“I had a cup of coffee before I left the house,” he said with a shake of his head. “With all due respect, Sam, you didn’t answer the question.”
“Been waiting until you were ready.”
He couldn’t argue with that, no matter how much he wanted to. “I am now.” I hope.
The scout’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
Shit. Was he a mind reader? “I am.”
After studying him for another long minute, Sam’s face split into a wide grin. “I think you might be right.” He took another sip and smiled. “I was both surprised and pleased when Thatcher called me on your behalf.”
“Glad I could make your day.”
“Son, you’ll make my year. You know how many scouts would give their eyesight to deliver Jake Bartlesby’s boy?”
There it was. He tilted his head to the right. Maybe it’d be enough to distract the scout from noticing how his fists clenched beneath the table. “Quite a few, I imagine.”
“We’ve all been watching you. Saw you get arrested in Vegas. Saw you get arrested in Phoenix last month, too.” He paused to give Greg another steely glare. “I trust your troubles with the law are behind you?”
Had that only been a month ago? Felt like a lifetime. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He tipped his cup to drain the rest of his hot chocolate. “With stats like yours, backed by the Bartlesby name, you can pretty much write your own ticket. So where are you thinking of playing?”
A very good question—and one for which he had a ready answer. “I’m looking at Arizona. I’d like to stay close to home.”
“Heard about your father.” Sam crushed the cup in his fist and dropped it on the floor. “I’m sorry.”
“They hope to let him out of the hospital in a week or two.” Greg took a deep breath. “But I need to be nearby to keep Dad’s foundation going.”
The scout tented his fingers under his chin and regarded Greg closely. “If you play in the majors, you won’t have a lot of time for other pursuits during the season.”
“I’ll hire the best support staff.” Headed by Jenn, if she’d accept the job. She’d make an excellent VP of operations.
The interview continued for twenty more minutes. Round about minute eighteen, Sam gave him a bland smile and asked, “You play any other positions?”
“First is my specialty, but sure. I can play anywhere the team needs me.”
“Even third?”
The bottom dropped out of Greg’s stomach. He attempted to hide the gut-lurching reaction behind a smile. It was a feeble attempt, at best. “Yep.”
“But you’d rather not.”
“Can you blame me, Sam?”
“Now that I’ve met you, I don’t think I can.” Sam’s steady gaze appraised him. “You’re a proud man, trying to make his own way.”
“You can tell that from a thirty-minute interview?” Greg was too surprised to hide it.
“And from the way you’ve comported yourself over the years. Son, you’re not hard to read.”
The scout’s insight left him with no response. Again. And why did everyone keep saying he was easy to read?
Sam’s chair scraped against tile as he stood. “I have everything I need. Let me make some calls and put a bug in the right ears.” Then he winked. “I hear the Diamondbacks are looking for another great first baseman.”
Chapter Fourteen
Because she’d been watching the exchange through the window, Jenn saw the scout stand. Greg rose too, and they shook hands. It was a firm handshake, and the scout was smiling. That looked promising. Good.
She hadn’t set out to watch Greg. She’d tried to read the book she brought with her, the latest weighty bestseller by the master of horror. Gripping as it was, it wasn’t even half as interesting as the interview being conducted inside the coffee shop. After ten minutes of trying—and mostly failing—to read past the fifth paragraph of Chapter Ten, she’d given up the pretense and focused on the drama unfolding inside.
Greg plainly surfed a stormy sea of emotions. In the span of 30 minutes, he went from vaguely uneasy to relaxed, then back to tense and relaxed again. About five minutes after the scout’s departure, he came through the door carrying two glasses of iced coffee. He handed her the creamy-looking one, presumably loaded with milk and sugar, and flashed her a sort-of smile.
“Looked like your interview went well.” She accepted the glass and straw.
“You were watching me?” He tapped her cast-aside book and his smile widened. “I’m touched that I trump Stephen King.”
