Chapter 2

Fifteen minutes before his reporting deadline, Shane arrived at the Orlando Cannons training center. His reporting was smooth and simple. The Orlando organization only required its players to report and settle into their rooms on the first day.

Shane wandered the hall coming to his room, and opened the door to a small room. Two beds sat opposite each other, and a small door indicated an entry to the bathroom. Millions of dollars a year in salary, and they were right back in college style dormitories.

His roommate, Donald Taylor, a rookie from the University of Florida, was not present. All of Donald's belongings sat on one of the beds though, so Shane assumed he was off getting something to eat, or socializing with some team mates.

On the other bed was a pile of supermarket tabloids. Sighing, Shane started picking them up. His team had seemed to decide that he needed to know just how public his 'relationship' with Valerie Winters was.

About to just sack the whole pile and throw it away, Shane paused when he saw a tabloid proclaiming "Billionaire Playgirl Bags NFL Rookie". Just like he had been thinking he wouldn't, Shane found himself sitting amongst the magazines reading.

When he started, he thought it would be all about how he had bamboozled 'Poor defenseless Valerie Winters'. The article he had picked up was saying quite the opposite. Instead, he was being made out as a simpleton from rural Ohio who had fallen into the clutches of New York's most notorious bachelorette.

Soon Shane was engrossed, flipping through page after page of the books. Pictures of Valerie's partying showed her topless in nightclubs, flipping the bird to cameramen, and arm in arm with other women.

Valerie was a legend in New York according to the tabloids. It was then that Shane realized that in the cover shot, which was the photo of the two of them escaping the nightclub, the photographers weren't looking for him instead they were trying to see who she was leaving with.

Flipping open his phone, he dialed his agent's number.

"Frank Gerrard."

"Frank, it's Shane Ellsworth," Shane said. "Look, I'm reading some of these tabloids-"

"Shane put that shit down," Frank admonished. "Half the stuff in there is blown out of proportion, and the other half is total shit."

"Yeah well, I'm not sure I like what it all says."

"Of course you don't like it," Frank said, his high powered demeanor fading to exude a tone of calm. "Look the media doesn't take pictures of houses that aren't on fire. So if you went to a meeting of Christian young Republicans, and Valerie Winters was there, they'd make it sound like you were filming a porno."

Shane paced in his room as Frank spoke. There was some truth to the tabloids though, wasn't there? You don't take a picture of a girl holding her skirt up in a night club on accident.

"Just try to roll with it kid," Frank said. "I wasn't expecting you to find this stuff so soon, but its all part of the game you play. Not football, but being famous. If we're both lucky, you'll spend a lot more time on the cover of tabloids."

Groaning from the thought of having his life served up on a platter in the supermarket checkout aisle, Shane politely ended the conversation. Closing his phone with a snap, he threw it at his pillow.

The next day when camp started in earnest, Shane was introduced to the NFL style of training. Total immersion in football, team meetings, offensive meetings, quarterback meetings, weight training, speed training, special teams training, studying the playbook in between practices, and wolfing down whatever they threw in front of him that passed for nutrition. It was exhausting, and it was completely encompassing.

When three weeks had passed, Shane felt that his head was going to explode from cramming so much into it, and his arms were sure to fall off from effort. He'd done better in those three weeks than he had in the minicamps before. Spoke to his parents each week. They were happy for him, but still remained mentally in their own little world of fishing and fixing cars.

On the field, throwing the ball had gotten better. Dozer had made a point of getting the veterans to cut him some slack. More than once though, someone had told him to pull his head out of his ass and just play.

Shane wasn't sure if Coach Barnes thought he was improving or not. It was a given that he was enjoying it more though. The relaxing feeling led his mind to wander though; to the point that he was actually thinking about Valerie Winters when his phone rang.

"Ellsworth," he said.

"Shane, its Frank Gerrard, how's your camp going?"

Hackles rising in suspicion, Shane sat on the end of his bed, trying to divine why his agent would be calling.

"Pretty good I guess," he said. "Unless you've heard different."

"That's actually what I'm calling about," Frank said, his voice was excited, the tone energized with something. "Have you heard anything about a trade?"

"For me?"

"I wouldn't ask you about anyone else's trade."

"Not a word," Shane felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. "What's going on?"

"Ralph Grey asked me to find out what your thoughts were on trading."

The general manager of the team wasn't a man who asked an opinion with out his own plans already at work. Stupefied, Shane tried to keep up, he felt a little naïve thinking that if anything like this were to happen he'd see it on Sports Center and then go deal with it. He was just realizing that Sports Center probably didn't have a clue until it was a done deal.

"Where do you think they'll want to send me Frank?"

