The Alpha's Second Chance

  The Alpha's Second Chance

  A Second Chance Romance Box Set

  Jillian Riley

  © Copyright 2019 - All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Follow Jillian Riley

  The Players Dilemma

  Protective Professor

  Protective Captain

  Here are a few of my other works

  Follow Jillian Riley

  You can follow me on the websites below:

  Facebook

  Goodreads

  Bookbub

  Here are a few of my other works:

  Protective Captain

  Riding the Rich Box Set

  Kissing the Alpha Box Set

  Hard Guardian

  Hard Protector

  Hard Bounty

  The Players Dilemma

  A Thrilling Second Chance Romance

  1

  Shawn: You’re On The Air

  “Dammit! Charlie, get in here.”

  I was standing in the middle of my walk-in closet, looking for something to wear to the interview. I prided myself on keeping my home impeccably organized, and yet there it was, plain as the nose on my face.

  “Charlie, did you hear me?” I called again.

  I could hear him coming up the stairs, and in his defense, it was quite a staircase. Even still. I’d been calling him for a few minutes.

  Finally, he got to the entrance to my closet. The closet was the size of a small bedroom, and the back wall of the closet had all the shirts that were in my signature color of purple arranged from dark to light, left to right.

  Panting and clutching his side, my assistant Charlie said, “What is it, Shawn?”

  I looked him up and down and asked, “Are you all right?”

  Still panting, he answered, “Yeah, I’m just out of breath from running across the whole place and up all those stairs.” He was bent over, holding his knees and taking deep breaths.

  “Well, maybe you ought to start working out in the gym. That’s why we have one here at home.” As a professional football player, I made sure that every home I owned had a full gym. This one happened to be my favorite, because I designed it myself and filled it with all of my favorite workout gear. Plus, I had an Olympic sized lap pool, a full track that went around it, and a nine-hole golf course. Well, the golf course was more for fun than exercise, but still.

  Being the quarterback for the Houston Heroes had its perks, and building this amazing home was one of them.

  “What’s the problem, Shawn? I don’t see anything wrong in here.”

  “That’s because you’re not looking in the right place.” He was staring at the wall of shoes; one nice benefit of being sponsored by a shoe company.

  I walked over to the wall of purple shirts. “Right here.” I pointed to a three-inch gap between shirts where an empty hanger sat. “Where’s the Ralph Lauren?”

  “It’s still at the cleaners.”

  “Wasn’t it supposed to be back yesterday? I wanted to wear it to the studio today.”

  “Yes, it was, but I messaged you that they said they needed another day to get the garlic aioli out of it.”

  I didn’t remember seeing a message about it, but that wasn’t surprising. The reason I hired Charlie was so that I wouldn’t have to deal with things like cleaners and garlic stains.

  I did remember getting the stain on that shirt, though. It was on the date with that model, what was her name? The one who was like a dead fish in bed?

  Ah, nevermind.

  “Fine. Get out the Anna Matuozzo and the black slacks. I’m going to take a shower. Let Kyle know that I’ll need the car in about thirty minutes.”

  Without waiting for a reply, I left Charlie in the closet to collect my clothes. Since I was going to be on national television, it was important that I look good. You never know when network execs might be watching, and I was hoping to snag a post-retirement sports anchor job in a few years.

  Stepping into my fifteen-jet steam shower, I thought ahead to the interview. It had been a few weeks since I’d last been on ESPN, and not since we got booted out of the playoffs because of that bad call in the AFC championship. That call had cost us the game, and the Dolphins went on to win the Super Bowl. To say I was still salty about it was an understatement. It was clearly a bad call, and every time I saw the replay I got more and more mad about it. That ref literally stole the Super Bowl from us.

  “Calm it down, Ryan. Use some of that aromatherapy mist Billy recommended.” My trainer was one of those hippie types who suggested I use lavender in the shower. I didn’t see that it helped, and it made me smell like a fucking candle shop, but whatever. Maybe if he smelled it on me, he’d take it easy on me in practice later.

  Not likely.

  Twenty-seven minutes later, my car was pulling out of my driveway. Kyle had been my driver for two years now, and he knew how important punctuality was to me. I’d fired more than one driver for being late — even two minutes was too much.

  Looking at my Apple Watch, I knew that we were going live at 7 pm, which meant that I had forty-five minutes to get across town and into the makeup chair.

  As I was reading the sports news on my iPad, my phone rang.

  “This is Shawn Ryan.”

  “Shawn, my man. Are you ready for the show?”

  It was my agent, Sam London. He was the one who had booked me on this roundtable on ESPN to talk about the pay discrepancy between male and female athletes.

  “I’m on the way to the studio as we speak.”

  “Great, great. This is an opportunity for you, Shawn. A lot of important people are going to be watching. With Venus and Serena Williams both on the panel, along with LeBron James, and Elena Del Donne from the WNBA, there’s a lot of attention on this show.”

