She laughed. “Of course. These are Future Warriors of the Máa-zib. What else would there be?”
She rose and he did, as well. “Thank you, Angel. Usually I have to go out and convince new residents to pitch in. I appreciate that you came to me.” She studied him. “I assume your interest in giving back is the result of your background. You grew up in a coal mining town, didn’t you? West Virginia?”
While the information wasn’t secret, it wasn’t something he shared very often. “You’re a spooky woman,” he told her. “You know that, right?”
The smile broadened. “Not many people have the courage to say it to my face, but I do hope that’s what they’re saying behind my back.”
“They are,” he assured her.
They shook hands and he left. Marjorie was still in tears, so he hustled out and hit the stairs at a jog. Maybe he would spend the afternoon looking for campsites, he thought cheerfully. He had plenty of survival skills he could pass on to his FWM grove. Ways to help them grow up to be confident men. Yeah—this was going to be good.
* * *
“JACK, STOP IT,” Taryn said without looking up from the papers in front of her.
The shifting sound stilled, only to start up again five seconds later. She drew in a breath and glanced across the small conference table.
“Seriously,” she told him. “You’re worse than a five-year-old.”
Jack McGarry, her business partner and ex-husband, rotated his shoulder. “When does Larissa get here?”
“I told you. She gets here tomorrow. In twenty-four hours you’ll have her back. Now can you please focus?”
Sam, the only calm, rational partner, leaned back in his chair. “You’re trying too hard. You know that never works.”
Because it was her job to try hard. She kept “the boys” on a tight leash because if she didn’t, they would run all over her.
She’d known Jack the longest. After their quickie marriage and equally speedy divorce, he’d set her up in business. He’d provided the money, she’d brought the PR know-how and Score had been an instant success—helped by Jack throwing a lot of business her way. It had been a great arrangement.
Unfortunately four years later, Kenny had blown out his knee and ended his career. Sam had been thinking of getting out of the NFL, and for reasons Taryn couldn’t figure out, Jack had joined them. Her ex had walked away from his starring role as a quarterback with the L.A. Stallions. He claimed he wanted to go out on top, but she suspected his departure had more to do with his friends than anything else. Not that Jack would admit it.
There they were—three ex-jocks—with plenty of cash and fame and no second act in the wings. Oh, wait. Jack was half owner of a PR firm. Before she’d known what was happening, he’d brought Kenny and Sam on board and all four of them were partners.
At first she’d been sure they would crash and burn, but more quickly than she would have guessed possible, they’d become a team and then a family. Jack and Kenny were the salesguys. They brought in the clients and were the public face of the firm. Sam handled the finances, both for the company and for each of them privately. Not only was he smart, but he’d actually gone to his classes in college.
Taryn handled everything else. She ran the business, bossed around the boys and created the campaigns that had continued to add to their net worth. Theirs was an unconventional arrangement, but it worked for them.
Jack shifted again, the muscle in his cheek tightening. She reminded herself he wasn’t trying to be difficult—he was in pain. No one could get through nearly a decade in the NFL and not have the battered body to prove it. Larissa, Jack’s personal assistant and the boys’ private masseuse, hadn’t been able to move to Fool’s Gold as quickly as the rest of them. After nearly a month without her healing touch, all three of the former players were suffering.
“Tomorrow,” she said again.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” She paused. “You could take something.”
The statement was made in her most gentle voice, one her partners almost never heard. Because she knew that Jack was going to refuse. With permanent injuries and the discomfort that went with them, painkillers could be a slick road to hell. None of the guys wanted to go there.
“What’s next?” he asked, ignoring her words.
“We’re up,” Kenny told him, then opened the file in front of him. “Jack and I had a second meeting with the CEO and founder of Living Life at a Run.” He reached for the remote in the center of the table and hit a button. The screen at the far end of the room lit up and a logo came into focus.