Hello Quarterback (Hello #8)

21. Mia

21

MIA

I couldn’t get over Ford Madigan in a suit.

Something about broad shoulders, a fit body, and perfect tailoring of the navy-blue fabric had me practically salivating. I needed the chilled champagne just to cool myself down.

But even better than his looks was watching him interact with donors at the gala. He always introduced me first, putting his hand on my lower back and making sure I wasn’t an afterthought in the conversation but an active participant.

I’d never been with a man, romantic or otherwise, who was so willing to share the spotlight with me, even when he fully deserved for it to be shining on him.

And not only was Ford kind to me—he treated everyone we spoke to with equal respect, whether it was a caterer passing out hors d’oeuvres or one of his major donors. I’d wondered if he’d been trained by Tallie herself, but I was starting to discover... this was just Ford. The only place he was acting was in our relationship.

“Ford, Mia,” someone said behind us. I recognized the voice instantly and turned to greet Ford’s dad, Gray, with a genuine smile on my face. There was a pretty, older woman on his arm in a simple black gown matching Gray’s black suit.

“Gray,” I said, accepting his offer for a quick hug. Then he smiled at the woman next to him. “This is my friend, Aggie.”

She smiled at me, her eyes crinkling warmly in the corners. “Nice to meet you, Mia. I’m a big fan of your work.”

My lips parted. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “My cousin lives in the town where GI bought the tire plants, and it’s been great for their family. She said the raise last year made a big difference for them.”

Warmth spread through my chest, and I almost got choked up. This was why I did what I did. Not to get approval from board members who never stepped foot outside the city—but to make a difference in the lives of real people. Like the ones the Andersen sisters served.

“Thank you for saying that, Aggie,” I finally replied. “You made my whole night.”

Ford squeezed my side supportively, and I smiled up at him to see his genuine look of admiration.

“You all must be so proud of Ford too,” I commented. “What he’s created from scratch is simply amazing.”

Gray’s eyes shined as he nodded. “I didn’t have much money after we lost Maya. I wish...” His voice broke.

Ford let go of me for a moment to hug his dad. “I know,” he said gently.

Aggie and I exchanged a knowing look before the pair broke apart. Gray wiped at his eyes and said, “I’m proud of you, son. We’ll let you mingle.” He held his arm out for Aggie, and she easily slipped her arm through his.

As they walked away, Ford and I watched. “What’s the deal with them?” I asked him. They acted more familiar than just friends.

He leaned close to me, like he was sharing a secret. “Dad goes to the same diner every day for lunch, where she works. They’ve been ‘just friends’ for years now. I think he’s afraid to start over after Mom. And she’s so much younger than him...”

“You’re younger than me,” I commented with a smile. “No one seems to mind.”

“How much younger—” He broke off his line of questioning. “Wait, I know better.”

I laughed, loving his old-school manners. My parents would definitely approve of him—if this were real. “I looked you up online. I’m just over ten years older than you.”

He gave me a devious smile. “Cougar.”

I had to toss my head back and laugh at that. “I suppose I am.”

He grinned in response before yet another donor came to chat with him.

Although I would have been comfortable to mingle on my own—as I’d done for hundreds of work events over the years—the only time Ford left my side was when he had to address his guests.

I sat at a table with his dad and Aggie, sipping a glass of sweet white wine while he approached the microphone.

There wasn’t a hint of shake to his voice as he began speaking. “Everyone, thank you so much for coming to the third annual Ford’s Friends gala...” He shared some stats about the charity and who they’d been able to serve so far and then his lofty goals for the future of the organization. It was wild to think he’d have dedicated therapists in every county of Texas within a few years, but deep down I knew he could do it. “Thank you all for coming and for your dedication to helping children,” he continued. “Speaking from experience, a good grief counselor can make a world of difference and change the course of someone’s life when they need it most.”

I pictured Ford as a young child, losing his mom and feeling lost. Gray, who sat on the other side of Aggie, would have been twenty years younger when it all happened—left alone with five young boys to raise on his own. My heart went out to them.

Aggie covered Gray’s hand with hers on the table.

I was glad they had each other.

Ford concluded his speech by saying that he was personally matching all donations made that evening and stepped off the stage. The program manager spoke next, sharing more stories of children and families who the charity had helped, followed by one of the grief counselors who shared how much she enjoyed working with Ford and the families in need. More people were crying than had dry eyes by the end of it.

And when the night was over, I saw Ford in an entirely different light. He wasn’t just a football player; he was a humanitarian.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt inferior in the company of a man.

I knew Griffen Industries was doing good work in the world of business, but Ford had inspired me. I wanted to do more as Mia Baird, not just as a CEO.

The gala wound down around ten, and Ford took me aside as the caterers began cleaning up. “I know it’s getting late—you don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to. I just want to stay and make sure they don’t need anything.”

Again, he was surprising me. Most people wouldn’t bother—would let their team handle it. I shook my head. “I’m happy to stay here with you.”

“In that case...” He went to a tray setting on a table and retrieved a couple extra glasses of champagne, handing one to me.

I raised my eyebrows. “You’re drinking.”

“Just one—to celebrate the night.”

“You raised a lot of money,” I commented.

“And spent the evening with a hell of a woman,” he added, holding out his glass for a toast.

My cheeks warmed as I clinked my glass to his, then took a sip of the fizzy liquid. “I’m impressed by you, Ford Madigan.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? That means a lot coming from you. You’re so successful, Mia.”

I had to smile as I shook my head. “You’re too modest, Ford. You saw this problem in the world, and when most people are enjoying their fame and fortune, you’re working hard to help other people. Not just tossing money at it and looking the other way.”

He took a sip and gazed out over the emptying tables. “What would you do, if you could?”

I studied him. No one had ever asked me what I could do to give back. Sure, people wanted to know what I could do to make them more money or position the company in a better light. Not anything like this. “I’d help other women like me,” I answered instantly.

“So, beautiful and successful?” he teased.

I laughed at that, trying not to pay too much attention to the compliment. “There aren’t many women at the top of companies like Griffen Industries. Especially not plus-sized women. Even less women of color. I’d coach them—the ones who are really hungry for it—and show them that it is possible to be this size and do a damn good job.”

He pinned me under his thoughtful blue gaze and said, “So why don’t you?”

I didn’t have an answer. “I’m not sure.”

We were quiet for a beat before I plucked up the courage to ask him a question that had been bothering me for weeks. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you so against dating?”

His shoulders stiffened a bit as he set down his drink. “I want to win the Super Bowl.”

“I don’t know much about football,” I countered, “but I do know the last quarterback to win the Super Bowl has a wife and two kids. And he’s just a year older than you.”

Ford lowered his eyes, waiting while the cleanup crew pulled the trays from the table where we sat. Then he looked up at me, his gaze tortured. “My mom wasn’t all that much older than me when she passed.”

I nodded slowly, taking in his statement. “You’re afraid to die.”

He pressed his lips together, shook his head. “I’m afraid to die without doing all I could while I lived.”

The words were powerful, hanging in the air for a moment. But I still didn’t fully understand. Couldn’t he have it all? “Wouldn’t you be missing out on love, romance? For so many people, that’s the meaning of life.”

“You’ve dated before,” he said.

I nodded.

“How many times were you asked to play small, take a back seat so the relationship could be front and center?”

I pressed my lips together. Far too often. He read my answer in my expression.

“Any old fool can fall in love. Not everyone can change the world.”