"Well, I'm not really sure," Frank said. "This is kind of out of the blue, but remember Shane, I work for you."

Nodding his head to no one, Shane got up and paced the floor.

"So you tell me," his agent said. "What do you want me to do?"

"I-," Shane said, faltering. Finally he settled in, thinking about his father. "Frank, I'll talk to anyone about trade, but I should meet the man that wants me. I'll want to look a guy in the eye, and see that he really needs a player, and wants me for that player."

"You're weird you know that kid? I'll make it all happen."

A loud click broke through the room as Shane closed his phone. Looking around he began to feel the pressure of everything he worked for being only so permanent.

Seven AM the alarm on Shane's bedside went off and his room mate flipped on ESPN like clockwork. The intro music to his favorite NFL show buzzed the room.

"Yesterday afternoon New York backup quarterback Dexter Fields fell hard in practice, severing all three ligaments in his right knee. Word from the New York office is that the team is in contact with both the Orlando organization and player representatives for rookie Shane Ellsworth. More on that later..."

"Shit," Shane said.

A week later Frank Gerrard called, telling Shane to get his suit on and meet him in the lobby of the Orlando Four Seasons for dinner. Coach Barnes was in the loop, and Shane was allowed out of camp to meet his agent. Driving the Tahoe to the hotel, Shane thought of Valerie Winters, and before he knew it, his cell phone was in his ear, and he was listening to the muted ringing as he waited for her to pick up.

"Hello?" Her voice sent a chill down his spine as he drove.

"Valerie, it's Shane Ellsworth," he said. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Hey Shane, how's your camp going?"

"It's ok," he said, bristling at her dodge. "Listen, I'm on a pass for the night from my coach, are you free in a few hours?"

"I don't know if I'm up for another nightclub Shane," she said, but he could hear the skip in her voice. "What are you doing that you have a pass?"

"Meeting my agent at the Four Seasons," he said, and then decided to throw her a bone. "I know its short notice."

In his ear, he heard her take a breath that sounded like it weighed enough to sink a battleship. Slow and deliberate the same breath was released.

"Look Shane," she said. "This is about the time even the clueless have seen all the tabloids about me and have decided one or both of two things."

"Okay..."

"One," she said. "If all those stories are true, I must be easy. Two, I'm a fucking rich bitch who needs to know her place."

Head of steam fully engaged, Valerie Winters continued. Thinking her voice was a little cute when riled up, Shane just listened and waited.

"I embarrassed my father Shane, and girls really get upset when they realize they've done that. I won't do it anymore. My dad actually questioned my doorman to make sure you really did talk to him for more than an hour. I'm lucky that Walter really liked you, or my dad may not have believed him too.

"Look, it sucks to not be trusted personally by your father. I'm not going to screw that up again. Maybe you should call someone else."

"You forgot option three," Shane said. He was glad she got it all off his chest, maybe he could ignore it better too. "You're the only person in this town that I know who isn't a football player, or a football coach."

Silence was his reward for the comment. Silence seemed to hum in his ear while he waited for her to say something ... anything. Taking the last turn to the Four Seasons, he smirked when he thought of yet another snotty Valet taking his truck.

"Shane, don't mess with me," she said. "We met at a club, and I had to throw myself at the mercy of my father to get a hold of you and get my grandmother's earring back."

"I'm not messing, I want to see someone who doesn't want to talk about my throwing mechanics, or training regimen. I've got one night to do it, and I'd like you to come."

Straining his ear, he heard her relent before she said anything.

"What are you wearing?"

Grinning from ear to ear, he told her about his blue pinstripe suit, and she asked about a tie and handkerchief. He happened to be wearing them both in the same shade of red, and she said she would be at the Four Seasons in an hour, and she would ask for him.

For a second he complained that he'd just meet her at the bar. Instead she drew him short, insisting that if he was in the building, they would know exactly where, and be more than happy to show her to him.

There was a minor bit of disappointment when the Valet did not even blink at his truck, instead the young man held the door with aplomb, and left Shane to walk to the doorman.

"Mr. Ellsworth," said the far too pleasant man. "Welcome to the Four Seasons, your party is waiting for you in 'Jack's'. Straight through the doors ahead, and turn left. You can't miss it."

Jack's turned out to be 'Jack's Top Cut' a fine steak house. As soon as Shane got to the door, a petite Asian woman in her thirties held it open. She looked ravishing in a blue silk dress, and Shane felt his pants stir at the sight. Too many nights in the company of men had him in need.

"Mr. Ellsworth, your party is already seated," she said. "If you'll follow me please."

