Kick It Up

by Carol Ericson

  “Meet me outside.” She nudged him toward the sliding glass doors that led to the patio. Several minutes later she balanced a plate of turkey sandwiches on top of a bowl of sliced fruit, and carried a can of diet soda in the other hand.

  She placed everything on the little table between the two chaise lounges.

  Simon had removed his jacket and reclined on the chaise with his shirt sleeves rolled up. The rays of the sun tripped across his blond hair and spilled down his face, softening its hard lines.

  Gemma was right. Simon didn’t need to hear about his little sister’s troubles right now.

  “So what happens next?” She sank down next to him, wedging her hip against his thigh, and picking up her own sandwich.

  “They’re going to start by having a go at my finances.

  Unfortunately, they’re a mess because I never hired an accountant when I got over here.” He took a swig of soda. “I think that’s something my personal assistant was supposed to handle. Now maybe my boss can see to it.”

  “Simon, about that...” She traced a blue rose on the cushion with her fingertip.

  “Don’t worry about it. I know you tried to call me before the meeting. I listened to the fifty messages between my voice mail at home and on my mobile.”

  “It’s not just that. I never meant to tell you about my teenage angst.”

  “I’d call it more than teenage angst. It must’ve been...hard for you.” He shifted on the cushion, and the springs beneath it squeaked as she dipped closer to him.

  “That doesn’t mean I get to dump it on you, and I really didn’t bring it up just to get your sympathy.”

  “I know. You got mad when I attacked your dreams of revenge as petty. You just wanted to set the record straight.”

  “But what you said about taking responsibility, I didn’t do that. I should’ve stood up to my parents, refused to jump.”

  “You were a teenager. It’s not easy to go against the wishes of a strong-willed parent.”

  “You did it.”

  “Me?” He brushed a dusting of crumbs from his slacks onto the patio, and then studied his hands as if searching for more. “And I’ve been paying for it ever since.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Apparently, he didn’t find the answer by reading his palms since he shrugged. “I don’t know what I mean, just blather. I came to you because you’re majority owner of the Waves, I’m in trouble, and I need a good accountant and an attorney, and I don’t want David. You may have thought the two of you pulled a fast one on your parents with that engagement, but David didn’t see it that way. He still wants to marry you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He assured me he had no more interest in wedded matrimony than I did.”

  “That’s not what he told me.”

  “Why would he...?” She clapped her hand over her mouth. David handled the family’s investments. Of course he knew about her trust fund, payable upon two years of continuous marriage. No wonder he’d gone along with her scheme to a faux engagement to get her parents off her back, only he wasn’t pretending.

  “Exactly.” Simon plucked a strawberry from the bowl.

  “Just look in the mirror. Why wouldn’t he want to marry you?”

  “Oh I have a pretty good idea, and it has nothing to do with what’s in the mirror.” She straightened her spine and popped a grape in her mouth. “It’s my trust fund. I get complete control of it when I’ve been married for two straight years.”

  “Don’t be daft. He’s an attorney. I’m sure he has plenty of money.”

  “Not like trust fund money. Nope, he used me. Probably thought I’d be so anxious to get my hands on that money that I’d marry even him in the end.”

  “Listen.” Simon leaned forward and gripped her shoulders, leaving a smudge of strawberry on her t-shirt. “If the bloke only wants to marry you for your money, he’s either crazy or gay.”

  Oh God, Simon would think the only cards she had to play were pity cards. The whining had to stop.

  “He does use an awful lot of hair products.” She narrowed her eyes and leveled a finger at him. “But then so do you.”

  “And you haven’t even seen me in the kilt.” He grabbed her finger and landed a strawberry-scented kiss on the end of it. “Now let’s get down to business.” Her heart galloped, sending blood to all the undernourished parts of her body. The man definitely had a food fetish. Would he run a strawberry across her lips, caress her nipple with a slice of melon, pop a grape in her...?”

  “Accountants.” Simon bounded off the chaise lounge and stretched. “Let’s start with a good accountant.”

