Morgan took a sip of her tea. “What are you going to do about having to consult with her?”
“Nothing. I eat clean eighty percent of the time, work out four or five times a week, sometimes more, and my weight is fine. I have no need to see her.” Malcolm knew Lauren would be sending out emails to all the players to schedule the preseason consultation—the same routine every year—but he intended to send her the same information he had just mentioned to his sister, with the numbers, and ignore her for as long as possible. He had to stay far away from her. His sanity depended on it.
Thursday morning, Lauren made it to the Cobras’ training facility at seven thirty. After three days on the job, she considered it a major accomplishment that she went straight to her office without taking a wrong turn. She powered up her computer, checked her schedule and read through her emails. She had sent a message to all the players and had three scheduled for today, including one with linebacker Darren Butler. So far, a little over half had responded, but not Malcolm. Not that she expected him to. A knock sounded, and her head came up.
“Morning. May I come in?”
Though the man wore athletic pants and shirt, she didn’t remember seeing his face on the roster. He stood close to six feet with a trim, toned body, military-short dark hair and deep brown eyes set in a handsome olive-toned face. “Certainly.”
“I’m Nigel West, the chef.”
Lauren smiled and stood to shake his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nigel. I’m Lauren.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
“Please have a seat.” She gestured to the small table and joined him there. “How long have you been the team chef?”
“Going on six years. For the most part, it’s been a blast, but there have been a few hiccups along the way,” Nigel added with a chuckle.
“Tell me a little about the meal setup. I want to see what you already have before making any changes.”
“Sure.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. “There used to be a variety of approved snacks available at all times and a good amount of fruits and vegetables. But over the last year, let’s just say things weren’t as tight.”
“There were fewer healthy options.”
“You got it.”
Lauren wondered if that was what had led to the former dietitian being let go.
As if reading her mind, Nigel said, “When a few players weighed in at fifteen or twenty pounds over what had been reported, it was bye-bye, Stan. To make matters worse, he had taken money from two players who’d bribed him to lie.”
“Are they still on the team?” If they were, she needed to know up front. In no uncertain terms would she be party to any of those schemes.
“Nope. They were sent packing with Stan.”
It must have been kept hush-hush, because she didn’t recall reading anything about a scandal or seeing it mentioned on the sports news. “Well, you won’t have to worry about any of that with me.”
He smiled. “I believe we’re going to work well together. Let’s talk menus.”
For the next forty-five minutes, Lauren shared her plans, including color-coding stations based on the category of food, having a fresh vegetable and fruit station at every meal, and going back to providing the healthy snack options. “During training camp and practices, did Stan ever have your team make recovery shakes for the players after they worked out?”
“I mentioned it to him a couple of times after talking with a friend of mine who works with another team, but...” Nigel shrugged.
“Okay. I’m thinking a smoothie station might be something to add.” Lauren added it to her list. They talked awhile longer, and by the time he left, she felt more confident. Not that she couldn’t do the job, but working with elite athletes whose very livelihoods depended on them being in peak performance condition could be intimidating initially. And with her being a woman, she also had to endure the flirting, but she knew that would die down soon enough.
Her first two clients were team veterans and had a good handle on their dietary needs. They would only require check-ins unless something changed. Her third client, a rookie offensive lineman, was a different story. As she’d seen with most college students, athletes included, their diets consisted mainly of high-fat and processed foods—pizza, burgers, sodas and an array of sugary desserts. Trying to teach him to eat differently would be a challenge, and she had already made an appointment to go grocery shopping with him. She made a mental note to talk to Mr. Green’s assistant about holding a diet and nutrition session for the rookies.
She was still chuckling at the player’s disgruntled expression as he shuffled out of her office. Her cell rang, and she smiled upon seeing Valencia’s name on the display. “Hey, girl.”
“Hey, yourself. How’s LA?”
“So far, so good. For the first time, I didn’t get lost coming to my office this morning. It’s only taken me four days. That’s progress.”
Valencia laughed.
“It’s not funny,” Lauren said, fighting her own laughter. “This place is huge and could double as a maze.”
“I can’t wait to see it when I come down.” There was a pause on the line. “Have you talked to Malcolm yet?”
She’d known that would be the first thing her friend asked after hello. “No, but I saw him on Monday when I was introduced to the team. There wasn’t an opportunity for chatting—not like he’d say anything to me anyway.” A vision of the hostile glare he’d sent her way surfaced in her mind, and she involuntarily shuddered.
“You never know. Like you said, it’s been a long time and you’ve both moved on. Is he still fine as all get-out?”
She laughed. “He is. The only difference is that he cut his locs.”
“Really? I used to think they made him look so sexy.”
So did she, and she remembered holding on to them as he thrust... Lauren jerked upright in her chair and shook the vision off. “Hey, girl, can I call you when I get home? I need to get ready for my next appointment.”
“I should be home around seven, so any time after that is fine. Later, girlfriend.”
Lauren disconnected and rubbed her temples. “What have I gotten myself into?” she muttered.
“Ms. Emerson?”
Her head snapped up, and she rose swiftly from her chair. “Come in, Darren. And call me Lauren.” They took seats at the conference table and she turned the page on her notepad. “You mentioned needing to talk to me about something.” She had read that the young man was in his third year as a defensive lineman.
Darren expelled a long breath. “Yeah. I lost my starting position because I’m twenty pounds overweight. Coach said if I didn’t lose the weight by the time the season starts, I’d be benched.” He looked at Lauren with sad eyes. “Can you help me?”
“Absolutely. But you’ll have to commit to following the program.”
“I’ll