False Start (Mavericks #1)

  False Start

  The Mavericks Series

  Julianna Marley

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon in The Mavericks Series…

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016 by Julianna Marley

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book, False Start: The Mavericks Series, is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and/or events are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or not living, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise; except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

  Cover Design: Shannoff Formats

  Dedication

  For my biggest supporter and my tiniest fan.

  The two halves of my heart,

  Jason & Jocelyn.

  “Always have enough courage to trust love one more time.”

  Prologue

  “No. No, not tonight!”

  Alivia Moore panicked, throwing the beige blanket off of her warm legs. Well, she did it again. She somehow managed to accidentally doze off into a very ill-timed, but oh so wonderful, late afternoon nap and now she was late. As usual. She wondered if she should finally visit the doctor for this.

  Chronic lateness.

  That was a real thing, right?

  Checking her phone, she threw her black yoga pants, which ironically enough had never actually seen a day of yoga in their life, across the room scrolling through the string of distressed text messages from her assistant, Ross. Promising she would be at the hotel in an hour tops, she dropped her phone onto the bed running to the bathroom for the world’s quickest shower, wondering what type of superpower she was going to need to possess this time to beat traffic and make good on her promise to him. She had no intentions of taking a nap, but to be completely honest, she wasn’t all that surprised either. She was exhausted. No, better yet, utterly drained. All she had to do was get through tonight’s affair and she could give herself a much deserved “mini-break.”

  Sixty minutes later, she could just about resist the urge to run past the iron clad gates of the Grand Barcelona Hotel. Towering over all the other buildings in the unmatched historic district of Charleston, the hotel was simply regal. Reaching the soaring glass doors, she reminded herself that she, in fact, was not Cinderella running into the grand ball, as she slowed her pace. She needed to project calmness and composure if she had any hopes of pulling off the largest coordinated event she had ever been hired for thus far.

  Walking through the remarkably polished atrium towards the ballroom that held with it the future of her professional career, the ball of nerves that had taken up permanent residency inside her stomach since taking on the risky account decided to flood back by the hundreds. But for as nervous as she was about the event, she was just as eager to see it all come to life. She had spent the last forty-eight hours inside that room directing a long stream of florists and caterers, lighting personnel and music crews, but this time it was different. It felt different. It was finally time to show this city exactly what she was made of.

  And she wanted to be sick.

  Stepping inside the entrance of the ballroom, she didn’t feel so much like a Disney princess, perhaps more of a fairy godmother as she admired the considerably large room, delighted that the vision she had spent the better part of a month constructing inside her head had not only come to life, but looked even better than she had envisioned. Walking past a round table, she ran her finger lightly over the pitch black tablecloth paired with the fine gold china and crisp white linen napkins. The table settings complimented the spectacular white hydrangea centerpieces towering over each table, tying the black and white affair together beautifully. The staff waited around the room in white gloves holding gold plated trays of Monet with blackberry garnish and petite hors d’oeuvres causing her stomach to rumble reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since morning.

  Rolling up the sleeves of her fitted blazer, she checked the time, seeing that guests would be arriving shortly. Casting an eye over to the band who were finishing up fine tuning their instruments, she couldn’t help worry about how the evening would ultimately turn out. Was she going to make a complete mess of everything? Leave nothing but unsatisfied guests and a disappointed host? Charity events were not her normal kind of self-inflicted pain. No, she preferred a different type of punishment like manic brides and spoiled, rich teenagers. But tonight had to be different. Everything needed to be spectacular. The décor on point, the food exceptional and the entertainment even more impressive. The event had to be worthy of the three-hundred dollars a plate the guests were paying to attend.

  Being asked to take over the account a month ago, she knew couldn’t turn down the opportunity to design and organize such a respected affair. Aside from benefitting abused women and children, the dinner was being hosted by the new quarterback of the Carolina Mavericks football team. Landing a National Football League charity was like hitting the flipping lottery in the event planning world and when his assistant called her in an anxious fit because the previous planner bailed to travel the world on a meditation journey to Costa Rica, she assured the panic stricken woman that she and Ross would not disappoint.

  “Finally!” Turning around she found her assistant taking large strides towards her, lowering his voice. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I’m sorry, this week finally caught up with me and I fell asleep,” she said, biting on her freshly painted nails, a nervous habit since grade school. “So what’s the emergency?”

  Previous affairs had taught her that even the best orchestrated events could carry with them the potential of catastrophes, like the head chef walking out or the bride showing up completely strung out on anxiety medication.

  “Seating.” Ross interrupted her terror, quickly bringing her up to speed about a sports agent who was in some hot water with three of the players on the team, resulting in termination of his contract. The player’s assistants were demanding that they be seated at a different table, far away from the questionable agent. Thinking quickly on her feet, or her Jimmy Choo pumps rather, she managed some last minute seating adjustments, ensuring everyone would be satisfied and comfortable. Because her career depended on it.

