I know you, Leo Sterling. I know your type. I can predict your every move, on and off the field. And I want absolutely as little to do with you as possible.

I’m well aware that working for a jerk like Ryan will be a pain in the ass and that my dream of eventually being a sports agent will put me in very close quarters with unfathomably arrogant athletes like Leo. It’s par for the course with my career path, one I chose so that I can stay as close as possible to the one true love of my life—football.

I look at the picture on my desk of Tebow, my six-year-old pit bull, to calm my nerves at the very thought of pretending to be engaged to some egotistical football star. “You wouldn’t stoop that low, would you, buddy? Of course not. You have integrity.” I slump down in my chair and bury my face in my hands.

Suddenly, I feel a strong tap on my shoulder and get a gentle waft of some expensive cologne. I look up to meet the deepest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, framed by locks of silky dark hair and underscored with a jawline that could cut a diamond.

“Hey.” Leo leans against my desk in front of me, perfectly positioning the bulge in his khaki pants directly at my eye level.

Jesus Christ. I try to ignore the warmth that floods my body at the thought of what’s beneath those khakis and pull my gaze up to meet his.

“I have a proposal for you. A business proposal. Wanna grab a cup of coffee?” He reaches out his hand and flashes me a smile that makes my knees melt. I refuse the hand and lift myself out of the chair.

Having a little weakness for athletes like Leo Sterling doesn’t make me pathetic, it makes me a normal human. And it definitely doesn’t mean I’ll fall for him.

“All right. One cup of coffee.”

After a silent elevator ride, we walk out of the office to the coffee shop next door, and suddenly I’m kicking myself for wearing this stupid baggy sweater. And then I’m kicking myself for giving a damn whether a cocky NFL player notices my boobs. His rock-solid tricep brushes against my arm and sends a chill down my spine. God, he’s sexy. He oozes that douchey confidence of an athlete, the guy who can get absolutely any girl he wants, and all you want is for him to choose you…

No. Stop it, Frankie. You’ve been down this road before and you know exactly where it leads. Heartbreak and misery. Your career is all that matters right now, and Leo Sterling is just a deliciously chiseled way for you to get one step closer to achieving your dreams.

“One medium black coffee and…” Leo turns and gestures to me.

“Make it two, please.” I resist the urge to insist on paying for my own coffee, because, well, there’s a wage gap, and he makes zillions anyway.

“Black coffee?” Leo raises his eyebrows at me. “Not usually a lady’s first pick.”

I cringe at the word lady. “Ah, yes, Leo Sterling, best wide receiver in the NFL and grade-A womanizer. You know exactly how all girls like their coffee, and you consider yourself a god between the sheets. Am I right?”

He laughs and backs up, raising his hands defensively. “Whoa, there, sassmaster. Just figured you might want some mocha macchiato latte garbage. And you are right. I have references.”

The wink and nod he shoots at me half makes me want to throw up and half makes me want to rip his clothes off and screw him in the middle of Starbucks. What an ass.

“If you’re going to be my fiancée, I’m gonna need to know a lot more than just how you take your coffee.” Leo sits down at a table and nods for me to sit across from him.

I sigh and wave my hand through the air dismissively. “All right, propose to me.”

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