"Thank you for your concern, but I think you're taking my relationship with Dan more seriously than I am." Liar!
"I'm glad to hear that. I probably shouldn't have even mentioned it. This discussion will be pointless by Sunday evening anyway. The Stars are overmatched this weekend. I hope you're prepared for the team to lose."
"We'll see."
After Reed had left, she stood in the empty weight room and thought how ironic his suspicions about Dan were. If Dan was trying to get his hands on the Stars by romancing her, he was certainly botching the job.
Ron had to make a last-minute telephone call from his car phone, and Phoebe was alone as she entered the impressive silver and blue lobby of one of DuPage County's newest and most prestigious country clubs. It was three days after Christmas, and the lobby was still decorated with evergreen boughs and poofy silver bows. Since Jason Keane was the prime backer of the club, she wasn't surprised that he'd chosen its private dining room as the site of this meeting she had requested.
She was still trying to absorb the fact that the Stars' hopes were alive for at least one more week. Contrary to Reed's prediction, the Stars had beaten the Chargers by a field goal in an unbearably suspenseful game on Sunday, managing to win the AFC Central Division title over the Steelers, who had lost to the Bengals in overtime. Now they would have another chance to keep her dream alive.
She was undoubtedly setting herself up for a fall. Bert had tried unsuccessfully for years to renegotiate the stadium contract with Jason Keane, and she had no reason to believe she could resolve a situation that had defeated her father. Her weeks of study had given her a fairly comprehensive understanding of the team's finances, but she had no experience with complex negotiations.
Logic dictated that she simply sign the new contract the lawyers had delivered last week. There would be no more last-minute reprieves for the Stars; their next defeat would put them permanently out of the running. If she somehow managed to improve the terms of the stadium contract, she would only be helping Reed. On the other hand, until the Stars lost their next game, she was still the owner, and she was going to do what was best for the organization.
Thinking about what lay ahead of her tonight had taken its toll, and her stomach was churning. The sensation escalated as the heavily etched glass door marked Members Only swung open on the far side of the country club lobby. She sucked in her breath as she identified the tall, well-built man in the tuxedo as Dan.
Planning for this evening had kept her mind too busy to dwell on his rejection of her kiss in the weight room last week. Now the hurt came back, and she stiffened as he walked toward her.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm a member. Did you think I might be crashing your meeting with Keane?"
"How did you know about our meeting?"
"From Ron."
"It's supposed to be confidential."
"I haven't told anybody."
"You're deliberately missing the point. You weren't supposed to know about it."
"Now that doesn't half make sense, Phoebe. How could Ron invite me along if he didn't tell me you had a meeting?"
Tonight would be difficult enough without having Dan witness something that had every chance of turning into a disaster. "I'm afraid I have to withdraw Ron's invitation. We agreed this was to be a private meeting between the two of us, Jason Keane, and a few of his advisers."
"Sorry, Phoebe, but Ron gets vicious when I don't do what he tells me. I've been afraid to tangle with him ever since he gave me that shiner."
"He did not give you a shiner! You're being—That's the most ridiculous—"
As she sputtered, Dan had to force himself not to bend over and lick the scowl right off her mouth. A surge of hundred-percent pure lust had shot through him the moment he'd seen her. Instead of getting used to keeping his hands off her, not touching her had grown more difficult each day. Everything about her turned him on. Right now, for example. Most women's hair when they got dressed up looked all stiff and sprayed. Phoebe's looked bedroomy instead. It fell in soft blond waves nearly to her shoulders, curling a little bit at the ends as if he'd just run his fingers through it. And she had the prettiest neck he'd ever seen on a woman, long and graceful.
He told himself he should be thankful the rest of her was still covered up by that black evening coat. Even those loose-fitting clothes she wore to work sometimes lately didn't do much to conceal what was underneath. He knew he should be happy that she was dressing more like a conservative businesswoman, but the truth was, he found himself anticipating those days when she showed up looking like her old self. Not that he was going to admit that to her.