  I grabbed a sparkling water from the fridge in the back of the limo and grinned. “Are you telling me to behave myself, Sammy?”

  “I’m just saying don’t be yourself.” He laughed heartily.

  “I’ll be good, Sam. I promise.”

  “Good. I’ll talk to you after. Can you come to brunch Sunday? Marjorie has been asking for weeks.”

  “Check with Charlie.”

  “Will do. Oh, and Shawn?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Behave.”

  “Good to see you again, Mr. Ryan.” A female page wearing the red and black uniform met me at the car.

  As soon as I got out, Kyle rolled the window down and said, “Good luck! I’ll be watching from the TV in the car.”

  “Thanks, Kyle.”

  The page escorted me past security and back to my dressing room, where a makeup woman was waiting for me.

  “Hi Kyle, nice to be working with you. Can I get you anything before we get started?”

  “Do you have one of those energy drinks I had last time? They were very refreshing.” I wondered if they sent me the hottest makeup chick on purpose, or if they were all this gorgeous. I looked at her chest and could imagine her nipples.

  “Sure, hang on.”

  When she bent over to get the can out of the mini-fridge I actually started getting a little firm. I could definitely enjoy spending some time with … “What’s your name again?”

  �
��Cheryl.” She handed me the drink, and I popped open the top.

  “Thank you, Cheryl.” I gave her my best dimpled smile.

  For the next twenty minutes, Cheryl leaned those beautiful tits in my face as she chattered on about seeing the Williams sisters in their dressing rooms and how she had wanted to be a professional tennis player, but ended up becoming a makeup artist instead.

  Frankly, all her babbling caused me to lose interest, and I just closed my eyes and ran through some plays. We still had a few months to go until the pre-season, but winning happens in the mind before you ever step foot on the field.

  A guy wearing a headset and holding a clipboard opened the door to my dressing room and said, “They’re ready for you on set, Mr. Ryan.”

  Taking a look at my reflection in the mirror, I admired Cheryl’s handiwork. All my life I’d been told how handsome I was, but personally, I never saw it. To me, my jawline was a little too well-defined, my lips too full, and my eyes a little too deeply set. But women seemed to love the cleft in my chin and the blue of my eyes.

  “Thanks, Cheryl. You did a good job.” I handed her my empty can and started down the long hallway to the studio.

  “Okay, so, Mr. Ryan. The network wanted me to remind you that this is live television. There’s a five second delay, but it’s not perfect. There are obviously no cuts or re-dos, so what you say will go out to millions of viewers.”

  “Gee, thanks. Way to make me feel calm now.”

  The guy laughed and said, “No, no. I’m sure you’re fine. I just had to say it to everyone. Network regulations. You know.”

  As I approached the entrance to the set, I felt a few butterflies in my stomach. There was a large ESPN sign behind a long, curved table. In the center of the table were the two hosts of the show, and the other guests were taking their places.

  I wasn’t nervous on the field in front of 90,000 screaming fans being broadcast on television sets around the world. But, that was my job. This was different, and I was a little nervous.

  “Shawn! Good to have you back.” Chip Richards was one of the hosts, and he gestured for me to sit next to him. He and I went way back, as he was at UCLA at the same time I was.

  Pulling out the seat, I sat down and a woman came and pinned a microphone on my jacket lapel and gave me an earpiece. “Nice to see you, too, Chip. Are you and Brittany taking the kids to Hawaii again this year?”

  “No, we’re thinking maybe a Disney cruise this year. The kids are almost too old for that kind of stuff, so we should do it while we can. Plus, we get employee perks.” He elbowed me and laughed, referencing the fact that Disney was a part owner of ESPN.

  “We’re going live in 5… 4… 3… 2… ”

  I heard the intro music start up in my ear piece. It was “showtime.”

  The first segment had gone well, and during the commercial break, Cheryl came over and touched up my makeup.

  “In the next segment, we’ll be taking calls from viewers,” Chip said. “You’ll all be able to hear the questions through your ear pieces.”

  “Back from commercial in 5… 4… 3… 2…”

  “Welcome back. Thanks again to everyone for that lively debate on whether or not women athletes should be sponsors of male-oriented products. Let’s take some calls. First on the line, I am happy to say is one of my favorite fellow sports reporters, Toni Falcon.” Chip lowered his voice to a fake whisper and said, “We’ve been trying to woo her away from a competing channel for years. Welcome to the show, Toni.”

  “Thank you, Chip. It’s great to see so many female athletes on your show tonight. But, my question is for Shawn Ryan.”

  “Hi Toni.”

  “Hi. So, I read an interview with you in Maxim magazine where you said…”

  “I thought no one actually read the articles in those kinds of magazines,” I said.

  “Very funny. Anyway, you were reported as saying that you don’t believe that female reporters should be allowed in male locker rooms for interviews. Is that correct?”

  “Well, I don’t see what this has to do with pay equity between male and female athletes, but yes. I said that.”

