by Brynley Bush
“Sure.” I take the box and walk next door. No one’s at the front desk, and after waiting a few minutes, I decide to go looking for Faith. She’s in her office talking to someone, and hearing my name stops me just short of the doorway.
“Did you see this picture in the paper of Knox and Leila? He couldn’t have picked a better girl to be seen with to clean up his image.”
I freeze, my heart stuttering to a stop before it resumes beating double time.
“I know.” The male voice sounds achingly familiar. “He’s going to go back to the team looking much better now. Hopefully he’s managed to turn things around for himself between the media coverage he’s gotten from helping out Rosie and going out with Leila. After he got suspended, I told him he’d better get his shit together or he wouldn’t be playing anywhere. Glad he finally listened to me. Maybe he’ll learn from my mistakes.”
I don’t stick around to listen to any more of their conversation. I’ve heard more than enough. With my vision blurred by tears, I stumble back to the reception area, leaving the box of muffins on the front desk in my haste to leave. I’ve been such a fool, believing a guy like Knox Beckinsale could seriously have been interested in a girl like me. But one night with him and that mischievous grin and sexy swagger and I’d played right into his hands. I’d totally fallen for him, but to him I’d been just another girl…a boring one who could help his career. I should have known better. But that doesn’t lessen the feeling of betrayal.
When I walk back into Simple Kneads, my nana takes one look at my face and knows something’s wrong. “What happened?”
I can’t tell her. Rosie’s her friend, and it’s not like Knox actually lied to me. After all, I was the one who actually came on to him first. He’d probably seen me coming from a mile away and decided to use it to his own advantage. It’s my own fault I was stupid enough to fall for his charm. I paste what I hope is a bright smile on my face.
“I got a job in New York! At Bravura, the top women’s magazine in the country. Can you believe it? I think I’m still a little shocked.” Nana hugs me and it takes everything in me not to break into tears. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SHE’S GONE?” I stare uncomprehendingly at Bethany, the little pixie of a girl who works with Leila. “Like, she went home early?”
“Nooo,” she says slowly. “She went back to New York.” She takes one look at my face and adds hastily, “I’ll go get Millie for you.”
A few minutes later, Leila’s grandmother bustles through the door that leads from the café to the bakery, smiling at me warmly. “Hi, Knox. And I thought you just kept coming in because of Leila.” She winks. “It’s really my muffins, isn’t it?” she whispers conspiratorially.
I give her a tight smile. “Bethany says Leila went back to New York.”
“Well, yes. She left this morning.” Her smile fades. “Surely you knew, right?”
“No,” I say curtly. “She somehow forgot to mention it.” I try to deny the ache in my heart. Somehow Leila had become far more to me than a summer fling, but apparently she hadn’t felt the same. Hell, we’d seen each other night before last. And when she’d texted me yesterday morning, everything had seemed fine. I hadn’t talked to her since then, but I’d had plans to go out with Ty and I figured she’d been busy. Apparently, she’d been busier than I could have imagined.
“Well, it was pretty sudden. She’s been looking for another magazine job, and yesterday she found out the biggest magazine in the nation—the one she’s dreamed of working for since she started journalism school—wanted to hire her to write some big story. But it meant she had to leave immediately.” She touches my arm gently, but I barely register the comforting gesture. “I’m sure she’ll call you later today to explain.”
I feel like I’ve just taken a hit on the field, like the air has been crushed from my lungs.
“Leila’s a journalist?” I bite out. “I don’t think I need her to explain anything.” I take a deep breath and remind myself it’s not this sweet old lady’s fault her granddaughter is a lying, manipulative, conniving, two-faced bitch who used me. Just like everyone else.
“Why, yes. I thought you knew. She worked for Edge magazine in New York before taking a little hiatus from reporting to come help me out here. But she always intended to go back. She was just looking for the right opportunity.”
“I’ll bet she was,” I say grimly.
“She’s known for her personal profiles,” she adds proudly. “She has a knack for getting people to confide in her.”
