“I didn’t know your parents owned a restaurant or that you could cook. Somehow that didn’t come up with the jock and playboy descriptions I’ve read.”
He shifted his gaze from the pot he was stirring to her. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know. And don’t believe everything you read.”
Morgan felt properly chastised, because she had believed much of what had been printed in the newspapers about him. “Fair enough. What are you cooking?”
Omar took a spoon from a drawer, scooped a portion of what she realized was chili from the pot and handed it to her. “Taste and tell me what you think.”
She blew on it a couple of times to cool it, then tentatively slid the spoon into her mouth. The thick, spicy concoction made her taste buds want to dance. “This is so good. Your parents taught you well.” He removed a pan of cornbread from the oven and placed it on a trivet. “That’s from a box, right?”
“Of course not,” he said with mock offense. “My mother would have my head if I made cornbread from a box. Besides, this tastes much better.” He cut a few pieces, placed them on a plate and handed it to Morgan. “Can you take this to the table?”
“Sure.” The perfectly browned bread made her mouth water.
“Have a seat.” He took two bowls out of the cabinet, filled them and took them to the kitchen table. “I made a pitcher of iced tea. I noticed that’s all you drank last weekend.”
“Great.” Had he been paying that much attention to her? Maybe she needed to reassess her original assumptions about him.
* * *
Omar sat across the table, concentrating on his food and trying to ignore Morgan’s seductive fragrance and how good she looked in those snug jeans. He was still a little put out by her judging him as a womanizer. He didn’t claim to be a saint, and he’d dated his fair share of women, but he’d never cheated on one or bed-hopped as the media alleged.
“You’re a really great cook, and this cornbread is to die for,” Morgan said.
“Thanks. You can take some home with you. I don’t need to eat it all.”
“Probably not, since preseason is coming up.”
“Speaking of football, you said you wanted to go over the contract.”
“I do, but I have a couple of questions first.”
“You want to know why I insisted you come to my house.” When she nodded, he said, “You know as well as I do how intrusive the public can be. If we were spotted together with papers in front of us, it would be all over the media before we finished dinner.”
“True, but it wouldn’t be unusual for a client to meet with his agent.”
“Unless he hasn’t formally cut ties with his current agent yet.”
“What?” Morgan moved to stand. “I can’t play these games.”
Omar placed a staying hand on her arm. “Hear me out, Morgan.” He waited until she sat. “I haven’t said anything to Roland because I’m still waiting for more information.”
“You think he’s embezzled from more of your endorsements?”
He nodded grimly. “At least one or two more. I need to keep this between us until I can get all the pieces.” Just the thought made his blood boil. He wanted nothing more than to wring the man’s neck, but that would ruin Omar’s future plans.
“Okay. Were you able to contact Jaedon Dupree?”
“I’ll be meeting with him on Tuesday.” He paused. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you helping me out.”
“Yeah, well, don’t thank me yet. I’ve never done this before.”
Omar smiled. “But I’ve seen you play and heard you yelling in the stands. You know this game well, so I’m not worried. We’re going to be good together.” He realized what he’d said as soon as the words left his mouth. Clearing his throat, he pointed at the folder on the table. “You said you had some questions.” Morgan eyed him, wiped her hand on a napkin and pushed one folder in front of him. She spoke with the clarity and confidence of someone who had done this several times over, and he found himself even more impressed by her intelligence.
“The biggest question I have is contract services. We never discussed whether it would include endorsements, but I propose we focus first on getting you a good deal with the Cobras for the next few years, then decide the rest later.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” He was ready to jump in with both feet but appreciated her wisdom. He already had two endorsement deals, and Roland had been calling for the past two weeks, trying to pin Omar down to a time to meet with another company. Omar had been ignoring his messages. Many players were envious of Roland’s tenacity when it came to securing product endorsements for his clients, and now Omar knew why. Chances were Omar wasn’t the only one the man had stolen from.
“That covers everything. Do you have any questions for me?”
He had quite a few. Did she have a boyfriend? If not, would she go on a date with Omar? And when was she going to let him kiss her again? But none of those was appropriate, so he answered, “No.” He penned his signature in all the right places on both copies, pushed the folder back toward her and waited while she did the same. She gave him a copy and stood. Omar followed suit. He wasn’t ready for her to leave and tried to think of a reason to make her stay, but it was getting late.
“I’d better go.”
He wrapped her some food to go and led her out to the front through the family room.
She stopped abruptly, and a huge smile blossomed on her face. “You have ‘Madden’?”
He followed her gaze to the television, where the popular football video game was frozen on the screen. “You want to play?”
“Maybe some other time.”
His insides smiled. That meant she would be coming back to his house. Outside, they stood next to her car, and he clenched his fists at his sides to keep from reaching up to push the hair out of her face and stroke a finger down her satiny cheek.
Morgan held up the bag. “So, um...thanks for the food. I’ll call you on Sunday to set up another time for us to talk.”
Omar nodded. “You’re welcome.” They stood there for several charged seconds before she slid in behind the wheel. “See you later.” He closed the door quickly to keep from pulling her out and into his arms. He shook his head as her taillights disappeared. There’s no way I’m going to make it for the next month and a half without kissing her.
The next Monday morning, Morgan checked and double-checked to make sure she had all the files needed for her meeting with the Sandersons’ attorney. Brandon, her father and Mr. Whitcomb, her father’s best friend and a minor partner in the company, would be joining them. Mr. Whitcomb—whom they affectionately called Uncle Thad—and Morgan’s father had served together in the military, where Mr. Whitcomb sustained a serious injury. Disappointed by the lack of services for his disabled friend, her dad and started designing accessibility products in their home garage. Now their in-home safety company was one of the largest in the country.
Walking to the outer office, she stopped at her assistant’s desk. “Evelyn, can you make sure the coffee and tea is set up in the small conference room, please?”
Evelyn came to her feet in a huff. “Yes, Ms. Gray,” she said with a sarcastic smile.
Morgan silently counted to ten. Something had to give with this woman, and soon.