Kick It Up

by Carol Ericson

  “I’m glad you called this meeting, Evan. I’m going to beat this rap. My accountants are combing through everything, and the piles of paper are starting to take shape.” He held up his hands as Evan opened his mouth to speak. “I threw a lot of money away over the past two years, but the money I wasted came from playing football, endorsing products, and investing in business deals...all above board.”

  “You don’t have to work that hard, Simon.” Evan rocked back and forth in his chair, the squeaking noise setting off a flash of pain behind Simon’s eyes. “Your reputation is already shot. Six months down the line, or however long it takes your cadre of accountants to prove your innocence, nobody is going to care one way or the other. You’re tainted goods...as far as your athletic ability is concerned. But this case has done wonders for your celebrity status.” The pain behind Simon’s eyes morphed into a dull ache that squeezed his temples in a vise.

  “America knows Simon Bosford, and what’s more, they like Simon Bosford. You’re one of us now.” Mercifully, the squeaking chair stopped, but Evan lurched forward and pounded his ham-handed fist on the desk. Simon jumped, feeling as if his brain just collided with the top of his skull.

  “People like to build up their idols and take great pleasure in watching them fall. The bickering couples on reality TV, the drug-induced slide of a pretty young actress, and the behind-the-scenes scratching clawing of those talent shows—American audiences love that. Who wants perfection?”

  “Hold on, Evan.” Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed. “I’m far from perfect, but I haven’t sunk that low. Whatever it takes, I want to clear my record.”

  “You’re prepared to live under that cloud of suspicion?

  You’re prepared for the boos and jeers when you run out on that soccer pitch next week?” Evan folded his hands in front of him, looking like a bald choir boy. “You can turn it around, Boss. You can make ‘em love you.”

  “By playing the buffoon? By playing the fish out of water as you put it?”

  “Precisely. And it will be a lot easier than slogging through a bunch of paperwork with a passel of geeks or trying to prove you have the skills of a twenty-something with a thirty-something body.”

  Simon grabbed his water bottle from the desk and poured cool water down his throat. He could do this. He didn’t have to slide down the well-worn path of lowered expectations. He didn’t need to be loved and accepted by the masses. He was already loved and accepted by one woman. He could see it in the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when they shared a joke. He could feel it when her hand squeezed his in encouragement.

  “I won’t do it, Evan. I’m staying with the Waves, and I’m going to continue to tackle this investigation head-on. No resignation. No reality TV show. No soup commercials.” Evan’s mouth tightened before he burst into laughter.

  “You’re going to fail. You may prove you had nothing to do with the match-fixing scam in Germany, but by that time, who’s going to care? And you’ll never play like you did when you were twenty. So what’s left? Nobody’s going to be interested in the Boss anymore. You can kiss your millions good-bye.”

  “I don’t want to play like I’m twenty.” Simon shrugged, sloughing off the heavy cape of fear he’d been wearing for years. “I have different skills now. Maybe it’s someone else’s turn to shine in the spotlight.”

  “You’re not the same man I discussed strategy with in that London hotel.”

  “Things change.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Simon. If it’s a woman you hope to impress with all this noble shit, don’t bother.” He rubbed his fingers together. “Most women are after one thing. I should know.”

  Was he trying to impress Jessica? No, she’d stand by him even if he decided to cop to the charges against him.

  He had to do this for himself. If he tried and failed, at least he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  “No, I’m not trying to impress a woman.” Simon planted his hands on Evan’s desk and pushed up. “Just trying to prove something to myself for a change.”

  “That’s good because you may not have a say in the matter.”

  “What does that mean?” Simon stopped half-way to the door and turned.

  “I got a call from Roger Brett this morning. That’s why I called you in here. Waves management, Brett and his daughter, decided to suspend you pending the resolution of the investigation.”

  ***

  When the reverberations from the slamming door stopped echoing in his head, Evan sighed and leaned back in his chair. Time to call in the big guns.