I’ve got to get out of here. I mumble something to Millie and somehow make it out the door of Simple Kneads and into the small training gym at Achilles HeAl where I spend half an hour pummeling a punching bag, the resulting ache in my hand a welcome substitute for the ache in my heart.
Back in New York, I go through the motions, waiting for the shoe to drop that’s going to finish off my career. I resume practicing with the team, pushing myself beyond normal physical endurance in an attempt to dull the excruciating pain of Leila’s betrayal. It doesn’t work.
I’d called Shaylee as soon as I realized what I’d done to warn her, knowing she’d no doubt be exposed along with me when Leila’s exposé hits the newsstand. Shaylee had been in California, but agreed to meet me as soon as she got back. Surprisingly, we’ve become close friends after the sex tape incident, and when she greets me with a bone-crushing hug outside the restaurant where we’re meeting for dinner, I feel a rush of warmth. Although there’s never been any chemistry or attraction between us—if anything she’s like the little sister I never had—I realize she’s one of the few authentic friends I really have. And, I think grimly, I just ruined her career by thinking with my dick. As usual.
I wait until we’ve ordered to tell her why I needed to see her so soon.
“I fucked up, Shaylee.”
She gives me a grin and reaches across the table to grab a French fry from my plate. “What’s new?”
“No. This time it’s different. This time it’s going to hurt you too, and I hate like hell that I’ve put you in this position, even if it was unintentional.” I take a deep breath. “I met a girl this summer when I was in Colorado helping out my grandma Rosie. She wasn’t like any of the girls I usually date. She was funny and irreverent and a total knockout in a girl next door sort of way, and she had no idea how fucking gorgeous and sexy she was. But most importantly, she didn’t fawn over me. In fact, she gave me hell every chance she got.” I smile wryly, but there’s no humor in it. “And I loved it.”
Shaylee’s warm brown eyes meet mine and she smiles as she covers my hand with hers. “That’s great, Knox.”
“No. It’s not. Because she was so different, I let my guard down. I trusted her. I told her things I don’t usually tell anyone. I told her about the sex tape, and about Mack and you and me. And then, after it was too late, I found out she’d been using me. She’s a journalist. As soon as she got every goddamn piece of information she needed to completely expose and ruin me, she disappeared. Didn’t even say goodbye. Her grandmother told me she came back to New York because she sold a ‘big story’ to Bravura that had landed her her dream job.
“Both my agent and my publicist asked around, trying to figure out how bad the damage was going to be. Apparently she’s greedy as well, because she shopped the story around. It looks like the highest bidder was the New York Times, because she sold the story to them instead of Bravura. The story hits tomorrow. I wanted you to know so you weren’t blindsided. Christ! I’m so sorry, Shaylee. It’s one thing for my career to be ruined, but I never wanted it to impact you. I’d do anything to save you from being hurt.”
“I know,” she says softly. “You’ve already done that for me once before.” She tilts her head slightly. “This girl…this journalist who’s not like any girl you’ve met before. Does she have blonde hair? Big blue eyes?”
I nod.
“Her name’s Leila Patton?”
&
nbsp; “How do you know that?” I ask sharply.
“I met with her. She flew out to California to talk to me. I think you may have underestimated her, Knox.”
“What do you mean?”
“Read the story tomorrow. And then call her.”
The next morning, I force myself to put in my usual five-mile run before buying the Times from a newsstand on the corner near my apartment. I head upstairs before reading it. Despite what Shaylee said, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to go anywhere without being mobbed in a few hours. If I have that long.
There it is. Front page. SEX, LIES, AND VIDEOTAPE: THE TRUE STORY BEHIND NFL BAD BOY KNOX BECKINSALE
I take a deep breath and start to read. It’s my story alright—everything I’d confided in her—but instead of making me sound like Knox Beckinsale the screw-up, she portrays me as Knox Beckinsale, the guy with the infectious grin and the heart of gold. With the impressive finesse of an artist who can wield words like a wood-cutter uses an intricate saw, carving images with such precision that they turn a homely piece of wood into a masterpiece, she carefully constructs the image of a hero with flaws to be sure, but enough goodness to outweigh the failings.
