by Tia Souders
Maya nodded. He only half answered her question, but she’d let it slide. “Forming ties to the community? Anything specific you’d like to share?”
“I’m scoping my options. My agent is helping me find a worthy cause. The right charity to get involved in. And I plan on purchasing a house instead of renting. I plan on staying in Pittsburgh long term. This is my home now.”
“You still have family back in California. No plans to get back there?”
Something flickered in his eyes, but he quickly squashed it. He was good at hiding.
He shrugged, his face a mask of indifference. “My mom’s all I’ve got, but I’m working on getting her to move out here. Sometimes we all need a change.”
Maya sensed a wall go up. He was done, so she backed off the bad-boy questions and wrapped up the interview, discussing his strategy going into the end of the season, and by the time they winded down, Maya’s stomach was tangled in knots.
The cameras faded away, and the crew trickled on and off the set, taking equipment down and shifting things for the regular news segment to follow.
Maya sat in the chair, scolding herself for her semi-crappy interview when she noticed for the first time that Jordan hadn’t actually left like she’d thought. Instead, he stood a few feet away, hands in pockets, smirk firmly in place, if not looking a little annoyed.
“So, you’re the city sports journalist, huh?” he asked.
She stood, wanting to be on solid ground. Face-to-face. Well, or as close to it as she’d come, considering she was vertically challenged. It felt too vulnerable in her chair.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
His eyes skimmed up and down her body, assessing. She should be irritated and appalled at how blatantly he checked her out, but all she felt was fire. A knot tightened her chest, sending a punch of attraction straight through her core.
Crap, Maya, it’s not like you’ve never been in the presence of a hot guy before. Get a grip.
But Jordan was more than easy on the eyes—more than a smooth, sharp jaw with a perfect smile and brawn. He was…magnetic, and something inside her was pulled to him, which made Jordan Woods dangerous.
Maya clenched her hands into fists at her side, as if the gesture might somehow root herself further into the ground. To save herself from his dark, brooding eyes.
“So, I’ll be seeing more of you, then,” he said matter of fact.
He was relaxed. The picture of confidence. The exact opposite of how she felt at the moment, which irked her.
She nodded, saying nothing and telling herself it was because she wanted to keep the conversation short and professional. She didn’t need, nor did she want, any sort of social relationship with him.
“Well, Maya Hawkins, I’ll see you around.” He grinned and turned, walking off the set and leaving her to stare after his retreating form.
CHAPTER three
Jordan
Jordan pressed his phone to his ear, unable to shake a certain blue-eyed, raven-haired sports reporter from his head. She had nerve; he’d give her that. Despite his public relations team giving her a list of topics she couldn’t touch, she went there. But it didn’t matter. A little intrigue was always good, and he traversed the choppy waters of her questions smoothly.
When Ron answered, he gave no lead-in and no preamble. “Hey, I’m taking you up on your idea. Find me a charity STAT.”
“Hold on a minute, who is this?” Ron asked.
“Hilarious.”
“No, I’m serious, because I think this is Jordan Woods, and I think you are actually saying you’re taking my advice.”
“I thought it was a demand, not advice.”
“Good point,” Ron conceded.
“Just do it. Find something easy, something fun that’ll garner the press you want.”
“Will do,” Ron answered. “But, you know, you could do this yourself.”
“Why should I do it myself when I have you? That’s why you make the big bucks, Ron. Help a brother out.”
Ron grumbled under his breath while Jordan laughed and hung up.
In reality, Jordan didn’t really care about change. Most of the crap he spieled for the interview was nonsense. While it was true he wanted to stay out of trouble, he had no desire to change who he was. People could take him or leave him. He didn’t care either way, but something about Maya’s doubtful expression got under his skin. She was so sure he was full of crap, which made him want to prove her wrong. Rub it in her face like she rubbed those personal questions in his.
She might be hot, but she’d soon be wrong and hot. He’d see her on the court; that much was a given. So he’d spend some time helping a charity, volunteering, whatever, and then he’d rub it in her smug face.