  Even after Evan told him about the Bretts’ decision, Simon still refused to resign from the Waves, said Jessica Brett would have to personally kick him off the team. He’s also refused to sign onto the TV show. He had the balls to tell Evan he wouldn’t do the TV show even after his suspension went into effect. Goddamn stubborn athletes.

  Well he had just the ticket to change Simon’s mind.

  Evan massaged the back of his neck. He’d employed these methods before to bring reluctant jocks back to the fold. Worked every time.

  Would it work with Simon? He frowned at the tall buildings out his window. The Boss had changed since coming to the States. Somewhere along the line, he’d lost the aura of the desperate, aging athlete. Evan could always zero in on that aura like a laser beam, and he’d spotted it hovering around Simon the first time they met.

  He exploited the jocks’ fear to sell what they did have left—personality, looks, image–and never regretted it. Hell, they made money, he made money. He failed to see the problem. It was a win-win.

  Maybe Simon had gained his confidence back, his desire to work hard, beat the odds. Evan planted his elbows on his desk, a smile stretching his lips. All the better for his plan. If The Boss wanted to scrub his image, he sure as hell wouldn’t want a sex tape starring his sister flickering all over the Internet.

  Like a genie from a bottle, Megan appeared at his door, poking her head through the crack. “What’s the verdict? Do we need to use the video?”

  “Shhh.” He jerked his thumb. The woman had about as much discretion as her outfit.

  She slipped into the office and clicked the door shut, her avaricious eyes sparkling with dollar signs. “Well?”

  “He refused the deal.”

  Megan blew out a breath as if she’d been holding it. Of course, she benefited more if Evan used the DVD. He needed more dedicated employees like her. He swallowed as she drew her shoulders back and sashayed to the edge of his desk. Or not.

  “That means we’re posting it?”

  “Once we release it, I lose leverage. We only threaten to do the deed.”

  She reached for the phone on his desk, and his hand shot out to grab her wrist. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to call my guy, the one with the DVD, and tell him to get ready.”

  “Are you crazy? Not from my office. My hands stay clean. That way I can tell Simon I became aware of the video, and I have the power to stop its release if he agrees to do the reality TV show. In fact, I don’t want you calling this guy from any CSM phone, got it?”

  “That means I can’t call until I get home.” She pouted, jutting out a bottom lip as tempting as a juicy cherry. “I forgot my cell today.”

  “No hurry.” He dragged his gaze away from her mouth.

  “I have a feeling I can bring Simon around to my way of thinking though, so I’ll need that DVD as proof.”

  “I’ll call my friend tonight.” She hitched her right butt cheek on the corner of his desk, swinging her high heel from her toe. “Do I get a bonus?”

  “Monetary only.” He scooted his chair back from the desk, ramming the floor board with the wheel. “I’m a happily married man.”

  Megan had already shown her claws, and he didn’t need a vengeful lover. She’d pretended to be Jessica’s friend, and look what she’d done to her? With friends and lovers like that, who needed enemies?

  C
hapter Nineteen

  Jessica squinted at the fine print running across the bottom of Simon’s contract with Mannschaft Munich. Today happened to be contract day, and although Simon had dropped off a box, promising it contained all his contracts, he hadn’t returned to go through them with her.

  Frowning, she checked her watch. Practice had ended over two hours ago. Usually, Simon made a beeline for her place after the workout to get his paperwork ready for the accountants’ review. Then they’d break for a light lunch on the patio and lots of conversation, but no sex.

  She’d tiptoed around the white elephant, unsure how to proceed due to her new position as Simon’s boss. If she tiptoed around the elephant, Simon dodged it completely.

  He kept her laughing with jokes and tales from the World Cup stage and feigned an exhaustion she just didn’t see.

  But as much as they denied, ignored, and slapped down the elephant, it still sat in the corner of the room with a big smile on its face...trunk. Boiled down to its pure essence, she wanted Simon and he wanted her.

  The doorbell rang, and Jessica knocked her can of soda over, its contents seeping into a pile of papers. Shit.

  As if Simon’s papers weren’t enough of a mess.

