“Luke, we have a chance at the Super Bowl, and I’m not going to risk it by playing you against a crap team when you’re hurt. I don’t want to see you on the field or in the weight room for a week.”

“Yes, sir.” Luke heard the note of finality in Junius’s voice. In fact, he found it in himself to admire the new coach for overriding him. “What are we going to tell the press?”

“That I’m resting my star and giving my rookie some seasoning. The reporters will fill in the blanks about what team I’m playing my rookie against. They won’t suspect anything else, especially after your postgame appearance today. No one guessed you were hurt.” There was disapproval in the statement.

“Because it’s not serious.”

Junius hung up.

Luke walked into the living room, picked up the full shot glass, and tossed back the tequila before he threw the glass into the fireplace. It shattered with a satisfying explosion of glass shards.

“Holy shit, what was that?” Trevor came to the kitchen door and stared at his brother.

“I’ve been benched.”

Chapter 7

At six thirty Monday evening, Miranda slumped back in her desk chair, thankful for a lull in her noon-to-ten shift. Mondays were always busy because everyone woke up and decided they needed to get their week planned. It generally took them until noon to figure out what they wanted to do, and that’s when the phone started ringing. She loved this shift, because she only overlapped with Orin for a few hours, and it was lucrative when it came to commissions and tips. All money that could be put toward the loan on her brother’s cheese-making equipment.

But it was exhausting. She grabbed her water bottle and gulped down a couple of mouthfuls. She still had to get theater tickets and some dinner reservations for next weekend, but those could be taken care of later when the phone was less demanding.

She groaned as the ringer went off again. She couldn’t even pretend to be busy and let someone else pick it up, because it was coming through on her direct line. Sitting forward, she checked the caller ID. Luke Archer. She grabbed the phone.

“I thought I told you no more thank-yous,” he drawled in that disarming Texas accent.

She had sent him a note as soon as she got in that day. “My conscience wouldn’t rest until I’d written a proper note.” And she’d hoped it would induce one last encounter with the gut-meltingly gorgeous quarterback. Even his voice on the phone was enough to make her breath quicken.

“A conscience can be inconvenient.” He paused, which gave her time to wonder which part of his life he referred to. “But I don’t get a lot of handwritten letters, so I appreciated it.”

Again, she felt the fizz of gratification. She’d given something unusual to a living legend. And it was such a little thing. “Then it has done its job.”

Another pause before he said, “I want to take a tour of New York. Tomorrow. See some cultural stuff.”

All these years of living in the city and he hadn’t had time to see the sights? Football was a demanding mistress.

“Of course. Are you interested in art, performances, or historical landmarks?” She was already flipping through her mental guidebook.

“Not landmarks. I’ve seen the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building. How about museums?” He sounded oddly tentative.

“Absolutely. I can set up lunch and dinner and add a show of some kind. Just let me know how many people will be accompanying you.”

“Only one.”

“Any food allergies or ethnic cuisine preferences?” Miranda had her stylus poised over her tablet.

“I’ll eat anything. How about you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I need a tour guide, and I’d like to hire you.”

The stylus clattered onto the tablet’s screen. “Me?” she squeaked as a mixture of shock and excitement rippled through her.

“I’d like you to show me the things I’ve never had time to see before.”

“But I have to work tomorrow.” She tried to think of how she could get out of it. Turning down a whole day with Luke Archer would be downright painful.

“I’ll call Spindle and tell him I consider this part of your job as a concierge. And I’ll give him VIP box tickets this time.”

“I’d have to get someone to cover for me.”

“Let your boss deal with that. It’s his responsibility.”

That was a little high-handed, but he wasn’t wrong. She went back into her professional concierge mode. “Well, of course, I’d be happy to accommodate you, as long as Orin approves it. Shall I send you a list of possibilities to choose from?”

“No, surprise me.”

That didn’t make her job easier. “Shall I arrange transportation?”

“I have a limo. What time do we start?”

“Generally, museums open at ten.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Miranda hung up. The most famous quarterback in the world had chosen her to show him New York City. She wanted to do a jig around her office. Instead, she forced herself to sit with her hands on her desk and breathe normally.

This was nothing more than a client availing himself of the concierge service. She shouldn’t feel this bubbling elation, and she certainly couldn’t let Luke Archer suspect that his request made anticipation burn through her veins.

She forced herself to pick up her tablet and stylus, and then the nerves hit her. What on earth would a superstar quarterback want to see?