  Placing the last revised seating card on a round table, she looked over at Ross idly playing on his phone.

  “How are you so calm?” she asked. She was in a fit of nerves while he just stood there trying to excel to the next level in Angry Birds.

  “I’m not worried,” he said, finally looking up from his phone. “We put together a great event and it hasn’t even started yet.”

  She wanted to roll her eyes, but maybe he was right. Maybe she was putting
too much pressure on herself to make this dinner perfect, instead of just doing what she did best and throw a great party. Or maybe she was in way over her head? Some of the wealthiest people in the city were attending this dinner and the children’s center was counting on a large contribution. Tonight could not be a massive disappointment.

  “You really believe that?” she asked, glancing over at movement by the entrance of the ballroom.

  “Yes. I do,” he assured her, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. “Rule one in this business, sweetheart,” he narrowed his eyes. “You must be confident in your abilities and just roll with it. You have worked too hard for this.” He said, pushing a piece of hair out of her face. “Heck…we’ve worked too hard for this. So just relax and enjoy tonight.”

  Nodding, she stole another glance over his shoulder at the ballroom door. Ross was right.

  She hated when he was right.

  “You’re right. Everything will be fine,” she recited, pulling for some kind of confidence she wasn’t even sure she had. She had worked around the clock as four whole seasons passed by in order to get her business off the ground and between the sleepless nights, sacrificed weekends, and the neglected holidays, she spent most days questioning if she had made a huge mistake moving to a new city and starting this business. This account fell into her lap and she was certain that it had the ability to catapult her career. That, or completely destroy it.

  “By the way,” Ross said, giving her a once over taking in her tailored black pencil dress. “You look fabulous tonight, bitch.”

  Chuckling, she waved him off. She had been so anxious when she arrived that she hadn’t even noticed Ross’s newest ensemble. The one that he had dragged her to seven different stores around town before finally finding “the one.” Inspecting his black fitted Ralph Lauren tuxedo in appreciation, her eyes stopped at the sea foam colored bow-tie resting snugly around his trim neck.

  “Ross. I told you a thousand times, this is a black tie event, what’s with the bowtie?” she asked, lowering her voice as the first guests flowed into the room, already knowing his response.

  “Don’t be jealous just because I look hot,” he bit back dismissively. Ross’s style tended to be eccentric, at best. Always discovering new ways to infuse bright colors into his wardrobe, ensuring that people knew he understood style. She did have to give him a little bit of credit though, outrageous bowtie or not, he did look great.

  “Here, a toast,” he said ignoring her, taking two glasses of champagne off of a gold plated tray from a young waiter. “To us!” he smiled, raising the crystal glass slightly. “May tonight put us on the map in the event planning world,” he grinned tapping her glass lightly before taking a sip. “I mean, really,” he squinted against the bite of the tart liquid. “How awful could things really get with a room full of sexy football players, anyway?”

  “No, Ross!” she spat louder than she intended, nearly spitting champagne all over his patent pointed toes shoes. “The last thing I need to worry about tonight is you coming onto very large and very heterosexual football players.”

  “Oh hun, lighten up, it‘s a party.”

  Yeah, easy for Ross to say. He was accustomed to planning lavish and over the top events. When he answered her advertisement online about hiring an assistant planner with experience, she never expected Ross to be the one to walk through her office door on that exceptionally hot day. He had worked with some of the best designers in the city and planned events that she could only have dreamed of. When he told her that he wanted to be a significant part of a growing business where his concepts and designs would be appreciated, she had hired him on the spot. Which only added to the pressure that was building on her chest. Not only did she have to make tonight a success for her own career, but for Ross’s as well.

  “Plus it would do you some good to possibly find a man who’s skilled with his hands to have a little bit of fun with,” he said eyeing her over the thin rim of his champagne glass. “Maybe one who can possibly remove that stick out of your ass?”

  Narrowing her eyes, she resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him like a four year old. There was no stick up her ass! Was there? Sure it had been a long time since her last date with what’s his name? The one with the weird ear fetish. Wait, no, maybe it was the guy who suggested going to a strip club after dinner? Whoever it was, she wasn’t walking around nasty and bitter. Was she? Before having a chance to even defend herself and her nonexistent love life, Ross placed his glass on an empty tray heading towards the ballroom doors.

  “Alright lovey, work your magic. I’m going to escort the rest of our guests past the local media frenzy outside.” He disappeared through the double doors, leaving her and her apparent lodged stick to the dim lit ballroom filling quickly with an array of hard-bodied men. Men who looked anything but comfortable wearing tuxedos as women in designer gowns hung on their arms basking in their admiration.