She starts with my struggles with dyslexia, stressing how hard I worked to overcome my learning disability and how my commitment and work ethic translated to my ability to work hard on the field. Somehow, she even managed to track down my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Posey, the first teacher who understood me and figured out a way to help me achieve what I had thought had become unattainable—learning to read.
I skim as she outlines my professional football career, starting with playing ball at the University of Colorado in Boulder to being drafted by the Knights to my most recent trade to the Torpedoes. I already know this shit; I want to know what she’s going to say about the sex tape. I start reading more closely as she gets to the part about the money laundering scheme, and when I read about the sex-tape scandal, a fucking tsunami wouldn’t be able to move me from my chair.
Because it’s all there, even the parts I didn’t tell her. How the morning after the night that changed everything, as Mack had laid passed out in his own vomit, I’d found a shell-shocked and sobbing Shaylee huddled in the corner, unsure of where she was or how she’d gotten there. How we put the pieces together and figured out that Mack had slipped her some Rohypnol, the date rape drug, and she hadn’t even known what had happened, much less consented to it. How I’d tried to take her to the hospital and begged her to report it to the police, even though by doing so I’d be implicating myself and ruining my career. How Shaylee had refused, afraid of the ramifications that would follow when the story was exposed, afraid of how the players she interviewed for her job would view her if the sex tape came to light, effectively ending her career, and embarrassed to have her kinks exposed.
How Mack—who’d known all along who she was—had tried to get me to go along with extorting a million dollars from her to keep it under wraps, even offering me a cut of the money, although he’d ensured my cooperation when he chose Shaylee. I’d have been fired in a New York minute if the owner of the Torpedoes knew I’d made a sex tape with his daughter. How instead of going along with his plan to blackmail Shaylee, I’d broken into his house and stolen it, choosing to add criminal charges to my record instead of dollars to my bank account. Hell, she makes me sound so good I want to fuck myself.
Although Leila has protected Shaylee’s identity in the article, she has hung Mack out to dry, methodically and thoroughly proving his involvement in the Smithgold Cleaners money laundering scheme and the sex-tape extortion, adding that the unnamed victim will be pressing charges and testifying against him. And in the process, she’s made me out to be some kind of fucking hero. My heart stops as I reach the last sentence.
“There is one secret that Knox Beckinsale doesn’t want you to know. Behind those sculpted pecs beats a heart of gold, the heart of the kind of man and role model who doesn’t waver from what he believes in despite the cost. If the measure of a man is where he stands during times of challenge and controversy, no one stands taller than Knox Beckinsale. And my life has been forever changed because I knew him.”
No one can render me speechless quite like Leila Patton.
Chapter Eight
LEILA
The knock at the door makes me jump. I’ve just put two frozen dinners in the oven for Monica and me to have when she gets home, and I panic for a minute, afraid the reporters have found me. Ironic, I have to admit. A journalist hiding out from journalists. But I had no idea the article on Knox was going to explode the way it had.
I’d finally turned my phone off at ten o’clock this morning, tired of fielding phone calls and requests for comments, interviews, and more than a few job offers. My voicemail was full anyway. But, I reason, no one could possibly know where I am unless Monica told them. Which she wouldn’t—out of respect for me and my privacy as well as her own, since I’m staying with her until the couple subletting my apartment moves out next week.
In fact, it’s probably Monica at the door; she’s notorious for losing her keys. It’s how she started dating the hot guy down the hall. Although that’s another story entirely.
Berating myself for being paranoid, I open the door. My breath hitches as I find myself face to face with Knox.
“How did you find me?”
“Your grandmother told me where you were staying.” He darts a furtive glance down the hall. “Can I come in? You have no idea how hard it was to get here.”
