place for nights like this. He needed his life back, the way it had been before she’d barged into it.

Something twisted in his gut, the thing he didn’t want to look at. The thing that every day kept pushing closer to the surface. And for no reason. He had everything he wanted. Money. Reputation. He felt physically better than he had in years. As for Spiral . . . The club had been at capacity since they’d reopened three nights ago. And best of all, Deidre had invited him to her farm next Monday. The playful way she’d delivered the invitation suggested his waiting was about to be over. Everything was going his way.

And yet . . . He wasn’t happy.

It was because of Piper.

She had a dream—the same way he did. A single-minded focus that got her out of bed every morning and drove her through the day. A passion. So why did he feel as if his life had become a cloudy reflection in the mirror of hers?

She appeared in the doorway wearing jeans and a snarl. Her hair was still damp, so she must have showered, although he hadn’t heard her. She stood there looking at him. “I can’t do this anymore, Coop.”

He pushed himself up from the pillows. “Could you let me wake up first?”

“I don’t sleep with men who don’t respect me.”

That infuriated him. “Who says I don’t respect you?”

“How could you after the way I screwed up?”

“You sure as hell did.” He jumped naked out of bed and stormed into the bathroom, where he threw himself into the shower again. He hated being backed into a corner, and that’s what she was doing.

He hadn’t been able to fire her because he trusted her—not with his ring, that was for sure—but with his life. Somehow, she’d become the juice that made things worthwhile. Maybe that explained why he was so unhappy.

All his clean clothes were in his office, and he came out in a towel. She, of course, was waiting for him.

“I apologize,” she said.

“You should. Sometimes I think you live to give me a hard time.”

“I’m not apologizing for that. I’m apologizing for trying to have a straightforward conversation with you before you’ve had your coffee.” She held out a steaming mug.

As he took it from her, he realized she was staring at something. Him. It was his chest again. She was a sucker for his chest. And he was only wearing a towel. He took a long swig from the mug and let her look.

She dragged her eyes back to his face. “I don’t understand why you haven’t fired me, and I don’t like feeling that maybe you’re keeping me on because I’m putting out.”

She might as well have slapped him. “That’s bullshit! What kind of scum do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re scum at all.”

“Then why would you say something like that?”

“Because I can’t think of any other reason.”

“How about this? You’re the best bouncer I have.”

Even as the words came out, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. She stared at him with the saddest face he’d ever seen, then she turned and walked away.

He stopped her as she snatched up her messenger bag to leave. “You are, Piper. But that’s not why I didn’t fire you.” Hot coffee splashed on the back of his hand and he sucked it off. “I meant to fire you,” he said, setting down his mug. “You made a big mistake, and I’ve been pissed. But the thing is . . . You’re the underdog who’s willing to work twice as hard as anybody else. And those have always been the kinds of players I like best on my team.”

Until that moment, he hadn’t been able to articulate it, even to himself, but now that he’d said it, he felt better.

She looked a little starry-eyed, which he liked, and then troubled, which he didn’t like. “I appreciate that,” she said. “But the brutal fact is that I’m no closer to getting to the bottom of this than I was when you hired me. And I have no idea what to do next.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because that’s what you do.”

***

Coop’s faith put a knot in her throat the size of a football. She carried it with her all weekend. She couldn’t fail him. She couldn’t. But then she wondered if her determination to prove herself to Coop was all that different from her never-ending battle to win Duke’s approval. No, it was different. Duke’s misguided fear for her safety had kept him from giving her the opportunity she’d craved—the opportunity he’d raised her to take on. Unlike her father, Coop had given her the chance Duke had withheld, and she couldn’t disappoint him.

Monday morning found her in the main office building at the Stars Complex Headquarters in DuPage County. The team logo of three interlocking gold stars in a sky-blue circle was etched into the glass wall of the PR office—the wall that overlooked the building’s main lobby where lighted niches protected by bulletproof glass displayed the team’s major trophies and where visitors signed in at an impressive, crescent-shaped ivory granite reception desk.

With the football season in full swing, the PR office was humming with activity—phones ringing, computer screens glowing, people hurrying in and out. Coop had finally cleared the way for her to go through the mail that had accumulated for him, and a young publicist with cat’s-eye makeup and an earnest manner showed her to the room’s only empty desk and explained the procedure.