Play Action Pass Read online

  Play Action Pass

  Gina Ardito

  Published by Gina Ardito, 2020.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  PLAY ACTION PASS

  First edition. September 16, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Gina Ardito.

  Written by Gina Ardito.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

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  About the Author

  DEDICATION

  For all the parents who've sat on the field in blazing heat, driving rain, and blustery temperatures to cheer on your personal sports legend.

  Chapter 1

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Jordan Fawcett stared at his boss standing a few feet from the other side of his desk and silently willed her to break into a grin that would let him in on the joke.

  Susan Harwich didn’t flinch. She kept her expression solemn, folded her arms over her chest, and replied, “I’m afraid not. The selling agent’s adamant. According to the Loughlin Building’s current owner, right of first refusal for the place has to go to the Delgado Foundation. Rumor has it they’re looking for a new site for their downtown school, and I guess someone on the board over there thinks their property might be perfect. The good news is, if we get Cameron Delgado to bite, they’ll pay us double our standard commission. If not, we still get the listing. But we can’t entertain any other offers or even show it to anyone else until Delgado turns it down. And I want you to convince her to buy it. Not pass, not think about it. Sign-on-the-dotted-line-buy-it.”

  He studied the glossy photo paperclipped to the top of the manila folder, and his stomach fumbled. “You know I wanted to lease that space.”

  “Yes, but Delgado can afford to buy it outright. Susan’s Rule Number One in the corporate real estate business: A sale from a wealthy, established client is always better than a lease offer from a brand new business venture with no track record. No offense.”

  “None taken.” Only because he didn’t have a choice.

  Jordan ran a finger over the image of the two-story red brick façade, which contained decoratively arched windows framed by stacked bricks duplicating that same shape into the building itself in three-dimension. Very late nineteenth century architecture, he surmised, with a gothic flair. Fancy and old-world charming at the same time.

  A narrow alley on the right, covered by a red-and-black striped awning, led to a leafy courtyard in the rear. On the cover of the folder, details written in fine point marker, a Susan habit, listed such perks as eleven-thousand-square-feet of interior space; tall ceilings with exposures on the north, south, and west; two dozen available parking spaces; and a corner location. Not that he needed the details. He’d practically memorized them from the moment the listing came into the office.

  He could see Cam wanting this site, if she was, indeed, on the lookout for a new property. It had the right look, the right location, the right feel to it. Which were all the reasons he’d wanted it for him and Marcus.

  “Double commission, Jordan,” Susan prompted when he didn’t speak again.

  The asking price was mid-seven figures. Normally, for double commission, he’d sell an igloo to the devil. But there wasn’t enough money in the world to get him involved with Cameron Delgado again. His days of reaching for the stars were long gone. Now, all he wanted was the rehab center he and Marcus planned to open. If he wasn’t going to get the building they wanted for their first location, he could live with that. But he couldn’t stand by and watch—no, help—Cam swoop in to steal it out from under him—all because she had the business-slash-financial clout and connections he didn’t have the good fortune to be born with.

  He picked up the folder and thrust it toward Susan. “I’ve already got a full roster with the condos down by Hudson Yards. Tell Michaela to handle this. Or you do it. Use that old ‘It’s tough to be a woman in a man’s field’ shtick you played on Tanya Lowell two months ago.” No way in hell Cam would fall for it, but that could only work in his favor.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Susan retorted with an exaggerated eye roll. “Susan’s Rule Number Two: never use the same shtick twice.”

  “Then try another.”

  “I plan to,” she said with a smirk. “That’s why I’m assigning this sale to you.”

  He shook his head and waved the folder to get her to take it. She didn’t budge. With an air of defeat, he sighed. “Don’t ask me to do this, Susan.”

  “I’m sorry, but you’re our best shot. No one here knows her like you do. You dated her. You played on her father’s old football team. Either one of those facts on its own would make you perfect to handle this deal. Having both on your resume means you’re the one person working here who has insight into Duke Delgado’s daughter and the foundation—an ‘in’ the rest of us will never have. Therefore, you’re the one who’s going to make this happen.”

  Picking up his staple remover, he gave her a caustic laugh. “Now I know you’re kidding. I dated Cameron years ago, and we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.” While he listed off his reasons not to get involved with this deal, he squeezed the remover between his fingers like a stress ball. “As for the football team, I allowed myself to be traded off the Vanguard, and she saw my move as the ultimate betrayal. After that happened, I was dead to her—literally. Hell, she didn’t even bother to send a note when I broke my back. A total stranger would have a better ‘in’ than I would.”

  “Then you’ll have to apologize to soften her up.” She wagged a finger. “And don’t even think about sabotaging this deal so you can lease the site for yourself. If I hear one whisper that you didn’t give this opportunity a hundred and ten percent, I’ll not only refuse to give you second-shot, I’ll also blacklist you with every reputable realtor in the city.”