  ***

  A week later, Jessica perched on the edge of her chair at the head of a rectangle conference table, dread thrumming through her veins. Her father tapped his thick fingers on a file while Franco stared out the window at the new stadium.

  “We have to suspend him, Jessica, at least until the investigation is over.”

  “He didn’t do it, Dad.” She slid her hands from the polished table where her palms left two damp imprints. “Do you believe Simon fixed matches, Franco?” Franco dragged his gaze from the window and sighed.

  “I knew Simon long before he came to the Waves, and the man doesn’t have a dishonest bone in his body.”

  “See?” She smacked the table and shot a triumphant glance at her father.

  “But,” Franco twisted his hands into knots, “I always questioned his performance at Manschafft Munich. I wondered why his level of play fell off so drastically.”

  “You just told me the other day how fantastic he’s been in practice. How he’s bringing the team together, how they all seem to have a new energy and purpose.” She couldn’t let Simon down now. He’d been working so hard. He seemed to overcome all his demons that insisted he stop trying for fear of failure.

  “That’s just it, Jessica.” Franco slid a glance toward her father’s stony face and grimaced. “Why is he doing so well now after performing so poorly in Germany?” Her father snorted. “He wants to impress the boss, and I don’t mean me.”

  “It’s probably the coaching.” Jessica waved her hand in front of her face to dissipate the scent of her father’s hair gel. “You’re a better coach than Heinrich. You know how to work with Simon and get the best from him. He’s returning to his former glory because of you.”

  “He is playing better than ever.” Franco’s face beamed, and his dark eyes lit up.

  “The suspicion taints the entire team.” Dad hunched over the table to glare at Franco. “Last year one of my football players was under investigation for steroid use. I had to suspend him during the course of the investigation because it distracted the other players from the game.”

  “That’s not happening here, Dad. The other players trust Simon. They believe in him.”

  “La-de-dah. Clap your hands and let’s sing Kumbaya.

  This is a sports franchise. This is a business. This has nothing to do with how you feel about him.” Dad’s bushy gray brows collided over his nose as he directed a piercing stare her way.

  “That’s right, it is a business, and the first game of the season is next week. We’re going to have plenty of pissed off fans if The Boss doesn’t play the first game.”

  “And if the Waves lose the first game, we’re going to have plenty of pissed off fans who’ll be wondering if The Boss threw the game. We have to suspend him now.

  Franco, you tell him.”

  “Wait a minute.” Jessica shoved out of her chair, sending it crashing back against the wall. “I didn’t agree to a suspension.”

  Dad stood up to face her. “But you will. I’ve been in this business a lot longer than two weeks. I know how these things work. It will be painful in the short term because we’ll still owe him on the contract, but it will work out for the best in the end.”

  “It won’t work out for Simon.” She dug her high heels into the carpet. Did Father really know best? If she insisted on playing Simon would it
destroy the Waves?

  “Bullshit.” Dad brushed aside her words with the flick of his hand. “He’s not all that interested in playing. He made that clear from the start. His sharp-as-tacks agent already has some deals lined up for him. He’ll land on his feet. His kind always does.”

  “I’m majority owner of this team, and we’re not suspending him...yet.” Jessica’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. Could she hold on? Could she do the right thing? And what was the right thing? The right for the team, for Simon, for herself, not the thing that would irritate Daddy the most.

  Franco eased out of his chair as if carrying a jar of nitroglycerin. “I have a practice to run. Should I tell Simon to stay for the work-out?”

  “Yes.” Without moving a muscle, Jessica met her father’s icy blue gaze.

  Franco sidled out of the room, leaving the door wide open. Dad grabbed the handle and twisted his head over his shoulder. “I gave you controlling interest in the Waves to give you some responsibility and shake you out of your childish need to flout my wishes at every turn. Don’t make me regret it.”

  He swept out the door before she could respond. She didn’t know how to respond anyway. Is that why he did it?