  “Why do you feel that female reporters shouldn’t be allowed in male dressing rooms after games? They’ve been reporting in them for years. Why do you think the practice should be stopped?

  “Toni, look at it this way. These days with all the #metoo stuff, there’s too much room for a problem. What’s to say that a woman won’t claim sexual harassment by being exposed to a semi naked man in the dressing room? I don’t think male reporters should be in the women’s locker rooms either, for what it’s worth.”

  “What about female team owners? What, then, Shawn?” Toni asked.

  “Same difference. Men and women are different, and things happen when you see people undressed out of the context of the bedroom. It becomes distracting and difficult for anyone to do their jobs.”

  “What about professionalism? There’s not much difference from what you see on the beach.”

  Damn, this chick was like a dog with a bone.

  “Listen, Stacy.”

  “It’s Toni.”

  “Fine. Toni. I’m allowed to have my opinion on the subject, even if it doesn’t agree with yours.”

  “Yes, you are entitled to your sexist opinion.”

  Chip saw my face change to anger and wisely interjected. “Thanks so much for calling Toni, and we’ll get the opinions on the other members of the panel after this commercial break.”

  I leaned over to Chip and said in a low voice, “Damn. What the hell was her problem? Sounds to me like somebody needs to get laid so she can stop being a feminist bitch.”

  “Uh, Shawn?” The color drained from Chip’s face. “Your mic is still hot.”

  What? I looked around in a panic. From the expressions on everyone’s faces, I realized it was true. I’d just called one of America’s most beloved sportscasters a feminist bitch on national television.

  Shit.

  2

  Lauren: Well Played

  “It’s a tough one out there, Denver.” The traffic announcer on KOA had just told us that the freeway I was on was jammed, and that it was because of the snow.

  “Thanks so much, Captain Obvious.” I wasn’t normally irritated by heavy traffic or snow. I mean, this is Denver. You come to expect both. But this morning my alarm hadn’t gone off, which meant no time to shower, which meant that my naturally curly hair was sticking out like I was wearing a clown hat.

  And, I was late for my staff meeting.

  Switching the station to KUVO and some soothing jazz, I took several deep breaths. As the CEO of a training company for high profile clients, I couldn’t exactly walk into a meeting as a stressed out freak. I needed to use the techniques I taught in our workshops.

  I was about ten deep breaths into my relaxation practice when my phone rang in the car. It was my secretary, Randy.

  “Hey, Lauren. How’s the drive coming? I heard they shut the 25 down.”

  “They did, so I took the 85 through Littleton, but everybody else had the same idea so it’s jammed. Is everybody waiting?”

  “Yeah, except for Mike, who got stuck in it, too.”

  “What if we patched me into the conference room on speakerphone? That way everyone isn’t stuck sitting around waiting for me.”

  “Sounds good, Lauren. I’ll get everyone in there and call back.”

  We hung up and I reached into my bag to get my notes. If I was going to be sitting in traffic, I might as well be productive.

  My car was literally at a dead stop, so I turned my engine off and reviewed the notes I’d planned to cover at the meeting. It was our standard “first of the month” planning and review session.

  My company LG Training and Consulting had skyrocketed to success in the past couple of years, after I’d been interviewed by Fast Company magazine as one of the Women to Watch. My picture was on the cover and the headline read: Can This Woman Wipe Out Sexism?
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br />   After that, our phone didn’t stop ringing. Our signature training programs were customized for each organization to eliminate the “isms” in the workplace — sexism, racism, ageism, and more.

  It was a demanding job, but one I was well trained for, so to speak. After getting my Bachelor’s Degree from UCLA, I’d gotten a Master’s at USC and all kinds of certifications to add credibility. At first, I was just doing standard HR trainings on management topics like reducing conflict and giving effective feedback.

  It wasn’t until my sister got a job at a major entertainment studio and was both harassed and underpaid that I discovered my calling: Creative training programs that uncover hidden biases in the workplace. Lots of companies had trainers that did this, of course, but LGTC was different in the types of exercises we engaged in.

  My phone rang again just as traffic started to move a bit, and I answered it. The voices came over my car speakers.

  “Hey Lauren, so everyone is here.”

  “Hi guys. Sorry I’m not there. Traffic is a mess today.”

  I heard a chorus of “No problem” and “It’s okay.”

  “Let’s make this short and kind of catch up on each other’s projects later in the week. The main things I wanted to talk about were our keynote presentation at the Training Conference and Expo in a few weeks, and the training schedule for next month.”

  Just as I said that, traffic started to move again. Looking at the clock, I figured I’d only be about an hour late. That should give me plenty of time for my conference call with the head trainer for the WNBA about the workshop we were giving during training camp.

  As my team brainstormed topics for the keynote talk and Randy took notes, I sighed happily. My town was covered in a sparkling blanket of snow, I was on my way in to the work that I loved and where I made a real difference, and all was right with the world.