  The squeezing grew more frenetic, the squeal of the hinge the only sound in the room. “You actually think I’m going to humble myself so she can have...”

  Susan planted a fist on his desk and leaned closer until they were practically nose-to-nose. “Be very careful what you say next, Jordan. This is a multi-million dollar deal. The firm could use this sale, as well as any future sales that come because of it. Another building will come along for your little venture. But a deal with the Delgado Foundation comes along once in a lifetime. Now, you can either take on this property and I’ll transfer the Hudson Yards condos to Michaela, or you can find another place to work and Michaela will get all your listings. Your choice.”

  He dropped the packet of property information onto his desk and tossed the staple remover atop the manila folder. A deep exhale escaped his pursed lips.

  Apparently, Susan took the sound as a victory for her. With a smug grin, she turned on her chunky heels and strode away, only pausing long enough to toss over her shoulder, “Try flowers. Most women love roses. If things between you two are as bad as you say, I’d suggest hundreds of them.”

  He glared at her retreating back, visually flinging imaginary knives between her shoulder blades. Ha-ha.

  Once she’d left his office, he scrubbed his hands over his face. Why? He’d been back in New York for two years now and had managed to avoid everything connected to his past her
e. Since his return, he hadn’t visited any of the old haunts: the restaurants, parks, stores, or even the stadium they’d once hung out at together. He’d built a whole new life with a new job, new friends, and new plans. He didn’t want to see Cam again—not yet. Not until he’d changed his world so much that he no longer remembered how she used to make him feel, and how, in the end, it had all been a lie.

  A few deep breathing exercises cooled his rising temper, and he tried to look at the situation with a clearer head. Six figures would be a nice addition to his bottom line. Marcus would be pissed, but if he explained that in the long run, they’d be able to look for another site and have more money to spend on equipment, or a bigger place, or just a fatter cushion to help them get through the lean years until the business took off—which they both knew would happen—maybe this could work to their benefit. There weren’t many physical therapies in New York that could accommodate all kinds of disabilities for athletes and professionals. Theirs would. So okay, they’d probably lose the Loughlin property. In the long run, though, they might be better off.

  Plus, there was a delicious irony in using Cameron Delgado’s money to fund a future that wouldn’t include her. And maybe...

  He turned to his keyboard and typed in the Delgado Foundation’s website. Maybe he could handle this sale without ever having anything to do with Cam. After all, as the president, she probably didn’t have many dealings with the day-to-day operations. He clicked on “Meet Our Board of Directors” and began his search there. Who among these unfamiliar names would most likely be involved in the acquisition of their new site? Treasurer?

  Well, why not start with the money guy? If Martin K. Jacobs wasn’t actually handling the deal, he could probably direct Jordan to the right contact. Cam would never have to know.

  Picking up his receiver, he dialed the number and waited for someone to answer. When the receptionist went into her spiel, he let her finish then asked to speak to Mr. Jacobs.

  “Whom may I say is calling?”

  “I’m Jordan Fawcett with HRR Commercial Realtors. We have a property coming up for sale I think might be perfect for the foundation’s new site here in New York and I’d like to give the foundation first look.”

  “Mr. Jacobs isn’t in charge of that transaction. Hold on please, and I’ll transfer you to Ms. Delgado.”

  “No, wait—”

  Too late. He was placed on hold while his call was sent directly to the one person he dreaded talking to. Dammit! Now, what? He didn’t dare hang up. For one thing, Susan would have his desk cleaned out before he could utter a word of explanation. For another, the possibility Cam would find out and think he’d chickened out dented his already-too-battered pride where she was concerned. He’d needed her once before and she’d turned her back. He couldn’t let her turn her back on him again. This time, he’d make her face him.

  Another deep breath. Okay, fine. He’d handle this acquisition the way he would any other: with efficiency and professionalism. This was a business deal, not a marriage proposal. Simply because she’d rejected the latter didn’t mean history would repeat itself on the former.

  The piped-in music changed to a single jangle, and a sunny voice answered, “Ms. Delgado’s office, this is Val.”

  Val. He remembered her—slightly. Petite, blond, an eager go-getter Cam had hired about six months before their breakup. Nice to see she still retained some loyalty for her staff.

  “Good morning, Val,” he greeted with false enthusiasm. “My name is Jordan Fawcett. I’m with HRR Corporate Realty. I’d like to speak to Ms. Delgado regarding a property we have available we think may be a perfect fit for the foundation’s current and future needs.”

  “Great pitch. Nice touch, adding in the future bit,” the woman replied, a smile evident in her tone. “Unfortunately, Ms. Delgado is unavailable for the next several days. However, I’m compiling an inventory of possible sites for her review. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve got? If it meets our requirements, I’ll be happy to add your property to the list.”

  It couldn’t be that easy. His spine tingled. “What happens after that? I mean, when can I expect to hear from you should my site be the one that suits your needs?”