“You’re better looking.” Her cheeks warm, she changed the subject. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What’d the scout say?”
“Sam’s going to see what he can do about getting me a spot with the Diamondbacks.”
His flat voice and unsmiling eyes made tears prickle beneath her eyelids. She grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed. “Shouldn’t you be more excited about the prospect?”
“Probably.” His lips twisted into something resembling a smile. “Is that better?”
She nodded and took a sip of her iced coffee. She didn’t have the heart to tell him he just looked like he was in pain. He probably was hurting. “Your father will be ecstatic.”
“Yeah.” He pulled his hand out of her grasp. “I’d just as soon not say anything until the ink on the contract is dry.”
“Of course.” No doubt Greg hoped his father would make a miracle recovery before then. She did, too, if it’d bring back Greg’s devil-may-care grin. She reached across the tiny bistro table to rub her thumb over his clenched jaw. “You know you’re merely speeding up the inevitable right?”
“Yeah.”
But a dark shadow crossed his face, and Jenn shivered in the warm October sunshine.
He noticed and flashed her an almost-carefree grin. “Hey, I’m sorry for being Danny Downer. Of course this is great news. Let’s have lunch to celebrate.”
“We don’t have to mark the occasion if you don’t think it’s something to celebrate.”
“I’m just reconciling who I wanted to be with who I’m about to become.” He shrugged as if it was nothing, but his eyes were guarded. “Remember when I told you I’ve always wanted to be something more than just ‘Jake Bartlesby’s boy’?”
“I do.”
“You know how long it was until Sam brought up my storied lineage?”
She shook her head “no.” “Not long, I suspect.”
“Two minutes, twenty-three seconds. According to him, every scout on the circuit would gladly sing soprano to be the one to deliver ol’ Jake’s boy to the majors.”
“If that’s true, why haven’t they been pursuing you?”
His cheeks flushed a dark red. “Apparently Dad’s right again, and my off-field antics have been holding me back. Sam said teams don’t want to gamble on an untested, immature snot with legal troubles. They want rookies who manage to stay out of the police log.”
“With the number of athletes who show up in the headlines for arrests, I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it. Like Dad keeps saying, ‘Son, your stats are a manager’s wet dream—but your talent for trouble is his worst nightmare.’”
Jenn snickered at Greg’s impression of Jake’s rumbly growl. It was spot-on. “You sounded just like your father.”
Instead of laughing, he winced and the cloud returned. “If the Diamondbacks want me to play third, I might as well be my father.”
“They wouldn’t—”
“They might. Sam asked if I could play anything besides first. Of course I can. Whether I want to is something else entirely.” His lips twisted again. He grabbed both her hands and pulled her out of her seat. “Enough talk. Let’s grab something to eat.”
****
Greg’s cell phone rang before the chocolate lava cake he and Jenn ordered for dessert arrived at the table. Despite not recognizing the number it displayed, he answered it. After all, it could be the hospital with news abo
ut Big Jake.
“This is Greg.”
“Greg, Sam here. You sitting down?”
His stomach lurched again. “I am.”
“Good, because I have great news.” He cackled. “Congratulations, son. You’re about to become Arizona’s new first baseman.”
He didn’t know how he’d expected to feel upon hearing the news, but he sure was hell wasn’t prepared for a churning mix of excitement, dread and nausea. He began to hope everything would turn out after all. Surely they wouldn’t have acted so quickly on name recognition alone. “You work fast.”
“It’s easy with talent like you.”
“Thanks.” The thanks did double duty, because he nodded to the waitress who slid a bowl the size of a platter on the table between him and Jenn.
“Welcome. I knew they’d snap you up.” Sam laughed again. “Can you meet me at D-backs HQ at two today?”
“Of course.” When he hung up, Jenn watched him intently. Chocolate fiend that she was, she hadn’t even picked up her fork yet.
“I’m more fascinating than Stephen King and sweets today?”