  Or did he give her the Waves so she’d stop leading Simon astray?

  She strolled to the window and leaned her forehead against the cool glass, her gaze tracking across the soccer pitch. The last time she caved in to Dad, it ended in disaster and heartache.

  Her cell phone rang, and she twitched her purse off the back of the chair to retrieve it.

  “Jess, it’s Jimmy. I have the 411 on that hook-up at the Ambassador. I’ll spill it if you agree to meet me for lunch today at The Ivy.”

  Jessica slipped her phone back in her purse and headed out the door. If she couldn’t save Simon, she’d make damn sure she could save his sister.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ignoring the paparazzi lounging against their cars, Jessica skipped up the two steps to The Ivy’s patio dining area, inhaling the scent of the jasmine that clambered up the trellis. The tranquility of the setting belied her mission.

  Jimmy sprawled at a table in the corner, flirting with the waitress. He waved to Jessica.

  Clutching her purse to her chest, Jessica strode across the patio and tapped the waitress on the shoulder. “Can you please get me the chopped salad and an iced tea?”

  “Sure. Another beer, Jimmy?”

  He nodded, and Jessica shoved her over-sized sunglasses to the top of her head and claimed the seat across from him.

  Realizing her tête-à-tête with Jimmy was over, the waitress shrugged and removed Jimmy’s empty beer bottle.

  Jessica watched her walk inside before turning to Jimmy. “Okay, what do you have?”

  “Wow, no small talk? How’s it going, Jimmy? How was Seattle, Jimmy?”

  “How’s it going, Jimmy? How was Seattle, Jimmy?

  What do you have, Jimmy?”

  “All business since you took over the Waves.” Jimmy shook his head, his long black hair, now with a streak of white, skimming his shoulders.

  “We can get to the small talk later. I want to know what these scumbags did to Gemma.” She folded her hands on the table and squeezed them together as if she had Fred’s neck in her grip.

  “You were right. They slipped her some roofies and took her to the Marquis.”

  One of her knuckles cracked.

  The waitress returned with Jessica’s iced tea and another beer for Jimmy. Jessica nabbed the beer first and took a long swallow before slamming it down in front of Jimmy.

  “Did they have sex with her?”

  “Do you mind?” He grabbed the bottle and scooted her iced tea closer to her. “No, or at least I don’t think so. They didn’t take it that far.”

  “Okay, how do you know all this?” Jessica pressed her hand, moist from the sweating bottle, against her cheek.

  Usually guys lied the other way, so Jimmy’s statement gave her a little hope.

  “I gave Teddy a call. I heard he wasn’t happy with Excrement. He’s a kick-ass bass player, so I promised him an audition with Lot 49 if he told me all he knew about FredX, Scar, and a blond English chick.”

  “What else did Teddy tell you?” Seems everyone was willing to give up something for what they wanted.

  “He said FredX and Scar knew this chick from partying with her before. Her friend suggested a four-way, but said the blonde wouldn’t be down with that. The roofies were the friend’s idea, but the guys didn’t feel right about having sex with a comatose chick.”

  “Gee, what a couple of boy scouts. So what did they do?”

  “They went up to the hotel room, got naked, and made a video and copied it to a DVD.”

  “What?” Jessica nearly swallowed the ice she’d been clicking around in her mouth. “They taped the whole thing?”

  “That’s what Teddy said.”

  “Did he see the video? Oh God, it’s not on the Internet or anything, is it?”

  Jimmy cleared his throat and jerked his head to the waitress standing at their table, balancing two salads with raised eyebrows.

  Two dollops of heat scorched Jessica’s cheeks as the waitress placed the plates on the table. “Anything else?”

  Jimmy smiled. “We’re good.”

  “Shit, Jimmy, where’s that DVD?”

  “You mean excrement?” He laughed until he caught her glare. “Fred has the DVD, but he didn’t show it to anyone, not even Teddy. If he plans to make an appearance on the Internet, he hasn’t done it yet.”