Being led through the tables and chairs, Shane didn't look up until she stopped in front of him. Seated at a large circular booth, were three men trying to get up to shake his hand, recognizing his agent first, Shane looked at the other two just in time to feel his stomach drop.

The first man, who had a tight grip and penetrating eyes, was a man Shane knew to be Head Coach Reed Franklin of the New York Liberty. The man next to him with the giant Rolex, and jovial face, was Douglas Tell, the team owner, and his hand was covered in a fine sweat, but his warm smile and easy handshake made up for it.

Valerie Winters flashed through Shane's consciousness, and he felt a red flush in his cheeks.

"Gentlemen," he said as he sat down. "I really need to make a call, I'm very sorry."

"What's wrong Shane," Frank Gerrard asked.

"I asked a friend to meet me here in an hour," Shane said, his right hand rubbing his bottom lip with nervous energy. "I thought I was just coming here to meet with Frank, and so I invited her to dine with me before I head back to camp."

Douglas Tell laughed, and reached over to place his hand on Shane's fore arm. "Shane," he said. "Let her eat with us, we don't bite, and it gives us motive to finish our business before she gets here. I hate eating with things unfinished."

Nodding, Shane looked to Frank Gerrard. Mr. Gerrard straightened his posture, and leaned in to the table.

"Shane," he said. "Mr. Tell and Coach Franklin would like you to not exercise your option in the trade they are going to sign with Orlando tomorrow."

The option was a standard contract clause allowing Shane to deny any trades made for his services in the first two years of his contract. The idea had been to prevent him from being a commodity traded away before ever playing a moment of game time.

"Why?" Shane asked. Douglas Tell grinned, and looked to Coach Franklin.

"Because we didn't get the chance to draft you," Franklin said. "But if we could have, we would have snapped you up. Because our backup quarterback is disabled now, and our third stringer, while he has some NFL experience, isn't more than a place holder."

"Am I the only thing that keeps this trade from happening?"

"Unless Ralph Grey suddenly realizes what he's throwing away," Douglas Tell said. "Yes."

"Throwing away?"

Reed Franklin leaned in close to the table, and his eyes sparked with intensity that Shane could almost feel.

"Damn straight," Reed said. "Orlando has drafted in the top ten in eight of the last ten drafts. You don't do that without being either blind to talent, or unconcerned with anything beyond the Television marketing funds the league pays."

"The Orlando ownership doesn't care about the win column Shane," Tell said. "We do. I want you on the field starting in two years, and I want you wearing a championship ring in five."

Owners were good and all, but Shane still felt like it was a hard sell. With that in mind, he decided to gamble while he was still in control. The team in Orlando didn't like him after the minicamps, but that was probably inside information that wasn't available in New York.

"What about you Coach?" Shane said to Reed Franklin. Then he held his hands out imploring. "Two year starter?"

"I think so." Franklin said. The left side of his mouth twitched, Shane couldn't decide if the other man was dropping his poker face first, or just itching. "I need you on the field first to see how far you have to progress, but based on draft speculation, your performance at the scouting combine, and test scores. Yeah, I want to give it a shot."

Looking to Gerrard again, Shane waited.

"No compensation changes not one character in his contract is altered except location and the signature on his paycheck."

They all nodded, Shane surmised that if the trade was truly taking place the next day that this was all just being said for his benefit. Either to comfort him somehow, or keep him from getting greedy, feeling like an optimist, he decided that it was for comfort.

"If you won't object Shane," His agent said. "I just need you to sign this."

Frank Gerrard produced an obvious legal document, and motioned Shane to the signature line. Overwhelmed by having to do a deal right in front of the owner and coach of a team that wasn't his, Shane just glanced. Seeing something about waiving his right of refusal, he signed with a pen Frank generated.

Both Reed Franklin and Douglas Tell looked relieved. Frank Gerrard just grinned. Air was building up in his lungs to announce that he didn't know the first thing about what would happen next, when Douglas Tell, who was sitting on one of the booth ends, stood up and opened his arms.

"Val," he said in his cheery voice. "How are you gorgeous? Tell me you haven't eaten, and want to break bread with me and my associates."

"Actually Mr. Tell," Valerie said, a gentle laugh floating from her lips. "I think I am going to dine with you, but I didn't know I would be."

Shane felt flush again, and didn't manage to notice his agent intercede.

"He had no idea Ms. Winters, I neglected to tell him it would be more than just me," he said. "I'm sure he didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Who's embarrassed?" Valerie said with a wave of her hand, and then sat down next to Shane. "I've known Mr. Tell since I was two. He gives me and Daddy access to his box when the Liberty takes on a good team."