“Every day. Don’t underestimate yourself.” Her cheeks pinkened, but her laugh was merry. “Was that the scout? Don’t keep me in suspense.”
Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t hide his excitement. And he didn’t want to keep anything from Jenn, not when she’d become such a big part of his life over the last several weeks. His face split into a grin so wide his cheeks ached. “It was Sam. I’m in.”
“Already? That was fast.”
“Yep.” He chuckled. “And you know what?”
“What?”
“It feels good. No, great. Even if they were more willing to look because of who I am, it’s what I do that sold ’em.”
He believed that. He had to. The suspicion of inadequacy, of not really belonging there, would ruin his career if he let it. And he hadn’t immersed himself in baseball since age 10 to come up short in the clutch.
“No doubt.” Jenn squeezed his hand before reaching for the fork. “Now we really have something to celebrate.”
Greg watched her dig into dessert, the utensil sliding through a mound of whipped cream, vanilla ice cream and chocolate cake. “Sam and I are meeting with team brass at two. I imagine there’ll be a photo op for the press. Once it hits the SI website, we can visit Dad with the news.”
“Sounds like a plan.” With that, she popped the forkful into her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered down and she moaned softly.
She thought she had a problem with sex? Any woman who looked ready to come over dessert should be having multiple big-Os—and often.
And he’d prove it, just as soon as they carved out uninterrupted adults-only time.
****
“You were right about the photo op,” Jenn murmured.
She and Greg lurked in the hallway outside the Diamondbacks’ conference room. On the other side of the door was a roomful of sports journalists, waiting for the big story they’d been promised.
He held out a sheaf of papers.
“What’s that?”
“The contract. Since you’re a lawyer, I thought I ought to let you take a look.”
Her stomach fluttered. “I mostly just set up LLCs—and I haven’t even done that lately, as you well know. I know nothing about sports contracts.”
His jaw dropped. After he snapped his mouth shut again, he asked, “Are you telling me Dad sent an inexperienced criminal lawyer to defend me?” He shook his head. “The old man must have been sicker than I thought.”
“I did some criminal defense work, too. It’s just not my specialty. I was supposed to charm the judge, remember?”
His eyes flitted to her chest and back, and he smiled. “I remember.”
“I can skim the contract if you want me to.” She took the stack and tried to start reading, but Greg now had something else on his mind.
He leaned close, his breath tickling her ear. “What else don’t I know about you, Jenn?”
Her hands started shaking so hard she couldn’t read a blurred word. Here it was: an opportunity to come clean. She could tell him—again—that she had a twin. Make him believe her instead of laughing it off.
It hadn’t mattered what he believed then, but it did now.
She cast a nervous glance through the glass in the door. A horde of reporters and photographers waited. She couldn’t do that to Greg here, with an audience, on what had to rank right up there as one of the most monumental moments in his life.
She swallowed and smiled. Then she pushed the untruth past the lump in her throat. “Nothing. I’m an open book.”
When his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, she held her breath. Maybe he knew more than she thought. But he didn’t voice any opposition. Instead, he checked his watch and then put his hand on the doorknob. “Time to face the crowd.”
On the other side of the door, Jenn waited near the exit while Greg signed the contract. Before the ink dried on the last page, the roomful of photographers jockeyed for a good angle to frame their shot. Camera flashes turned the enclosure into a disco.
Through all the chaos, Greg stood beside a man who’d introduced himself to the audience as the Diamondbacks’ GM. They were in front of a wall papered with rows of Arizona’s red-and-black logo, and they each held up one shoulder of a jersey with Bartlesby sewn on the back.
Cripes, that was fast. People like Greg were lucky. The universe scrambled to drop anything in their laps the minute they asked for it. Then there were people like her, whose repeated requests went unanswered, or were only fulfilled long after they’d moved on.
Even behemoth organizations could sprint when given a good enough reason. And signing Jacob Gregory Bartlesby II was apparently an excellent reason.
