His Secretary's Surprise Fiancé. Joanne Rock

feeling they had back in junior high when they’d sit on a stoop and talk for hours. Now it was all business, all the time. That didn’t seem to bother Dempsey, who lived and breathed work. But she needed more out of life—and her friends—than that. So now she was counting down the minutes of her last day on the job as his assistant. Maybe, somehow, they’d recover their friendship.

      She hated to leave the team. She loved the sport and excelled at her job. In fact, she’d grown to enjoy football so much she couldn’t wait to start her own high-end clothing company catering to female fans. The work married her love of art with her sports savvy, and the projected designs were so popular online she’d crowd funded her first official offering last week. She was ready for this next step.

      And she was very ready for a clean break from Dempsey.

      Her eyes went to him in the bright spotlight on the dais where coaches and a few key players would take turns fielding questions. The sea of journalists hid behind cameras, voice recorders and lights, a wall of devices all currently aimed at Dempsey Reynaud, the hard-nosed coach and her onetime friend who’d unknowingly crushed most of her dreams for the past decade.

      He was far too handsome, rich and powerful. Dempsey might not ever see himself as fully accepted into the family, but the rest of the world breathed his name with the same awe as they did the names of the other Reynaud brothers. All four of them had been college football stars, with the youngest two opting for NFL careers while the older two had stepped into front-office roles in addition to their work in the family’s business empire. Each remained built like Pro Bowl players, however. Dempsey’s broad shoulders tested the seams of his Hurricanes jersey, his strong biceps apparent as he leaned forward at the podium to provide his perspective on the game and give an injury report.

      With his dark brown hair and eyes a bit more golden than brown, there was no mistaking Dempsey’s relation to his half brothers. But the cleft in his chin and the square jaw were all his own, his features sharp, his mouth an unforgiving slash. He spoke faster, too, with his stronger Cajun accent.

      Not that she’d spent an inordinate amount of time cataloging every last detail about the man she’d swooned over as a teen. There was a time she would have done backflips to make him notice her as more than just his scrawny, flat-chested pal. But the only time she’d succeeded? He’d ended up noticing her as a tool for increasing his business productivity. He had honestly once referred to her in those exact terms. He hadn’t even noticed when she’d ceased being much of a friend to him—forgoing personal exchanges in favor of taking care of business.

      That hurt even more than not being noticed as a woman.

      “Adelaide?” The voice of the PR coordinator sounded in her earpiece, a woman who had quickly seen the benefits of a coach with a personal assistant, unlike some of the front-office personnel in other cities where she’d worked. “I’m receiving calls and messages for Dempsey from Valentina Rushnaya. She’s threatened to give some unflattering interviews if she can’t arrange for a private meeting with him.”

      Adelaide’s skin chilled. Dempsey’s latest supermodel. The woman had been rude to Adelaide, unwilling to accept that her affair with Dempsey was over despite the extravagant diamond bracelet he’d sent as a breakup gift. Occasionally, Adelaide felt bad for the women he dated. She understood how it hurt to be kept at a distance after experiencing what it felt like to be the center of his attention—if only briefly. But she had no such empathy for Valentina.

      Stepping to the back of the room, Adelaide spoke softly into her microphone, momentarily tuning out of the press conference as Dempsey wound up his opening remarks.

      “I talked to Dempsey about this and he’s agreed to handle it.” She didn’t see any need to share her plans to vacate her position. “Anything she says would either be old news, or blatant lies.”

      “Should we schedule a meeting to come up with a response plan, just in case?” Carole pressed. The woman stood on the far end of the room, her arms crossed in her navy power suit that was her daily uniform, her blond bob as durable as any helmet in the league. “Dempsey’s new charity has their first major fund-raiser slated for next week. I think he’ll be disappointed if this woman succeeds in deflecting any attention from that.”

      Adelaide would be equally disappointed.

      The Brighter NOLA foundation had been her idea as much as his, a youth violence prevention initiative where Dempsey could leverage his success and influence to help some of the more gang-ridden communities in New Orleans. Like where they’d grown up. Or, more accurately, where he’d lived briefly and where she’d been stuck after he got out.

      She’d had her own run-ins with youth violence.

      “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.” She would honor those words, even if it meant communicating with Dempsey after she walked away from the Silver Dome today. “She signed a strict nondisclosure agreement before she started dating Dempsey, so going to the press will be a costly move for her.”

      Dempsey had communicated as much to Adelaide in a one-line email when she’d mentioned it to him two weeks ago. He’d typed, She has no legal recourse, and attached a copy of the confidentiality agreement the woman had signed as part of his megaromantic dating procedure. In Adelaide’s softer-hearted moments, she recognized that the single life could be difficult for an extraordinarily wealthy and powerful man in the public eye. He had to be practical. Careful. But the nondisclosure agreement, complete with enforcement clause and confidentiality protection, seemed over-the-top.

      Given the number of women who still lobbied to be in his life, however, it must not deter many.

      “Valentina is wealthier than some of the ladies he’s dated,” Carole pointed out. “But I hope she’s just stirring trouble with us and not—” She stopped speaking suddenly and leaned forward. “Wait. Did he just say he has a personal announcement? What is he doing?”

      From across the room, Adelaide noticed all of the PR coordinator’s focus was on the lectern where Dempsey was facing down the media.

      The audience sat in stillness, making her wonder what she’d missed. In the hushed moment, Dempsey held the room captive as always, but more anticipation than usual pinged through the crowd. She could see it in their body language, as the journalists sat straighter in their seats, all dialed in to whatever it was the Hurricanes’ head coach was about to say.

      “I got engaged today.” He announced it as matter-of-factly as if he’d just read the latest update on a linebacker’s injury report.

      Murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd of sportswriters while Adelaide reeled with shock. Engaged?

      The floor seemed to shift beneath her feet. She reached behind her, searching for something to steady herself. He’d never mentioned an engagement. Her chest hurt with the weight of how little he trusted her. How little he cared about their old friendship. How much this new betrayal hurt, not to even know the most basic detail of his personal life—

      “To my personal assistant,” he continued, his gaze landing on her. “Adelaide Thibodeaux.”

       Two

      Adelaide reeled back on her high heels.

      Dempsey had just publicly declared an engagement. To her.

      The man who was so cautious about every aspect of his personal life. The man who trusted her never to betray him even though he’d betrayed her in a million little ways over the years. How could he?

      In her ear, Adelaide heard Carole squeal a congratulations. A few other members of the press who knew her—women, mostly, who were still vastly outnumbered in the football community—turned around to acknowledge her. Or maybe just study her to see what renowned bachelor Dempsey Reynaud would find appealing in the very average and wholly unknown Adelaide Thibodeaux.

      Of course, the answer was obvious. She had no appeal other than