Jeremiah watched Luca stride off. Then he returned to the living room, weighed down with defeat.
“Get anywhere with Dad?” his brother asked.
“Nah. Reversing the sale would be easier if Dad would just report to the league that he was coerced into selling the team. It’s like trying to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”
“Can’t think that way, bro,” Milo said, his face stony. “I need this, too. I’ve got nothing else—no career…nothing.”
“I get it. But what about that analyst gig?” Almost immediately after his retirement had been announced, ESPN reps had started courting him.
“It’s not the same as being on that field, in the game. Jeremiah, I never asked you for anything growing up, but I can’t do this without you. You’re on the inside.”
For now, just as Izzie said.
“I heard about the new assistant trainer, the daughter—Waverly Greer. You’ve met her by now, right?” When Jeremiah nodded, he went on, “Get a feel for what she’s about?”
Jeremiah got a very thorough feel on Waverly—how her hair felt between his fingers, how her mouth tasted, how her thigh muscles tightened when he stroked her pink, wet skin—but he didn’t know what her motives were.
“Not yet,” he told his brother. “But I will.”
“Then I can count on you to get this done?”
Milo had saved Jeremiah’s life, had yanked him off the path that would’ve led right to Jeremiah ending up a tragic statistic. His brother had restored his future. It was time Jeremiah returned the favor.
“By any means necessary.”
◆◆◆
Enveloped in leather and polished wood, in the vintage glory of the Hard Rock’s renovated Body English bar, Izzie Phillips let the gray-haired man at the end of the bar put her liquor on his tab. As the bartender placed another whiskey sour and a fresh napkin in front of her, she moved her gaze past the handful of other patrons over to her benefactor.
He wore a charcoal-colored suit. Judging by the exquisite styling, she doubted it cost anything less than a few grand. His hair was perfectly groomed, his face was smooth shaven, and his eyes were fastened on the drink in his hand. She registered that he wore a wedding band, then moved on to something more interesting—the contents of his glass. It was his third single-malt whiskey. He thought he had sought her out, but she’d had her eye on him since he strode up to the bar.
Ever since her parents had turned her loose with no financial cushion, she’d learned to be observant when it came to men. It was all part of survival.
Izzie crooked a finger at the bartender, leaned forward and added a smile. “Can I count on you to keep my drinks coming?”
“Sure you can handle more whiskey?” The words were skeptically spoken.
“I wouldn’t ask for more if I wasn’t sure.” She swiveled around on her stool, crossed one long leg over the other and surveyed the room. The golden overhead lights were dim, but the sparkling chandeliers gave it a subtle radiance. The bar’s mostly well-dressed patrons gathered around the tables or in booths, while others crowded the bar, tossing back wine and hard liquor.
In her opinion, a hotel lounge wasn’t the epitome of a classy social scene. She preferred mingling at country clubs and had a special love for Cleopatra’s Barge. Up until a few months ago she’d even loved sharing the finest wines and dirtiest gossip with her friends in the Wine Society.
One flop of an engagement had severed her valuable connections, but she was determined to bounce back. She hadn’t gotten where she was today, driving a Lamborghini and jet-setting in designer heels, by setting limits for herself.
Running her finger over the rim of her glass, she eyed the exec as he made his way over to her. Conversation and subdued laughter surrounded them. She set her glass aside, pointing to his hand. His wedding band had vanished. “Put it back on,” she said.
A puzzled look played over his face. “Excuse me?”
“Put the wedding ring on your finger.” Once he obeyed, she slid off the stool.
“I’m Leonard.”
“Now tell me what you’re about before I get bored.”
Leonard followed her to one of the leather booths. “Your friend Toya Messa told me you have a problem.”
What’d you know? There were some loyal friends in this town. “My future’s down the toilet. Got a plunger?”
“Not quite. I do have access to sensitive information—off-the-books sort of stuff—that people would kill for.”
“Funny.”
Except Leonard didn’t crack a smile.