  “This isn’t funny. This is a young woman’s life. They took advantage of her.” Tears stung her nose, as she jabbed her fork into her salad.

  “I’m sorry.” He brushed his fingers along her arm. “You never told me, Jess. Is this woman a friend of yours?”

  “Yeah, she is a friend, and she’s young and naïve and I feel responsible for her. I should’ve looked out for her better instead of getting all caught up in my own little dramas.” She’d heard the alarm bells weeks ago, but her parents’

  dinner party starring Simon had replaced all Jessica’s worries about Gemma with worries about herself.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Get that DVD.”

  “You want me to get a DVD from Fred?” Jimmy’s eyes bugged out, making him look more cartoonish than ever.

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Fred will do anything to see you, Jimmy. Tell him you want to get together to collaborate on a song. Get into his place and find the DVD.”

  “Fred knows I hate his guts over those lyrics he stole.”

  “Make nice.” She narrowed her eyes and waved her fork in his face. “You owe me, Jimmy.” Jimmy’s black-lined eyes crossed as he followed the fork. “C’mon, Jess. I figured you married me to piss off your parents and get your hands on that trust fund. We never had the real deal.”

  “Okay, maybe you don’t owe me, but I’m not above using my friends in high places to get what I want.” She scowled as Jimmy’s brows shot up. “At least not this time.” Jimmy agreed to help her, so she ignored him as he took up his flirtation with the waitress.

  Jessica toyed with her salad. She had to get the DVD

  and save Gemma. She didn’t want Simon to beat himself up over this. She wanted to save him too because what she and Simon had...it was the real deal.

  ***

  Simon slumped in his car as it idled in the parking garage of the building that housed CSM. He knew the reason for Evan’s summons. The press had picked up the story of the match-fixing investigation and ran with it, dragging Simon’s name through the newsprint. Evan’s instincts proved bang on. The hype surrounding Simon grew every day.

  The scandal had raised his profile to new, dizzying heights. Evan assured him over the phone that the allegations might tarnish Simon’s image as a footballer, but wouldn’t interfere with his money-making capabilities. He pointed to several starlets and singers who’d flas
hed their naughty bits and gotten into all kinds of trouble, and yet the great celebrity machine kept churning out TV ads, new CDs, and reality TV shows for these misguided celebs.

  Simon sighed and wrapped his arms around the steering wheel, leaning his chin on the top. This investigation was taking its toll. Every afternoon after practice he met with the accountants and attorneys Jessica hired for him, going over bank accounts, statements, gathering cancelled checks, and receipts. They shook their heads over the mess and demanded more documentation.

  He’d never worked so hard in his life, and now failure loomed on two fronts. Despite his best efforts to prove his innocence, the UEFA might still come down on him, maybe just to set an example. And the Waves management? No, Jessica stood behind him all the way–she’d collected the best accountants and the best attorneys, not including David–and sat them down with Simon and his boxes of paperwork.

  He blew out a measured breath and slapped his hands on the steering wheel. Hell, if Jessica believed in him, he could take this all the way. He’d fight this thing in the courtroom and on the soccer pitch.

  He blew past the CSM receptionist with a wave of his hand and knocked on Evan’s open door. Still talking on the phone, Evan waved him into a chair. Simon closed the door behind him and settled into one of Evan’s comfortable chairs. The sickeningly sweet scent of Evan’s cigars clung to everything in the office, and Simon popped a mint in his mouth to lessen the stench.

  “Yeah, baby, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Evan cranked his head around and winked at Simon. “If we can exploit the fact that Killer’s a mama’s boy, he can sell all kinds of products. Get back to me on the soup.”

  “You’re amazing, Evan.” Simon shook his head. Evan epitomized the American deal-maker but while he used to admire that about him, lately it left a sour taste in his mouth.

  “I grew up poor, Simon. Sort of like you.” Evan skimmed his hand over his bald head. “And I don’t plan to ever go back there.”

  Simon could understand that, but why did making money have to involve selling out? He’d had enough of selling his own soul.