  “Just a minute, Simon.” She grabbed a handful of paper towels from the kitchen and blotted the liquid, grinning from ear to ear like the village idiot. Wait until Simon saw this. He’d accuse her of being a slob and she’d jab right back at him for his disorganization, and always beneath the teasing their blood simmered with need.

  She wiped her hands on her jeans and rushed to open the front door. Jimmy, leaning against the doorjamb, nearly fell inside.

  “What took so freakin’ long. Another few minutes out there, and your neighbors would’ve called the cops.” She swung the door wider, and he tripped across the threshold, his pointed black boots scuffing her hard wood floor, his oversized sunglasses shoved into his hair, now sporting black spikes, and his hodgepodge of jewelry glinting in the sunlight. He held his hand over a white bandage on his tattooed arm.

  “What happened?” She tilted her chin toward the bandage, trying to stuff down her disappointment that a blond Adonis didn’t stand in the shaft of sunlight that bathed Jimmy.

  “It’s a new tattoo.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she studied the location of the white gauze. “Isn’t that...?”

  “Yeah. I changed it a little.” He peeled back the square of cloth to reveal an ampersand between her initials, J B

  with a shot glass tipped over them.

  “Great, you’re a walking advertisement for a whiskey company.”

  “Just thought it was easier than obliterating the entire thing, but I didn’t come here to discuss my body art.” He slid a large, leather satchel from his shoulder and dangled it in front of her.

  “You got the DVD already?” She lunged for the bag, hugged it to her chest, and then clawed inside to pull out a plain unmarked DVD. “Tell me everything.”

  “I used your ploy.” He dragged a kitchen chair out from the table and straddled it. “You have any more soda, or did you spill it all over the table? What is all this stuff, anyway?”

  “Never mind.” She placed the DVD on the kitchen counter and grabbed a can of soda from the fridge. She banged it on the table in front of him. “Spill.”

  “Spill the soda? Is this some kind of new game?”

  “Jimmy!” She screamed and clutched her hair. “Now I know why I divorced you. Tell me what happened at Fred’s.”

  “Like I said, I used your idea.” He snapped open the can. “I called Fred and told him I wanted Lot 49 to do a collaboration with Excrement. The dumb-ass fell for it. As if I’d ever want to work that dick after he stole my lyrics and tried to pass them off as his.”

  Jessica closed her eyes and counted to ten. She needed all the patience of Mother Theresa to get through this story—and she was no Mother Teresa. “Get to the point, Jimmy.”

  “Okay, so he invited me over last night. He was partying, as usual, and I encouraged him to get as wasted as possible.”

  “You should’ve slipped him a roofie to see how he likes it.”

  “He didn’t need it. He was doing a good job heading off toward oblivion all by himself.”

  “Did you ask him about the DVD?”

  “I’m more subtle than that.” Jimmy spread his hands with his multiple rings and black fingernails. “Told him I heard about his party with a couple of chicks at the Marquis. He brought up the video.”

  “D-did you watch it?” She clenched her jaw, folding her arms across her chest.

  He held up his hands. “I didn’t see it. I swear. Fred pulled it out and tossed it onto the coffee table. Then I suggested another beer followed by another shot, and he passed out. Dude never did know how to hold his booze.”

  “That’s poetic justice.” She clapped her hands and twirled around the room. Then she flung her arms around Jimmy’s neck and kissed one of his spikes. “Thank you.”

  “Watch the tattoo, babe.” He squirmed out of her grasp and gestured toward the DVD. “You better make sure that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “I will as soon as you leave.” She swept the DVD off the counter and tapped it against the heel of her hand. “Has Fred missed this yet?”

  Jimmy finished off his soda and stood up. “Not yet, probably still hung over. Besides, what’s he going to say, Dude, have you seen the video of me fondling an unconscious chick?”

  “Thanks, Jimmy.” She opened the door and swept her arm forward. “Now sneak on out there and don’t frighten my neighbors.”

  “Just one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t tell anyone about this.” He shrugged into his black leather jacket and flipped up the collar. “I have a reputation to keep tarnished.”