“What can you do for me?”
“That depends on you.”
Izzie smoothed her hair, though she knew it was perfectly twisted with not a strand out of place. This was getting complicated. All she wanted was what Luca Tarantino had promised her when he’d told her she was gorgeous and had given her the diamond ring she twisted around her finger now. They’d met at a bar much like this one. He’d been down in the dumps and she’d let him talk it out. He’d also wanted sex—most men who pursued her did. But she’d been smart about it this time. By denying him, she’d gotten an engagement and would eventually get the security of a prenup-free marriage.
She hadn’t risen to these heights to be dropped on her ass. A blink ago Vegas had been Luca’s throne, and she’d been at his side. The new queen. She didn’t have to lull herself to sleep with delusions, didn’t have to live every waking moment with fear riding her. A producer had noticed her. She was going to get her piece of the reality TV pie—her own cable show.
She had money and a man.
Now she had a glass of whiskey that had come up empty without her realizing it.
“Just pay the tab and give the bartender a nice big tip, and we’ll talk,” she said to Leonard, reaching for her phone. “Let me discuss this with a friend.”
“Are we getting someone else involved?” A muscle twitched in his face. Annoyance.
“He needs saving as much as I do,” she said. Last night at Luca’s house Jeremiah had been slighted, overlooked by his father. Izzie had noticed Luca favored Milo, and she knew Jeremiah realized it, too. He wasn’t quite as jaded as his brother, and she was grateful for that. He didn’t know it yet, but they were destined to be allies, to work together to get Luca’s team back under his control.
Izzie didn’t believe for a second that the man who’d sworn to protect her and make her happy would willingly give up his fortune to a pair of strangers. Of course J.T. Greer had forced his hand!
Well, soon enough he’d be sorry that he had.
Izzie waited until Leonard walked off to the bar before she dialed Jeremiah’s number.
Predictably, the call went to voice mail. Jeremiah didn’t answer her calls and only sporadically returned her texts. She kept the message short but urgent.
“While I was at the bar, paying for your drinks, I started thinking,” Leonard said, coming up behind her until she could feel his erection against her butt. “In this economy, getting your money’s worth really is all that matters.”
“Really.” Izzie knew she wasn’t going anywhere—unless it was out of the Hard Rock Hotel—alone. Though she withheld sex from Luca, she’d never cheated on him and wouldn’t start today, especially now that their engagement was hanging on by a thread as fragile as a spiderweb.
“What if I got us a room and we settle up there?” Leonard suggested. “Suck my cock and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
“Go up and wait for me.”
Leonard left Body English fast, and Izzie could think again. She was supposed to be done with sleaze and schemes, but just when she thought she was over the past, some new twist was there to pull her back again. Wasn’t that the thing about life? People thought they were moving along, changing, growing, going forward, but it was made up of circles.
Finally Luca’s son appeared at her booth. “What’s the emergency?”
“My marriage. And your job.” When he m
umbled a curse and turned to leave, she snagged his hand. “Sit down. Please quit pretending you’re not as self-absorbed as I am.”
Jeremiah freed his hand but sat. “What is it, Izzie?”
“The Villains belong to Luca. He said he didn’t want to sell.”
“I know that.”
“So we’re going to get the team back for him.”
“There’s never been a ‘we,’ Izzie, and there never will be.”
Under all that cockiness was the desperation she saw in the mirror at the end of the day when her face was vulnerable without makeup. It was a sad thing to live without security. She’d had enough of that after her parents cut her off. He was living through practically the same uncertainty now, not sure how long he’d even be on the Villains’ payroll. She sort of felt sorry for him but sorrier for herself.
“United or not, we need the team back in your father’s name. Milo needs it, too.”
“Milo thinks this is none of your business.”
“Well,” she shot back, holding up her ring, “this says that it is.”
“I’m not going to raise hell at camp, if that’s what you’re hoping.”