Clicking the lock on his car, he slid onto the buttery leather of his cherry red Ferrari. He bought it two years ago when the Lakers clinched the finals and won the Larry O’Brien NBA Championship Trophy. Right around the time his mother dumped her boyfriend and traded him in for Chris.
Jordan started the car and revved the engine. Having a project—something to whittle away the time—was a good idea. With his mother still in California, he had little to occupy his time or his thoughts outside of basketball. Until she accepted his offer for a fresh start, he’d keep himself busy. Maybe it would help him forget the anvil of worry around his neck, constantly threatening to sink him.
When he arrived back to his temporary home at the Residences in Pittsburgh downtown, he showered and ordered room service. It wasn’t until he sunk down onto the bed of his giant penthouse suite that his phone rang.
“Jordan,” he answered.
“Hey, I found the perfect gig.”
Jordan grinned. Soon Maya Hawkins and all the other reporters out there criticizing him would eat crow. “Shoot.”
“The Autism Network of Pittsburgh, a regional charity and support group for people with autism.”
“Okay,” Jordan drawled. He headed to the giant kitchen, gleaming with miles of marble countertops, a giant island, state-of-the-art range, and professional grade ovens.
What a waste, he mused. He’d never use any of it.
“And what will I be doing there?” he asked.
“It’s not what you’ll be doing there that matters. It’s who you’ll be doing it with.”
Jordan rolled his eyes and grabbed a tub of peanuts from the pantry, cramming a handful into his mouth. “The suspense is killing me.”
“Maya Hawkins.”
Jordan choked on a nut, hacking into the phone before he desperately grappled at the fridge and found a beer. Cracking it open, he took a long pull then asked, “You mean, the reporter? The chick from this morning?”
“The exact same chick,” Ron said, the word rolling awkwardly off his tongue. “She helps out at functions, attends events and meetings. She’s there all the time.”
“Why?” Jordan scrunched up his face in revulsion. It wasn’t that he hated charity, but he couldn’t imagine why someone as put together as she was would spend her spare time doing volunteer work. With her looks, her job, and connections, he couldn’t imagine she wanted for attention or companionship. Men probably wet themselves at the idea of dating a sports reporter. But not him.
“Get this,” Ron said, dragging the answer out, and Jordan had to squeeze the edge of the marble counter to stop from screaming at him to get on with it already. “She has an autistic brother. He’s in the group.”
Jordan felt the corners of his mouth pull into a smile.
As if reading his thoughts, Ron continued, “It’s the perfect charity for you to attach yourself to because it comes with a mouthpiece to the media. The journalist. And not just any charity, but one that means something personal to her.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty perfect,” Jordan said. Maybe proving the smug Maya Hawkins wrong would be easier than he thought. Not only would she hear about it, but she’d get a front-row seat to his “transformation.”
“What else do you know
about her? She certainly seemed to know a lot about me, things that were supposed to be handled,” he said, referring to the assault and battery charges. If she found out that Ron had paid Chris off, Jordan’s reputation would be ruined for good. There’d be no coming back.
“She graduated from Duquesne University. Bright girl. Close to her family, which is why she’s so involved with her brother. Not much of a social life, unless you count her dating a Puma almost two years ago.”
Jordan scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “A Puma? Interesting. Who?”
“Dean Kimball.”
Jordan guffawed. “The rose guy.” Figured. He should’ve pegged her for the goody-two-shoes type. How completely boring.
“You seem awfully interested in this girl.”
Jordan would have to be an idiot not to hear Ron’s warning tone.
“I didn’t like the questions she asked. I’m just trying to figure out how she knew to ask them.”
“She’s a reporter. They have their ways, but no one knows we paid that lowlife. Just do your job out there and show up at the next network meeting. It’s tomorrow. Don’t be antagonizing to her. We need her on our side, Woods, not against us.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, sounding only mildly patronizing.
He had no doubt Maya Hawkins would line up to be his ally. And Chris would drop dead of a heart attack next week. If Jordan were only that lucky.
“Call and set everything up,” Jordan said. “Text me the time and place, and I’ll be there.”
He thought of Maya with her laser-sharp eyes, her heart-shaped mouth, and smug smile. If nothing else, at least he could enjoy the view while he was working.
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