“Okay,” I say warily, stepping aside to let him in. The door closes with a deep thud that matches the beating of my heart. Oh god. The sheer physical beauty of him and the magnetic pull I feel whenever he’s near never fails to blow me away.
“You didn’t tell me you were a journalist,” he says tightly.
“You didn’t ask. You didn’t tell me you were an NFL football player,” I add pointedly.
“But you knew, didn’t you? You stuck around just long enough to get the whole story. I trusted you. I thought you were different.” His eyes flash with hurt and my heart feels like it’s going to shatter in a million pieces. Which is impossible, since I’m pretty sure it already did that when I left Fort Collins.
He rubs the scruff that passes for his beard distractedly. “But I don’t get it, Leila. I gave you enough information to ruin me. Instead, you made me out to sound like a fucking saint. You’ve singlehandedly done what my agent, my team, and my PR rep couldn’t—you completely reversed my image. Why?”
“That was the idea wasn’t it? I mean, that’s the reason you went out with me in the first place.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he growls.
“I overheard Faith and your brother talking at Achilles HeAl. I know you were only going out with me to clean up your image, like Ty had told you to. It was a huge boost to your reputation to be seen with a straight-laced nobody like me.” Dammit. I feel the unwelcome prick of tears and swipe them away angrily. “I should have known. Guys like you never date girls like me unless they have an ulterior motive. Actually, some part of me did know. Knew from the very beginning. I just let myself believe it might be different…”
He closes the distance between us in one long stride. Damn him. His arms around me feel so good, and it takes every ounce of willpower I possess to push him away.
“It’s okay,” I say, holding up a hand to stop him. “I was glad to do it, although it would have been nice if you’d just been upfront with me from the beginning. Because the thing is, you’re special, Knox. Not because you’re the best slot received in the NFL or rich or famous or better looking and sexier than any man has the right to be. You’re extraordinary because of your heart. Because you genuinely care about people. Because you do the right thing, even when you stand to lose everything. Because even though you’re cocky as hell, what’s inside of you is actually more beautiful than what’s outside. The story was going to break whether I wrote it or someone else did.
At least if I wrote it, the world would see the Knox Beckinsale I’ve been privileged to know.”
“Thank you, Leila,” he says softly. “Somehow, you’ve always seen the real me. When your grandmother told me you’d left so abruptly and had been offered the job of a lifetime to write a career-making story, I thought you’d used me just like everyone else. I assumed the worst and thought you were going to write a different story—the kind that sells magazines. I’m sorry I misjudged you.”
“That’s what I’d originally planned to do,” I admit. “I was hurt and angry, and it was the opportunity of a lifetime career-wise. But in the end, I couldn’t. I talked to Shaylee, and she told me what you did for her, what you sacrificed. So I decided to write the real story. Not the one Bravura wanted, but the true exposé showing the world who Knox Beckinsale really is. You may have been a total ass and used me, but you’re still a good man. The best.” Tears clog my throat and I try to turn away before Knox sees, but he’s having none of that.
His eyes darken as he cups my chin with firm fingers and brings my gaze to his. “Let’s get something straight right now. Ty did tell me I’d better get my shit together and clean up my image, and for once I listened, because I’m tired of the life I’ve been living, and the endless parade of meaningless relationships. But you were never part of that plan; I didn’t go out with you to clean up my image. In fact, the day before I met you at Achilles HeAl, I told Rosie the way I was going to clean up my image was by swearing off women entirely. But then there you were, all luscious curves and sass, making me laugh and calling me out on my bullshit and seeing me as Knox the man, not Knox the football legend. Not to mention your lips on my cock and the way we combust when we’re together. Fucking hell! You were intoxicating, Leila. I’ve never felt more myself than when I’m with you. I found myself working harder at physical therapy just so I could get finished faster and come next door and see you. I couldn’t wait to see you, to spend time with you, to talk to you.” His voice drops seductively. “To see how many ways I could make you come. And for the record, you’re pretty far from straight-laced. And you’re definitely not a nobody. You’re somebody to me. Somebody incredibly special.