She went over to the bed where Trevor had laid her suitcases and pulled out her notebook to jot down some notes. She’d known Trevor since his freshman year of college, just like all the guys who’d passed through the university and stayed in the dorm managed by her mom and dad. She’d like to think she knew more about him than anyone else she’d ever interviewed.
But she still had questions, and needed to develop an interesting angle to approach the interviews. There were very few athletes who played dual sports, at least few who did it successfully. Trevor had managed to be lightning quick at tight end for Tampa, and also put up some impressive statistics for the St. Louis Rivers baseball team. How did he do that? And how did the teams feel about a player who couldn’t really give his all to either team? Did his agent negotiate his ability to move between the two? How did his teammates feel about a hotshot player like Trevor dividing his time between the two sports? She was eager to ask those questions.
She had a lot of questions about his personal life, too. Like this house, and his lifestyle.
Would he answer those?
For the first time since her father died, she felt stirrings of excitement about her job.
She unpacked and changed into capris and a short-sleeved shirt. Even though it was late September, it was a very warm day. Maybe Trevor would give her a tour of the grounds.
She took her time walking down the long hallway that connected her wing with the main section of the house. Wide windows gave an expansive view of the wooded area she’d seen while coming up to the house.
It was a beautiful view, and there were so many windows in this place, she understood the appeal.
She wound her way through the myriad of rooms, finding a tall, thin, gray-haired man in the kitchen.
“You must be Hammond.”
He smiled at her. “And you must be Haven.” He wiped his hand on his apron. “Very nice to meet you.”
They shook hands. “You, too. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding. I was just cooking up some steaks for dinner. And now that you’re here, you can tell me how you like yours, since Trevor didn’t know.”
“Medium well, please.”
“Okay, then, Haven. I’ll just get back to dinner.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where Trevor is, would you?”
“I saw him heading toward the sunroom a little while ago.”
“Okay, thanks, Hammond.”
She made her way toward the sunroom. At least every room led into another via the hallway, so she couldn’t get lost.
Trevor was on the phone, so she hung back, watching him. Sunlight glinted off his dark hair. His long legs were stretched out and he looked . . . completely relaxed, at ease, so casual, incongruous with this behemoth of a house.
He was living in Wayne Manor. Was he Batman? She smiled at the thought of Trevor as some superhero. On the field, definitely. But off the field? Not really. He wasn’t the type of athlete who made a spectacle of himself. He was very low profile, easygoing, just an everyman kind of guy, not a superstar. Whenever he’d been around her, he’d always seemed so at ease with everyone. Whereas Haven . . . well, she’d never been comfortable around him, had she?
Her thoughts drifted back to the tutoring sessions she’d given Trevor in college. Her father had suggested them, and she’d balked. She’d loved the idea of gaining experience in one of her chosen fields, since back then she hadn’t yet decided between a career in journalism or teaching. So she’d done a lot of tutoring. But spending one-on-one time with Trevor had made her freeze up.
He’d intimidated her, likely because she’d been crazy in love with him—at least the kind of crazy in love a nondescript girl could have been with the unattainable type of athlete Trevor was. He’d only half paid attention to her because she’d been Bill Briscoe’s daughter, and all the guys had worshipped her dad. And when her father had offered her up as a tutor, Trevor had known better than to say no. Besides, he had to pass his classes, or risk losing his scholarship, so he’d agreed.
She remembered her heart pounding incessantly, her palms sweating as she’d sat next to him in her room at the house while she’d worked with him. She’d been so preoccupied with his muscles, his clean, crisp scent, how big his hands were, and the way he always laughed with her and teased her.
That had been Trevor, even back then. Always at ease, able to laugh. While she’d been a giant ball of tension.
She’d been such a mess around him, not her usual cool, confident self. In academia she’d been a rock star. He’d even teased her about being brainy, the worst possible thing he could have said to a young woman with a monster-sized crush on a sexy athlete. She’d wanted to be sexy and beautiful, not smart, back then. At least around him. And all he’d noticed about her was that she had the smarts to help him pass his classes. He hadn’t made it easy on her, either. God, he’d been lazy. At least academically. Sportswise, he’d been a goddamned superstar.
Which intrigued her, because he’d carried that perseverance into his professional career.
And look at his success now.
He’d finished his phone call, so she stepped into the sunroom. When he spotted her, he stood.
“Oh, hey, did you get unpacked?”
“Yes.”
“Is your room okay?”
“My room is fantastic, thanks.”
“Great. Have a seat.”
She took a seat across from him in one of the cushioned chairs.
“There’s some iced tea and water in the pitchers,” he said, motioning to two glass pitchers on the nearby table. “Would you like something?”
“Tea would be wonderful.” She started to get up, but he stopped her.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“What? No servants hovering nearby to do that for you?”
“Uh, no. I’m pretty sure I can take care of this part by myself.”
“But you have a chef.”
“Yeah.” He took a drink out of his glass, then set it down. “Hammond used to work for the Rivers organization in concessions. He’d always been a big fan, and all the players liked him a lot. A couple of years ago he reached retirement age, but he and his wife Lyla still have a mortgage to pay off. Plus they’re raising two of their grandkids because . . . well, because of some private circumstances. When I heard about that, I hired him on to help here at the house. He’s a hell of a cook. Wait till you taste the steaks.”