Married To The Maverick Millionaire

She’d married the same week she turned twenty-four and, thanks to their massive argument about her nuptials—Quinn had loudly and vociferously told her that she’d lost her mind—he’d missed both her birthday and her wedding that year.

“Does the press corps know you are home?” Quinn asked, changing the subject. Like him, Cal had a hate-hate affair with the press.

“Everyone knows. They were at the airport and at the hospital.”

“Remind me again where you flew in from?” It had been a couple of months since they last spoke and, while they exchanged emails regularly, he couldn’t recall where her last project had been. Then again, Cal—as the troubleshooter for her family’s foundation—jumped from project to project, country to country, going where she was needed to ensure everything ran smoothly. She could be in Latin America one week and in the Far East the next. Cal collected frequent-flier miles like politicians collected votes.

“Africa. Lesotho, to be precise. I was working on a project to counter soil erosion.” Cal nodded toward the center island of the kitchen, to his landline and cell phone. “Your cell rang and then your phone. Mac left a voicemail saying that he and Wren and Kade were on the way over to discuss today’s train wreck.” She tipped her head and narrowed her amazing, blue-black eyes. “What trouble have you landed yourself in now, Q?”

Quinn heard Mac’s and Kade’s heavy footsteps on the outside stairs and lifted a shoulder. “You know what they say, Red—the trouble with trouble is that it starts off as fun.”

* * *

After greeting his best friends—who were also his partners, his colleagues—and Wren, the Mavericks’ PR guru, he gestured for them all to take a seat and offered drinks. While he made coffee, Cal was hugged and kissed by his friends and asked how she’d been. It didn’t matter how infrequently they saw her, Quinn mused, she automatically slotted back into his life and was immediately accepted because Mac and Kade understood that, just like they did, Cal had his back.

Quinn delivered mugs of coffee and sighed at their doom-and-gloom faces. He could deal with their anxiety—Mac and Kade constantly worried that he’d kill himself chasing his need for adrenaline—but he didn’t like their frustration and, yeah, their anger. His teammates and their head of publicity were pissed. Again. Not necessarily at him but at the situation he’d found himself in.

He tended to find himself in a lot of situations.

Hell, Quinn thought as he pushed his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair and gathered it into a knot at the back of his head, here we go again.

“Make yourself some coffee, bro. You’re going to need it,” Mac suggested, leaning back and placing his booted foot on his opposite knee.

“I’ll do it,” Cal offered.

Though he appreciated her offer, Quinn shook his head. “Thanks, Red, but I’ve got it.”

Quinn ran his hand over his thick beard as he walked around the island into the kitchen to where his coffee machine stood. He picked up his favorite mug, placed it under the spout and pushed the button for a shot of espresso. The machine gurgled, dispensed the caffeine and Quinn hit the button again. He wanted whiskey, but he supposed that a double espresso would have to do.

“So how did the meeting with Warren go?” he asked as he turned around.

Mac, as forthright as ever, gestured to Cal. “Maybe we should do this in private.”

Cal immediately stood up and Quinn shook his head. “You know that you can talk in front of Cal. What I know she can know. I trust her.”

Mac nodded and rubbed his jaw as Cal sat down again. “Your choice.”

“Warren is less than happy with you and he’s considering pulling out of the deal.”

Quinn gripped the granite island to keep his balance, feeling like a forty-foot wave had passed under the bow of the yacht. “What?”

“And why?” Cal demanded, his shock echoed on her face. “What has Quinn done?”

“Is this about the interview Storm gave?” Quinn asked.

“Partly,” Kade replied.

Quinn took a sip of his coffee, planted his feet apart and looked out to the water. Earlier in the week he’d woken up to the news that his three-week stand had, a month after he ended it, decided to share the intimate, ugly details of their affair and final breakup. Storm tearfully told the world, on an extremely popular morning breakfast show, that Quinn was emotionally unavailable, that he constantly and consistently cheated on her. For those reasons, she now needed intensive therapy.

None of it was true, but she’d sounded damn convincing.

He’d been played; the world was still being played. He’d made it very clear to her that he wasn’t looking for a relationship—and three weeks did not constitute a relationship!—but she’d turned their brief and, to be honest, forgettable affair into a drama. Storm’s interview was a massive publicity stunt, the next installment in keeping her admittedly gorgeous face in the news.

“Come and sit down, Quinn,” Kade said, gesturing to a chair with his foot. Quinn dropped his long frame into the chair and rested his head on the padded back. His eyes darted from Kade’s and Mac’s faces to Cal’s. Her deep, dark eyes—the exact color of his midnight-blue superbike—reflected worry and concern.

“It’s just the latest episode in a series of bad press you’ve received and Warren is concerned that this is an ongoing trend. He told us, flat out, the Mavericks can’t afford any more bad press and that you are the source.”

“Does he want me out of the partnership?” Quinn demanded, his heart in his throat.

“He’s hinting at it.”

Quinn muttered an obscenity. The Mavericks—being Mac and Kade’s partner—was what he did and a large part of who he was. Coaching the team was his solace, his hobby and, yeah, his career. He freakin’ loved what he did.

But to own and grow the franchise, they needed Bayliss. Bayliss was their link to bigger and better sponsorship deals. He had media connections they could only dream about, connections they needed to grow the Mavericks franchise. But their investor thought Quinn was the weak link.

Craphelldammit.

Quinn looked at Cal and she slid off the bar stool to sit on his chair, her arm loosely draped around his shoulders. Damn, he was glad she was back in town, glad she was here. He rarely needed anyone, but right now he needed her.

Her unconditional support, her humor, her solidity.

He looked at Wren, their PR guru. “Is he right? Am I damaging the Mavericks’ brand?” he asked, his normally deep voice extra raspy with stress.

Wren flicked her eyes toward the pile of newspapers beside her. “Well, you’re certainly not enhancing it.” She linked her hands together on the table and leaned forward, her expression intense. “Basically, all the reports about you lately have followed the same theme and, like a bunch of rabid wolves, the journos are ganging up on you.”

Quinn frowned. “Brilliant.”

“Unfortunately, they have no reason to treat you kindly. You did nearly run that photographer over a couple of weeks back,” Wren said.

Quinn held up his hands. “That was an accident.” Sort of.

“And you called the press a collective boil on the ass of humanity during that radio interview.”

Well, they were.

Wren continued. “Basically, their theme is that it’s time you grew up and that your—let’s call them exploits—are getting old and, worse, tiresome. That seeing you with a different woman every month is boring and a cliché. Some journalists are taking this a step further, saying, since Kade and Mac have settled and started families, when are you going to do the same? That what was funny and interesting in your early twenties is now just self-indulgent.”

Quinn grimaced. Ouch. Harsh.

Not as harsh as knowing that he’d never be able to have what they had, his own family, but still...

Seriously, Rayne, this again? For the last five years, you’ve known about and accepted your infertility! A family is not what you want, remember? Stop thinking about it and move on!

Kade picked up a paper and Quinn could see that someone, probably Wren, had highlighted some text.

Kade read the damaging words out loud. “Our sources tell us that the deal to buy the Mavericks franchise by Rayne, Kade Webb and Mac McCaskill, and their investor—the conservative billionaire industrialist Warren Bayliss—is about to be finalized. You would think that Rayne would make an effort to keep his nose clean. Maybe his partners should tell him that while he might be a brilliant and successful coach, he is a shocking example to his players and his personal life is a joke.”

Kade and Mac held his gaze and he respected them for not dropping their eyes and looking away.