“Ford keeps us up-to-date on all the great things you have going on at Sterling,” Rachel said. “Any new deals on the horizon?”

“I’ve got a couple of feelers out with a few—” Brooke stopped herself, making a spur-of-the-moment decision. “No. Let’s talk about something else. Anything else. For the rest of the evening, I don’t want to even hear the name ‘Sterling Restaurants.’”

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

Brooke looked to her right and saw Ford approaching her, with his big, familiar grin.

“I can’t believe you actually made—oof.” He was cut off as she half-tackled him in a hug.

She squeezed him tightly, oddly feeling as though it had been ages since they’d gotten together even though they’d just met for lunch last week.

“What was that for?” he asked with a chuckle, when she finally pulled back.

“Just glad to see to you,” she told him.

Charlie and Tucker walked by right then, and noticed Brooke and Ford standing with their arms around each other. Charlie nodded slyly at Tucker, who opened his mouth to comment—

“Still not happening,” Brooke and Ford said in unison.

* * *

AFTER THE LAST of the stragglers had left, heading either home or to the bars depending on marital status, Brooke picked up Ford’s place. He’d gotten a call from his mother, and since Brooke knew how those calls could go, she figured she might as well do something productive to kill time.

Ford came out of his room just as she was wrapping up the rest of the potato salad. “You didn’t have to clean all that up.”

“I don’t mind.” Actually, it eased some of the guilt she felt about forgetting about the party. “How’s your mom?”

Ford sat down at one of the bar stools in front of the island. “She says my dad is talking about going to rehab again. What’ll that be, the sixth time?” he asked dryly. He ran his hand over his face.

“Maybe this time it’ll actually work,” Brooke said.

Ford peered up to give her a get-real look. “There’s a better chance of both Charlie and Tucker getting laid tonight.”

“Ouch. Those are not good odds.”

That got a slight smile out of Ford. She walked around the counter and threw her arms over his shoulders in a backward hug. He squeezed her back. “Let’s talk about something else.”

She understood—Ford’s father had never been his favorite topic of conversation. “Rachel told me she’s pregnant.”

“Good for them. Brandon told me they’ve been trying for a while.”

“Something I probably would’ve known if I’d seen her in the last five months.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Brooke,” Ford said. “Work, family, whatever—everyone’s busy these days.”

“Maybe.” She chewed on that, falling quiet as she began stacking the glasses in the dishwasher.

After they’d finished cleaning up, they sat outside on Ford’s deck and looked out at the skyline while munching on leftover chips and taco dip.

“I think Charlie and Tuck were brokenhearted when Cade didn’t come with you tonight,” Ford said. “They have a big-time man-crush on that guy.”

“No kidding. They asked me four times if I would text him and ask him to stop by.” Brooke paused. “Actually, though, I think I might cool things down with Cade for a while.”

Ford looked surprised. “Really? I thought you guys were having fun.”

“We were. We are. But lately, it seems like things are getting . . . complicated.”

“Huh.” Ford thought about that. “Because you have feelings for him, you mean?”

Brooke pulled back. “Is it that obvious?”

He shrugged matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

“Well . . . why didn’t you say anything?” she asked indignantly.

“I assumed you knew.”

“No, I didn’t know. Not until last night, anyway, when I got out of the bathtub and found him in my kitchen cooking dinner. It just looked so . . . right.”

“Having a good-looking, six-foot-four, former football star turned hotshot prosecutor make dinner while you take a bath? Yeah, I’m guessing that’s an image a lot of women would say looks right.”

Brooke shot him a wry look. “I meant that it felt right. The two of us being together.”

“So maybe it is.”

Brooke thought that over, and then shook her head. “I’ve been down this road. Three times in the last eighteen months. I know how it turns out. Things will be good, at first, but then slowly he’ll start making comments about my job, and how many hours I work. And then the comments will turn into arguments, maybe even something about my success being ‘emasculating’—”

“Who said that?” Ford demanded, cutting her off.

“Spencer. The Hipster Photographer who came before the Hot OB.”

“An even bigger douche,” Ford scoffed. “You know how Cade’s different from those other guys?”

“He’s not a douche?” she guessed.