The hardest thing he'd done in his life was to stop kissing her that last time. Even though he'd been trying to do the honorable thing by backing away, the forlorn expression on her face had made him feel like a worm. Except for those few seconds when he'd lost control, he hadn't done anything in almost two months to lead her on. He should feel good about that, but instead he was miserable. He kept telling himself Phoebe would be going back to Manhattan soon and everything would be better, but instead of cheering him up, that made him even more depressed.
Phoebe was still going at him. Those tilty-up eyes of hers had darkened to the color of old brandy as she did a slow simmer over his unanticipated presence tonight. He wished Sharon could stand up to him the way that Phoebe did, but Sharon was a sweet little thing without one ounce of Phoebe's sass, and he couldn't imagine it.
Even though he saw Sharon at least once a week, this was the first time he'd ever been involved with a timid woman, and he hadn't quite made the adjustment yet. A few times Sharon's mild nature had begun to irritate him, but then he'd reminded himself of the benefit. He'd never in his life have to worry about Sharon Anderson smacking his kids when she got upset. He'd never have to worry about her treating his kids the way his old lady had treated him.
Phoebe was tapping the toe of one of her high heels while her sparkly earrings swung back and forth through her hair. "Why did Ron want you here? He didn't say anything to me about it."
"You'll have to ask him that."
"Take a guess."
"Well, he did say something about maybe needing a backup quarterback. In case you went off the deep end or something."
"Is that so."
"You have a habit of doing that occasionally, you know."
"I do not!"
She yanked open her coat button, and as he saw what she was wearing beneath it, his amusement faded.
"Something wrong?" With a maddening smile, she allowed the coat to slip off her bare shoulders.
He felt as if he'd been poleaxed. How could she do something like this? He'd been strung tight for too long, and now he exploded.
"Dammit! Just when I start to think you might be learning a little common sense, you prove me wrong! Here I was actually believing you might be getting a faint glimmer of what this business is all about, but now I realize that you aren't even close!"
"My, my. Somebody certainly is grouchy this evening. Maybe you should mind your own business and go home." She finished removing her coat and carried it over to be checked, her hips swaying from side to side. As she turned back to him, he felt a pulse hammering in his temple. Just moments ago, he'd been thinking about how much he enjoyed Phoebe's exhibitionist clothes, but that was before he'd seen her current getup.
She was dressed like the head hooker in a bondage house. He took in the long, clingy black dress that looked more like an S&M harness than an article of clothing. The top half was made up of fishnet and black straps. One of the straps wrapped her neck like a collar, with a fan-shaped arrangement spreading down to a slightly wider strap that encircled the midpoint of her breasts and didn't do much more than cover her nipples. Through some black fishnet with holes the size of nickles he could see both the upper and lower swells straining against that narrow black strap.
At her waist the fishnet gave way to a slinky fabric that stuck like body paint to
every curve of her hips. Near her thighs, the dress was ornamented with gold hardware that looked almost like garters, except garters should have been tucked away instead of hanging out where everybody could see. Adding insult to injury, the garment had a side slit that traveled all the way from here to kingdom come.
He yearned to bundle her up in his jacket and hide her from the world because he didn't want other people seeing so much of her body, which was a damned ridiculous notion considering her fondness for taking off her clothes. He grabbed her arm and led her toward an alcove off to the side of the lobby where he could hide her from public view and go at her in earnest.
"Is this your idea of how to dress for a business meeting? Is this your idea of what to wear when you want to negotiate a contract? Don't you understand that the only thing you're going to negotiate dressed like that is how much you can charge to crack a whip on some man's bare butt."
"What did you pay the last time?"
Before he could recover from that piece of impudence, she slipped right past him. Whirling around, he saw Ron walk in, and it was obvious from the stunned expression on his face that he was equally taken aback by Phoebe's getup. The men's eyes met, and Dan wondered if he looked as helpless as Ron did. Didn't she realize this was DuPage County? Women didn't dress like this in DuPage County, for chrissake. They went to church and voted Republican, just as their husbands told them.