  Taking a deep breath, she started towards a large group of guests welcoming them to the most pivotal night of her career, and wondering where in the world the host of the evening was?

  1

  Studying the magnificent grand ballroom, a small semblance of hope washed over Alivia as she watched guests sip their cocktails complimenting on how beautiful everything looked. The mood inside the room was gratifying. Regardless of the ballroom being divided; the large bar attracting a younger crowd while bartenders flipped specialty drinks and the older gentlemen with their classically inspired wives engaged in conversation close to the silent auction table, the room had filled quickly with a lot of laughter and enthusiasm.

  Looking around once more, she searched for any kind of sign that the host of the evening had arrived. She had never met Mr. Monaghan. Only ever heard of the great football hero. Being fairly new in town and spending all her time jumpstarting her career hadn’t left much time to have a social life outside of eating, sleeping and the business. Even most of the boxes inside her apartment were still half full, cluttering the small space. She had only talked to him twice on the phone, when he claimed that he didn’t care about color schemes, entertainment or food. “Just make it good,” he had ordered before hanging up quickly. Given carte blanche was not something she was used to, her normal work included control hungry brides breathing down her neck, or a local country club member demanding their event outshine their peers. She was grateful he had given her full reign of the event, allowing her to fine tune her design skills, but maybe it wouldn’t have killed her to have Googled him before tonight. To maybe distinguish what particular rough face she was looking for in a room packed with football players.

  With a hand on her arm getting her attention, she turned around to find her best friend, Chelsea smiling back at her, as usual. Her jet black hair pulled back slightly off her face only added sophistication to the very modest, black and white floor length gown she was wearing, her tiny hand wrapped inside her boyfriend Trevor’s.

  “Hey lady!” Chelsea smiled enveloping her into a big hug and she couldn’t resist smiling.

  “Look at you!” she took Chelsea’s hand, forcing her do a small twirl to appreciate her entire gown. “You’re exquisite!”

  She had to give her best friend props. Chelsea Shaw was a jeans, t-shirt and sneaker kind of girl. One whom preferred her hair pulled back in a ponytail and who rarely wore a stitch of make-up on her naturally innocent face. Being friends with her so long, she knew that most days Chelsea just rolled out of bed picture-perfect. Not Alivia though. Nope. Concealer was a necessity to cover the bags under her eyes from lack of sleep. Ever the one to complain about how she never felt comfortable with most of the other players’ girlfriends who favored chit chat about make-up and spa recommendations, Chelsea blended into the high society crowd effortlessly tonight.

  “This place seriously looks incredible, Liv,” Chelsea smiled admiring the room. “You and Ross outdid yourselves.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled easing up a bit. Chelsea was the closest th
ing to family she had here in Charleston and sharing this professional milestone with her made everything seem less nerve-wracking, if it were even possible.

  “You look very handsome tonight, Mr. Perry,” Alivia said shaking Trevor’s arm, loosening him up. The Mavericks tight end looked exceptionally handsome, his black hair slicked back off his cleanly shaved face for once. His solid frame towering over Chelsea’s, he tugged, loosening the knot of his tie, looking nothing short of a bored eight-year old boy sitting in Sunday mass. Knowing Trevor well enough, she knew for a fact that champagne and black tie affairs were not his idea of a good time.

  “Relax, will ya,” she said playfully. “It’s a party.”

  Nope. Tuxedos and photo ops were definitely not Trevor Perry’s scene.

  “Now why does an ape like this get to have two beautiful women hanging on his arm and I have none?”

  Turning around to a familiar voice behind her, she came face to chest with a large body covered in white cotton and black wool belonging to a man easily a head and a half taller than her. Stepping back, she lifted her chin looking up into a pair of green eyes so intense, she almost missed the grin gracing his smooth face, resting above an indestructible jaw. With eyes, a mouth, and a chest powerful enough to leave her breathless for the first time in her twenty-five years of living. Through the light buzzing in her ears, she could hear Chelsea chuckle, as he reached a long arm out to shake Trevor’s hand, not taking his eyes from hers. Which was good because she wasn’t ready to pull her gaze from the ridiculously tall man who suddenly seemed to be taking up all the space inside the 9,000 square foot ballroom. His massive body visible even through his perfectly fitted tuxedo. The type of build that only came from long hours of physical work.

  “Where is your flavor of the month, Captain?” Chelsea snickered, looking up at him. Laughing with all the ease in the world, his lips turned into a small, assured smile for her viewing pleasure. Who was he? Surely, she would have remembered meeting him before. And he seemed to know Chelsea and Trevor well too. Maybe a Mavericks player? With those hands, definitely a Mavs player.