Hell-raising wouldn’t be effective, not when he was probably two seconds from being dumped off the team’s training staff anyway. “You’re at risk. Waverly Greer is after something. A girl can tell when another girl is after something. What if she has her eye on that head trainer position you were talking about?”
Jeremiah’s face was like granite. She’d struck the nerve she’d been looking for.
“I know someone who can help us take care of this. All he’s going to do is a little careful digging. It’s about knowledge, that’s all. What makes Waverly Greer a better fit for that head trainer job than you? What makes J.T. and Joan Greer think they can force a man to sell his franchise? The news and everyone else is making this a story, as if the team’s been reborn or something.” She leaned forward. “A woman like Waverly has dirt in her past, I know it. Help me help you, Jeremiah.”
Was that conflict in his eyes? No, just a trick of the vintage chandelier lighting. “What do you want me to do?”
“Trust me to get this taken care of.” Forget Leonard. She could restore Luca’s team and her life without the meddling of some slimy P.I. her friend Toya had probably found on Yelp.
Jeremiah’s laugh was ironic. “I’ll never trust you, Izzie.”
Fortunately, there was never any honor among thieves…or liars and manipulators. “No prob. All you need to do is cooperate.”
CHAPTER SIX
Appealing to a man’s humanity was a delicate task, especially when the man was one who’d seen you in naked and possibly had a score to settle. Jeremiah Tarantino’s grudge was sorely misdirected if it included Waverly. She would make him see that. Tenacious, persistent, relentless. Those qualities were waiting to be unleashed, and tonight she was ready to approach the complicated situation with Jeremiah from whatever angle necessary to convince him to keep what happened privately between them private.
Dressed for the occasion in a black tiered dress, haute stockings, and boa stilettos—plus the one thing she felt naked leaving the house without: confidence—she set the Taccia fountain pen on the bid sheet for the one-carat musgravite sheltered in a lighted display case, cast a final look at the gemstone with every intention of circling back as the silent auction drew to a close and moved outside to observe the guests roaming the JW Marriott’s Valencia Terrace.
No sign of Jeremiah. She’d kept watch for him in the ballroom while viewing the high-ticket merchandise and services that had been donated to the Young Minds, Bright Futures scholarship ceremony and charity fund-raiser. Surely he would be here to at least congratulate the highest bidder of the pair of tour passes to Villains Stadium, which included tickets to the bidder’s choice of any one home game. Good seats, too, on the fifty. Likely the donation had been promised to the fund-raiser before the Greers had acquired the team, and Waverly appreciated that it hadn’t been retracted.
But Jeremiah was absent from the room that was flooded with children and teens of varying ages—some withdrawn and overwhelmed by the linen-and-golden-light splendor that was all in their honor, others charged with excitement and thriving off the rush of being the center of attention.
Behind the podium was a well-guarded table that held gold-lettered plaques and gift certificates for the scholarship recipients, paid for with the year-round contributions from the event’s sponsors and generous benefactors. For every child in attendance there seemed to be at least three adults present. Among the sea of people were parents and guardians, social workers and teachers, wait staff carrying platters of appetizers and kid-friendly beverages, as well as the occasional city official, journalist, or celebrity.
A blueberry mojito in hand, Waverly surveyed the ebb and flow of guests on the terrace, searching for a man with a burr haircut and green eyes that had seemed to hold the power to look right through to her every unspoken wish. What would be his motive for not showing up to this fund-raising event, when the announcement she’d found online had all but gushed over his generosity and dedication to children’s literacy and academic excellence?
Had he guessed she would attempt to find him here and backed out of the commitment? Not only did the sneakiness of the move frustrate her, but Waverly found it intolerable that he’d brush off a cause he was supposedly so devoted to.
Or his absence could have nothing at all to do with her.
Why do I care one way or another? Why am I even hoping he’s a better person than that?
Waverly returned her attention to the mojito and let a circle of women draw her into a conversation about the benefit.