He stalked toward her with a vague idea of executing a low tackle and then carrying her out over his shoulder when one of Keane's lackeys appeared. Before Dan could stop her, she had set off with him.
He didn't have much choice but to follow. By unspoken agreement, he and Ron quickened their steps until they had pushed the lackey out of the way and positioned themselves on opposite sides of her. At the end of the mirrored hallway, they passed through the doorway into Jason Keane's private dining room.
Dan had known Keane for nearly ten years. They'd partied together a few times, played some golf. Once they'd spent a liquored-up weekend deep-sea fishing in the Grand Caymans with a couple of lingerie models. Keane had always attracted women and, from what Dan had heard, turning forty hadn't made him want to settle down.
The small dining room looked like the library of an English manor house, with Oriental rugs, leather club chairs, and dark wooden paneling. Heavy crown moldings framed an ornate ceiling of plasterwork medallions and vines that flickered with shadows cast by the burning logs in the fireplace. Heavy velvet draperies had been pulled shut at the window, hiding a view of the ninth green beyond. The damask-covered oblong table was set for six with ornate silver and china banded in deep burgundy and gold.
Jason Keane, along with two of his cronies, stood next to the fireplace with heavy crystal tumblers in their hands. The atmosphere was decidedly masculine, and as Dan entered the room with Phoebe dressed in her bondage clothes, the uncomfortable memory of one of Valerie's favorite pornographic books came back to him. He shied away from the ugly feeling that Phoebe was O, and that he was about to offer her up to the brotherhood.
Keane came toward them, hand extended. The multimillionaire developer was a cool customer, but he couldn't quite hide his astonishment at Phoebe's dress. That astonishment quickly changed to something more intimate, and Dan had all he could do not to shove himself in front of Phoebe and tell Jason to set his sights on somebody else's bimbo.
Keane shook Dan's hand. "How's the golf game coming, buddy? Able to sneak in eighteen on any road trips?"
"Afraid not."
"Why don't we play Pebble next month?"
"Sounds good."
Keane greeted Ron, who introduced him to Phoebe. To Dan's disgust, she went into her whole routine: breathy voice, come-hither eyes, centerfold breasts straining to break free of that narrow black band. While she was showing off her goods to Keane and his boys, she didn't once glance in Dan's direction.
Dan watched with a combination of disgust and fury as Keane curled his palm over Phoebe's naked shoulder and drew her toward the fireplace. Keane was all millionaire playboy charm in his custom-made tux and white tucked shirt with its half-carat diamond studs. Of average height and build, he had dark, straight hair and a high forehead. Until that night Dan had considered Jason an okay-looking guy, but now he decided that his nose was too big and his eyes too weasely.
Dan took a drink from a waiter and exchanged greetings with the other men present—Jeff O'Brian, Jason's administrative assistant, and Chet Delahunty, his attorney. As soon as he could get away, he sauntered over toward the fireplace to eavesdrop. Ron obviously had the same idea because he trailed along.
Phoebe had her back to them, and he was almost certain he could make out her bottom-crack under that slinky dress material. She was licking Jason with her eyes and leaning into him as if he were a street corner lamppost. Dan's blood pressure shot into the stratosphere.
"I can call you Jason, can't I?" she cooed. "Especially since we have so many friends in common."
Dan waited for the drool to slide right out of Keane's mouth. "Like who?"
"Half of Manhattan." She rested her hand possessively on his sleeve, her red fingernails standing out like drops of blood drawn from the lash of the whip. "You know the Blackwells and Miles Greig, of course. Isn't Miles a scamp? And then there's Mitzi Wells, you devil."
Jason was obviously feeling the effects of all those gamma rays of adoration that were blasting away at him because his smile blossomed even wider. "You know Mitzi?"
"Of course I do. And you almost broke her heart."
"Not me."