“Exactly.”

Brooke smiled, appreciating Ford’s flash of protectiveness, before turning serious. “I like Cade. A lot. But there’s so much happening at work these days, good things, and I need to stay focused. I’m pitching to the Bears on Monday, and I should be preparing for that, or working on the other 137 things on my to-do list, and not skipping out early on a Friday to relax. Because that’s not something I can typically do, and soon enough he’ll figure that out. And I don’t want to start this, only to have Cade tell me in four months that I’m not a ‘big-picture’ girl or some other ‘Sorry, sweetie, it really is you, not me’ line like that.” She shook her head. “I just can’t hear that . . . from him.”

Ford looked over and nodded. “Okay.”

They both fell quiet, looking out at the skyline. Finally, Ford spoke. “You know you brought this on yourself by not following the Rules.”

Smart-ass. “I did follow the Rules.” Well, mostly. “But I somehow ended up here, anyway.”

And, unfortunately, she knew what she needed to do about that.

Twenty-six

ON MONDAY AFTERNOON, Brooke spent the fifty-minute drive from Chicago to Lake Forest getting in the zone.

She was focused, determined not to be distracted by anything going on in her personal life, as she ran through the various points she wanted to make with Curt Emery. While her pitch varied somewhat depending on the potential client and their food service needs and facilities, what always remained constant was the fact that she one hundred percent believed in Sterling and the business they were growing.

Nevertheless, she remained pragmatic about the likely outcome of this meeting with the Bears. While Curt Emery may have been interested enough to hear her pitch, it was still a long shot given the team’s long-standing relationship with Spectrum.

While driving, her phone chimed repeatedly with a stream of chatty text messages from Ian.

ARE YOU THERE YET?

HOW’S THE DRIVE?

THINK YOU’LL GET TO SEE THE PRACTICE FIELDS? TOO BAD THE TEAM IS AT TRAINING CAMP.

I’M ALREADY PICTURING THAT SKYBOX ON THE FIFTY-YARD LINE. HA.

Clearly, Ian wasn’t as down with the let’s-remain-pragmatic approach.

Just before three o’clock, Brooke walked through the main entrance of Halas Hall, the modern glass and steel building that served as the Bears’ headquarters. She checked in at the front desk, where the security guard handed her a visitor’s badge and directed her to the elevators.

Curt Emery’s office was located on the fourth floor, along with the rest of the team’s front office. Brooke stepped out of the elevators and was greeted by a receptionist whose desk sat before a large, panoramic photograph of Soldier Field. Only a minute or so later, a man in his midforties, wearing khakis and a button-down shirt, approached.

He held out his hand and introduced himself. “Curt Emery. So nice to meet you, Ms. Parker.”

“Please—call me Brooke,” she said, shaking his hand. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

He guided her down a hallway. “We’re in a conference room this way.” He smiled at her tentatively. “So about our meeting . . . this is rather unorthodox for me. As you know, we’ve contracted with Spectrum for nearly twenty years for the food service at Soldier Field. And in the interests of full disclosure, I have a good relationship with the senior manager there who handles our account.”

“I understand,” Brooke said. “I appreciate you giving me the opportunity to tell you about the things we’re doing at Wrigley Field and the United Center—and the things we can do for your organization as well. But I promise, you won’t get a hard sell from me. Not yet, anyway,” she added.

Instead of laughing at the joke, Curt stopped in the doorway of the conference room and shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah . . . see . . . that’s not exactly what this meeting is about.”

Brooke cocked her head, having no clue what that meant. “Okay, what is this meeting about, then?”

“Here’s the thing. I sort of mentioned to my contact at Spectrum that you’d called me. I was just joking around with him, saying that if he didn’t keep me happy I might have to consider giving Sterling Restaurants our business, that kind of thing. But then I received a follow-up phone call from Palmer Green himself, the CEO of Spectrum North America. He was very interested in the fact that you were trying to pitch Sterling to me.”

Brooke waited, trying to figure out where Curt was going with this. So Spectrum’s CEO knew she was going after another one of their clients. So what? It was hardly a secret that Sterling was aggressively building its sports and entertainment division. “And how does this relate to our meeting?”