  As soon as she shut the door, Jessica spun around to feed the DVD into her DVD player. No sense in calling Gemma to give her the good news, since she had an acting class this afternoon. Jessica wanted to make sure neither of the two men had sex with Gemma. If they did, Jessica would march Gemma off to a doctor no matter how much she howled in protest.

  Fred’s skinny naked body appeared on her TV screen.

  Ugh, way too much information here. She watched the rest of the DVD with one hand on her stomach and the other over her eyes as she peered through her fingers. There was some fondling and inappropriate touching, but no penetration.

  When the disgusting display ended, Jessica ejected the DVD and tried to fold it in half. It sprang out of her hands and skidded across the floor. She scooped it up from the tile and carried it, pinched between two fingers, into her garage. She tossed it on a workbench and grabbed a hammer from dangling from a hook. She smashed the hammer down on the DVD over and over until its glittering shards littered the workbench.

  She raised the hammer over her head with two hands and yelled, “Take that, you piece of excrement.”

  ***

  After punching in his voicemail code, Simon listened to the treacherous voice pour over the phone. “Hi Simon, it’s me...Jessica. What happened to you today? I went through the box and found four of your contracts, but couldn’t locate the other ones. Could you go through the boxes that comprise your fabulous filing system once more for those other contracts? I’ll drop these off at Jerry and Phil’s office tomorrow morning. Sorry I missed you. My father just called me for an emergency meeting at his house tonight, so I’ll fill him in on our progress. See you tomorrow after practice?

  Bye-bye.”

  He was pretty damned sure her emergency meeting tonight had everything to do with his emergency meeting tomorrow morning with Franco before the game. Franco had sounded grim but wouldn’t tell him anything. He didn’t need to. Evan had already told him all he needed to know.

  So she was planning to suspend him while they’d been shoveling papers at the accountants and solicitors. Or was she? If Jessica knew about his suspension all this time, then Gemma should drop out of tha
t acting class and take a few lessons from Jessica.

  He’d avoided calling Jessica when Evan told him the news. He wanted to cool down first for fear of lashing out at her and saying things he’d regret later. And he did cool down, or at least worked off his anger, with a run on the beach and a workout at the gym.

  Maybe he should call her now, straighten things out.

  God, he didn’t want to grovel. He didn’t want to use his position as her...friend to wheedle a second chance out of her. She’d made a business decision and everything else be damned. Or maybe she’d just caved in to her father again. He still controlled her despite the games she played.

  In fact, those games proved just how much control Brett did exert over his daughter. Would she ever learn to stand on her own?

  Gemma crashed through the front door. “What’s on for dinner? I’m famished.” She slid her backpack onto her arm and lugged it to the kitchen. “I got to do a scene with Gregory, my instructor, today and he told me I had a tremendous talent for crying on demand.”

  “I could’ve told Gregory that, and I don’t even need to do a scene with you.” He replaced the phone.

  She looked up from rummaging in her backpack and smiled, and it was like the sun coming out on a dreary day.

  Her rosy complexion and dimples formed a welcome contrast to the sallow-faced girl with the frown from the past few weeks. Gemma had put the brakes on the late nights and partying recently, attending her acting classes with almost a religious fervor, having coffee with her acting mates, and even making time for a lunch or two with Ivo.

  Relief coursed through Simon’s veins. At least one hurricane had blown off course, sparing him from the fallout.

  Gemma’s mobile chirped and she checked the display.

  A pink haze rolled across her cheeks. “I’ll take this upstairs.”

  Simon shrugged. Maybe she had a new boyfriend. He lifted the phone again and tapped out Jessica’s mobile phone number. Busy. He checked his watch. She had to be on the way to her emergency meeting. What did that mean for him?

  Either Evan had lied to him about the suspension, or Roger Brett had already made the decision without telling his daughter. If that were the case, how much pressure would it take Brett to exert on Jessica before she came around to his way of thinking? How many lures would he hold out to her? How many strings would he pull?