  “Ms. Delgado will make the final determination. We want to move forward on this quickly, so I would expect she’ll be scheduling appointments within the next week or two. Let me just ask you a few questions, and I can let you know right now if I’ll be passing your property on to her, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  For the next several minutes, he answered the woman’s questions regarding location, square footage, available parking, and a dozen other particulars, thanks mostly to the notes Susan had written in her fine tip marker. The H of HRR Corporate Realty had done her homework, which explained how she managed to stay at the top of the New York corporate real estate game, year after year.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Fawcett,” Val said at last. “Your property makes the cut. We’ll be in touch for more information as things develop. Thanks for contacting us.”

  They each said goodbye, and Jordan hung up, then tilted his head toward the ceiling. Despite the promise of his discussion with Val, a sense of dread settled on his shoulders. He was attempting to put his future in Cam Delgado’s hands. Again.

  He’d tried to be part of her world once before, only to have his heart ripped out of his chest and stuck on a pike before she kicked him out and slammed the door in his face. What would she take from him this time?

  What was left? Hell, he had nothing. Not his dream career, not the woman he’d thought loved him, not even the use of his legs.

  “Life,” he said aloud to the empty room, “sucks.”

  CAMERON DELGADO STOOD outside the third building on their list, and a shiver of delight danced across her bare arms. The ground floor windows would let in lots of natural light, and the courtyard in the back could easily be converted into a small playground. If the interior looks half as good as the exterior, we could have a winner here. “Parking?” she asked.

  Her assistant, Valerie Sullivan, checked her notes. “Twenty-three slots on the side. Two handicapped, but I think we could create at least three more with a quick redesign. It already has ramp access, and the rear doors are within width guidelines. According to the agent, this place was last used as the main office for a marine insurance company. What do you think marine insurance is for? Like, do they pay out if someone falls overboard on your boat?”

  Cam snorted a laugh. “No. They insure cargo and ships and other transport used in the transfer of the cargo.”

  “Well, whatever they used to do, Three Sails Marine has closed up shop. This place looks pretty good, if I do say so myself.” She flipped to the second page of her notes. “Eight offices upstairs, plus two restrooms. First floor is a large open workspace with four restrooms and a kitchen in the back. Not a cafeteria, more a small breakroom with a bank of cabinets, a fridge, microwave shelf, and one of those industrial coffeemakers that serves free sludge all day to keep the employees from going outside and running away screaming.”

  This time, Cam burst into full-blown laughter. “And you would know that because...?”

  “I used to work in a similar place. Before I came to the foundation. You live and die by the amount of paperwork you push out each day or how many clicks you make on your computer. It’s depressing, demoralizing, and draining.” She looked up at the building and flipped up her middle finger. “Good riddance to Three Sails Marine Insurance. Hello to us or any other company that can fill this place with joy and laughter.”

  “A-men.”

  Funny. She and Val worked so well together, it was hard for Cam to remember a time she didn’t have this capable, hardworking woman beside her, backing her up and keeping on top of all the minor crises that developed day after day, year after year.

  She made a mental note to check Val’s current salary. It might be time to give her a raise. Cam valued her too much to lose her. Now, especially with
this latest challenge: finding a new location for their Manhattan youth center. Her mind zipping through a dozen different topics at once, Cam strode around the corner, drinking in the colorful awnings and signs for the nearby shops, the proximity of the subway station, and the steady groups of pedestrians taking advantage of a beautiful spring day. Nice building, great location, She’d set aside the entire day to do a rudimentary inspection of the top ten sites on Val’s list. And here at barely nine-thirty in the morning, she might have already found the winner. Yes, Val was a real gem.

  “Eleven thousand square feet, you said?”

  Her assistant followed close behind. “That’s what the agent told me.”

  She studied the old bricks and the cornerstone etched with a date of 1898. Any commercial buildings built prior to 1960 were approximately twelve thousand square feet, so this one was right in the ballpark.

  “Put this site on the shortlist. I’ll contact the agent this afternoon. I’m going to want to see the inside.”

  Val pulled the pen from behind her ear and circled the address on her sheaf of papers. “You got it.”

  “Do we have a copy of the current floor plan?”

  “The agent was supposed to fax it over today.”

  “Well, if we don’t have it by the time we get back to the office, I’ll request it again when I make the appointment to go over the interior.”

  Cam took one more quick walk-around while snapping pictures of the site from all different angles before heading toward the black car parked at the curb. “Where to next?”

  “Hell’s Kitchen,” Val replied as she shuffled the stapled papers in her hand. “Ninth Avenue.”

  “Great. Let’s go. You’ve done a terrific job vetting these, Val. I’m really impressed. Thank you.”

  Val beamed. “No sweat. I mean, this one came to me via Ashlynn in Mr. Jacobs’s office. Apparently, the agent heard about our search through the real estate grapevine and contacted us directly with what he thought might be a perfect fit.”