Yesterday she’d contacted the event’s chairperson and made an anonymous donation to the Young Minds, Bright Futures charity. She approved of the cause that offered Clark County’s academically gifted children the recognition they deserved no matter their families’ income or social status. While some of the silent-auction items offered entertainment, many were scientific in nature—such as the gemstone Waverly had her eye on—and the proceeds from all would be funneled into the charity’s scholarship fund.
She’d come here for one mission, but in between searching for Jeremiah she found herself enjoying the atmosphere and the company of brilliant, humble kids and the grown-ups who were not only present to share the glory but appeared genuinely proud.
In that respect they were more fortunate than Waverly had ever been.
As the conversation waned and a few of the women stepped away, Waverly finished her mojito and found Meg leaning back against a wall at the opposite end of the terrace, clad in leather pants and a hunter-green peasant blouse. “I don’t think Jeremiah’s going to show,” Waverly said. “And I was so looking forward to playing spy.”
“I found out that Jeremiah participates in this benefit every year. It hits close to home for him, turns out. He’s a brainiac, too.” Meg hitched her chin up at the sun bleeding hues of orange and purple into the horizon. “It’s early. He’ll probably show. Are you going to take off?”
Waverly preferred to stick around for the ceremony and the results of the silent auction, but the idea of Jeremiah turning his back on these kids and this fund-raising event—to avoid her?—left her feeling unsettled. The fact that it bothered her was even more troubling.
“Maybe,” was her uncertain answer. “For a woman who wasn’t too enthusiastic about making an appearance here, you sure seem comfortable,” Waverly noticed, realizing for the first time that Meg held two glasses. And both contained what looked like tropical punch garnished with orange slices.
Meg’s gaze lowered slightly as she sipped from the glass with the lipstick-stained rim. “I met a cop. His name’s Parker.”
“That’s great!”
“He’s a widower. Has a son.” Meg held up the second glass in explanation. “An actor from that new motorcycle club show is here, and Parker took his kid to get an autograph.” She polishe
d off her juice and handed Waverly the glass, then straightened and grabbed her cane from its hiding spot behind her.
“You hid your cane?” Waverly whispered. “If you like this cop so much that you’re holding his son’s juice glass, you should find out if he has a problem with your injury.”
“Waverly, it’s not like I looked at him and saw wedding bells. I guess I was pretending for a bit that I’m one hundred percent whole.… Dumb.” She laughed, but it lacked warmth or humor. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to find a guy. I came to help you scope out Jeremiah.”
“Things have an odd way of changing course sometimes,” Waverly said, but she’d let her friend make her own choice. She handed Meg’s glass to a waiter and turned discreetly, scanning faces. “Which one’s Parker?”
Now Meg’s smile was authentic, and she braced her weight on the cane, carefully taking inventory of the terrace crowd. “Over there by the band. Dark hair. Dimples. Roman nose.… Isn’t that what they call it?”
The man bent to say something to the boy in front of him, and both women fell silent, enjoying the view.
“Somebody’s got a crush,” Waverly whispered.
“He’s a dad. And his son’s a ten-year-old physics genius, turns out.”
“He’s a man—” Waverly paused as he and his son turned to wave Meg over “—and both he and his kid seem taken with you. Get to know him, if you want a friend’s suggestion.”
Meg frowned, as if ready to protest, when something trapped her attention. She subtly lifted her brows at Waverly. “Well. Here comes your man.”
Waverly felt Jeremiah’s approach even before she turned to see him backlit by the million dots of glowing gold from the lights that had been strung about the terrace. She thought she’d memorized every detail—his height, his tanned skin, that beautiful curve of his mouth—but seeing him weave through the clumps of guests, in an almost black suit and stark white shirt with no tie and an unbuttoned collar, jump-started her arousal.
Something about him affected her in a way she couldn’t define and certainly didn’t want to accept. It was as if he’d figured her out even before meeting her. Without touching her, speaking to her or even looking at her, he called to her.
The Penalty Page 7