The number on the shirt was not two, thank goodness. That might have had something to do with Greg’s ear-to-ear smile. More likely, he was just happy to finally realize a dream.
Nothing fake about that grin. He wanted to be right where he was. Better yet, he looked as if he belonged there. As if he were born to it.
Because he was, idiot.
She couldn’t dispute that. And now that Greg had stopped fighting it, at least for now, his future was wide open.
From her spot in the shadows, Jenn grinned and flashed him a thumbs-up. His eyes lit as he tipped his new red cap to her. Not telling him about Jade was the right decision.
She pulled out her phone and snapped several pictures of her own.
Once photo fun time ended, Greg thanked the GM for the opportunity. A few minutes later, they sped toward the hospital. By the time he pulled into a vacant spot in the parking garage, a story about the signing had appeared on the Sports Illustrated website.
“You were right.” She held out her phone. “It’s up now.”
He glanced at the screen. “Not a bad shot. Let’s go tell Dad the good news.”
While elevator lumbered to the sixteenth floor, Greg asked, “You still have the article on your phone?”
She nodded and handed her iPhone to him. He swiped the screen on and perused the article, his face giving away nothing.
Jenn’s shoulders rose with an inward sigh. Maybe he hadn’t stopped bucking the future after all. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “Greg?”
“What?” His eyes were still on the screen.
“I want you to do something for me.”
Now he looked at her. “Anything.”
“Make sure your father knows how happy you are about signing with Arizona. Jake needs to know you’re doing what’s best for you, not just doing it to please him.”
The corners of Greg’s mouth twitched. “Jury’s still out on that one, counselor.”
“You need to check my photo roll.”
When he found the pictures she’d snapped at the press conference, his blue eyes got impossibly huge. “Holy—my excitement doesn’t look nearly as forced as it felt.”
“Because when you stop worrying whether eve
ryone’s comparing you to Jake and just live in the moment, you are happy about this contract.” She reached up to flick lint off his new hat. “You’re excited to play for Arizona.”
He caught her fingers on their retreat and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “Thanks for that, Jenn.”
The brush of his lips ignited a familiar fire. “Y-you’re welcome.”
The elevator doors slid open with a ding, the display flashing a big, red “16.” The 16th floor.
Jenn quickly stepped out of the car. If she didn’t do it right away, she’d lose the will to go at all. It drained her to see Jake so weak…so unlike the powerful man she’d met such a short time ago. Making out with Greg was a lot more fun.
Greg was right behind her. Hand in hand, they walked down the hall. The nurse’s station was empty. When they got to Jake’s room, it was empty, too.
Beside her, Greg froze. His face was whiter than the snowy sheets on the unrumpled bed. His eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
“I’m too late.” The words came out in a croak.
Nothing she could say would ease Greg’s pain, so she didn’t even look for the right words. She merely wrapped her arms around him and fought to stay upright when he sagged against her. Supporting 200-plus pounds of sobbing athlete was almost as impossible as keeping pervy Judge Wyndham from ogling her chest.
The staccato tap of heels on linoleum signaled someone else’s arrival, but Jenn couldn’t maneuver to see who it was.
“Hey now, why the fuss?”
Greg hiccupped. “Maree?”
“In the flesh.”
“Sounds like you’re real broken up about Dad.” He sniffled again as he straightened to his full height. “I thought you loved him.”
Jenn, too, was surprised at the woman’s demeanor. But she kept her mouth shut. This was between Greg and his stepmother—not her battle to fight.
Maree shrugged. “It’s nothing to be broken up about.”
“Nothing to be broken up about?” Greg shouted. “Dad’s dead and you’re celebrating before he’s even in the ground?”
His stepmother’s belly laugh seemed totally inappropriate until she wiped the tears from her eyes and explained. “Jake’s not dead, dumbass. He’s just been transferred out of the ICU. He’s on the sixth floor now.”
Sliding Into Home Page 12