She lowered her voice until it was a sultry whisper, then sucked on her bottom lip in a way that made Dan feel as if the top of his head were blowing off.
"If I confess something to you, will you promise you won't think I'm awful?"
"Cross my heart."
"I asked her to introduce us—this was before the two of you started to date seriously—and she refused. It nearly broke up our friendship, but now that I've met you, I can understand why she was so protective."
Dan could see Jason trying to spot the fastenings on Phoebe's cathouse dress, so he wouldn't waste any time getting her out of it later on. With a murmur of disgust, he tilted back his head and drained his glass. Keane would unfasten that dress over this ol' boy's dead body.
Dinner was ready and they took their places around the table, with Jason at the head and Ron and Phoebe on each side of him. Dan sat at the foot between Jeff O'Brian and Chet Delahunty. The meal seemed to drag on forever. By the time the main course was removed and dessert was served, the men at the bottom of the table had given up on even a desultory attempt at conversation so they could eavesdrop.
Dan watched Phoebe suck an out-of-season strawberry with her X-rated mouth. As she gazed into Keane's eyes, he told himself he was going to propose to Sharon Anderson that very weekend.
Ron had barely looked up from his dinner plate all evening, but as the coffee was poured, he finally seemed to come to life, about ninety minutes too late, as far as Dan was concerned.
"Excuse me for interrupting your conversation, Phoebe, but I think it might behoove us to discuss the reason for this meeting tonight."
Phoebe looked at him so blankly that Dan wanted to shake her. Was she so eager to add Keane to her scalp collection that she had forgotten why they were here?
"Reason?" she said.
"The stadium contract," Ron reminded her.
"Oh, pooh. I've changed my mind, Ronnie. I don't want to talk about that tonight. Why don't you just relax and enjoy yourself? Jason and I are friends now, and everybody knows you shouldn't do business with friends."
"A woman after my own heart," Jason chuckled.
"All Ronnie thinks about is business. It's so boring. There are more important things in life than some silly old contract."
Dan straightened in his seat. Something was wrong here. Phoebe did care about the contract, and she never called her GM Ronnie.
Keane gave Ron a smug smile. "Why don
't you have some more wine, McDermitt?"
"No, thank you."
"Don't pout, Ronnie. You can call Jason tomorrow and tell him what I've decided."
"What is there to decide?" Keane said smoothly. "Everything's pretty much cut-and-dried."
Once again, she curled her fingers around his sleeve. "Not exactly, but let's not spoil tonight by talking about business."
Keane grew almost imperceptibly more alert. "We've sent you a fair contract. The same one your father signed. I hope you're as satisfied."
"I'm not satisfied," Ron said with a forcefulness that earned Dan's admiration. He waited with interest to hear Phoebe's response.
"Oh, I'm not satisfied either," she giggled. "Ronnie made me so upset about the bad deal the Stars were getting that he convinced me I had to do something." Like a small child reciting a well-learned lesson, she said, "Ronnie keeps reminding me that I'm a businesswoman now, Jason. And even though I'll probably only have the team for a short time longer, I have to think like an owner."
Dan kept his expression carefully blank as he leaned back in his chair to watch the show. What was his brainy little bimbo up to now?
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that Phoebe Somerville isn't enough of a businesswoman to make the tough calls, but that just isn't true."
"I wasn't thinking that at all." Keane's lazy smile was at odds with the hawklike intensity in his gaze. "What kind of tough calls do you have to make? Maybe I can help. I have a lot of experience with that sort of thing."
Ron's mouth twisted into something that, on any other man, would have been a sneer. "He's trying to manipulate you, Phoebe. Be careful."
Phoebe wrinkled her forehead. "Don't be rude, Ronnie. Jason wouldn't do anything like that."
Keane's eyes were boring holes through her skull, as if he were trying to see whether anything lurked between the air pockets. "Of course, I wouldn't. All of us have to make tough calls now and then."
It Had to Be You Page 28