Not believing she had said it, Shane watched as Douglas Tell bristled and then shook his head with a smile. Coach Franklin didn't smile. The bottom line was that while Orlando and Cincinnati were the teams most likely to enjoy long breaks during the playoffs, New York was usually still playing football.

With the greetings over, their waitress somehow sensed they were done with business, and was at their table to let them order in moments. Frank Gerrard paid for everything, telling Shane after the Coach and Owner from New York were gone, that if he paid there could be no talk of bribery or collusion.

A scant hour flicked past on Shane's watch, and they were all gone, leaving Valerie and he at the booth full of red meat and smiles. She had been amazing. He'd now seen her as a foolish drunk, doting daughter, and in this instant, a smooth socialite.

Gears shifted in her without grinding, for the first time he realized he was actually going to be able to talk just to her, and he felt a little nervous about it. Not to mention the feeling of being out of his league. Valerie Winters was far more prepared socially than he was.

"What do you want to do now Ohio?"

"I didn't think that far a head," he said. "I just wanted to see a friendly face so I called you. I'm sorry about Mr. Franklin and Mr. Tell; I didn't know they would be here."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "You were as surprised as they were, and quit trying to be Mr. Manners around me and relax. You wanted a friend, and I can do that."

Silence crept up on them just then, and Shane found himself staring at the smooth lines of her red cocktail dress. She hadn't matched him perfectly, but it did compliment very well.

"So when do you move to New York?" She just tossed it out like it wasn't important, and Shane clenched his jaw. Was it time to deny? Could he get in trouble?

Frozen with inaction, Shane floundered. A long draw from his wine didn't help. Looking at the walls didn't help.

"Look," she said. "My father makes deals all the time, has been doing it in front of me for as long as I can remember, and I know one when I see one. If those two guys weren't here for the Ohio hero, I'm a trampy bimbo from Philly."

Looking at her with a bit of respect, Shane shook his head. Somehow Valerie Winters took all the intrigue out of everything.

"Soon," he said. "I have no idea when, except that it'll be soon."

"I want to sell you a condo," Valerie said tapping her knuckles on the table. Anything she said, except that could have been reasonable to Shane. Confused he wondered if he looked like the idiot he felt like when she went on.

"I'm building a high rise in Manhattan with my dad. I'll cut you a really good deal, not just a friendly deal, a down right gem."

"Why?"

"Because if you get one, I'll sell at least three more," she said. "That'll make up for anything I don't make on yours."

"Can we do something else?"

"Sorry, I just get excited about real estate, it's a family thing."

"My family's into fishing."

She looked at him, appraising the abrupt change. Shane didn't really care. Women liked him because he was the quarterback, liked him because he had the body of an athlete, and in his Senior Year at Ohio State, liked him because of his earning potential.

Thinking that Valerie Winters wouldn't care about any of those things, he didn't mind just laying himself out there. She'd either find something she liked that was just him, and not related to football, or she wouldn't.

"I owe you a ride," she said.

"Huh?" was his astute response.

"I rode in that 'classic' you call a truck," she said. "Now I want you to ride in my car."

"Uh sure," he said. The woman changed speeds so often that he could barely keep up. At least he wasn't bored.

The same valet he'd used rushed to get her car when they got out front. In short order he returned with a bright red Porsche. Shane disliked it the moment it pulled up.

"That thing is anything but low key."

"I know, it's obnoxious and I love it," she said then slid into the passenger seat before he could move. "You drive Shane. You're not going to want your truck back."

It took him more than a full minute to wedge himself in the small car. His shoulders filled the seat, and his feet dominated the floor board. Unable to admit how nice the hand stitched wheel felt in his palms, or how smooth the leather was on the seat, he focused on buckling his seatbelt, and pulling the lever into 'drive'.

"Go anywhere," Valerie said, cracking her window to let some of the night air in. "Let me ask you some questions."

"Ok," Shane said, feeling the engine purr as he downshifted and turned in a direction that didn't matter.

"My father says money is an unnecessary part of a good man," she said. "How much money do you have just sitting around in case you don't make it as an NFL quarterback?"

"Almost all of it," Shane said after a moment. He'd decided not to give her the amounts, but to be honest otherwise. "I'll know in a month or two if I'm going to have a job this year, that's when I'll start spending what they gave me. If I make it for a second year, I'll start spending what I make this year."

"That's a little too conservative," she said with a smirk. "You could have all that cash working for you instead of just waiting for you."

"Working on what?"

"Making you more money," Valerie stopped and looked at him. "You could have an income that doesn't lower your value just by getting some rental property. Believe it or not, we could get you some properties that'd rent over their counterparts, just because you own them."

"Maybe," he said.

Picking up on a level of insecurity that she didn't think she'd have seen in an elite athlete, Valerie switched tactics.