The Player's Club: Lincoln

by Cathy Yardley

  Emotional, she thought, remembering Terrence’s girlfriend thing. “I’d tell my family how much they mean to me,” she said, and felt at least a slight thaw from the crowd. Of course, they were assuming she meant something deep and emotional, so at least that played. The truth was, she doubted her parents would care what she felt about them, as long as she wasn’t tacky and public about it.

  Lincoln had removed his hand from her shoulder, though. When she looked at him, she saw him frowning, almost scowling.

  What was he so unhappy about? She scowled back at him. What was she supposed to say?

  “One last thing,” Finn persisted. “What’s the third thing you would do?”

  She scrolled through fantasies, daydreams. What hadn’t she done? She thought of her favorite movies. Romantic comedies, mostly: funny, feisty women pulling off capers.

  Then it hit her.

  “You know what?” she said finally. “I’d steal something.”

  LINCOLN CHOKED.

  “Steal something?” Finn repeated, with a broad, stunned grin.

  “Yeah.” Lincoln couldn’t see Juliana’s face since he was standing behind her chair, but he could hear the smirk in her voice. “I always loved those heist movies, you know. The Italian Job, The Thomas Crown Affair, Ocean’s Eleven. It seems like it’d be such a rush.” She laughed. “And I wouldn’t be worried about jail time if I screwed up.”

  “So you would break into somewhere and steal something,” Finn clarified.

  The crowd was electrified. Lincoln felt a sick knot in the pit of his stomach.

  I knew this was going to be a bad idea, he thought. I just knew she was going to be trouble.

  He closed his eyes and for a split second remembered the taste of her as she straddled him on her couch. He quickly thought of some equations and baseball scores. He was standing in front of the whole club—the last thing he wanted them to notice was him standing behind the gorgeous Juliana with a hard-on the size of Texas. They were probably already thinking he’d lost his mind, being her mentor.

  Hell, he thought he’d lost his mind.

  He glared at Finn. Finn simply shrugged back, mischief still dancing in his eyes.

  Damn it. He knew Finn had been getting restless, but this was unconscionable!

  “So, is that it with the questions?” Juliana murmured over her shoulder.

  “Unfortunately,” Lincoln answered.

  “On to the challenges portion of the program.” Finn was positively gleeful. “Which is actually really easy—you have one month to do all three things you’ve just described.”

  “What?” Terrence asked, his mouth falling open.

  “Wait, what?” Juliana echoed, getting up out of her chair.

  Lincoln put a firm hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to sit down. Of course, she didn’t budge, merely shrugged off his hand with a glare of her own. Lincoln sighed.

  “We obviously haven’t had an issue like this before,” Lincoln interrupted. “We’ve never had anybody say they were going to do something illegal. We can’t condone someone stealing something.”

  “We’re not the law here,” Finn said reasonably. “And technically, unless Terrence owns that burned-out abandoned rattrap across the street from his company, he’s going to be breaking the law on that one, too.”

  Lincoln gritted his teeth. “There’s a difference between defacing property and theft,” he pointed out, in a strained voice.

  “Yeah, like five to seven years,” Scott, one of the newest members, called out from the crowd.

  “So she’d better not get caught, then?” Finn said, a laugh creeping into his voice.

  For a split second, Lincoln thought about clocking his best friend. Just one hard right, preferably in his grinning face. But he managed to rein in the impulse.

  “We’re going to need to discuss this,” his friend Tucker said. “Huddle up, and you two pledges sit tight, okay?” With that, he gestured to the group, leading them to the far side of the room.

  The rest of the group huddled as best they could—twenty-five people was hardly a discreet huddle, Lincoln thought—and they started to discuss it.

  “This is insanity,” Lincoln said.

  “It’s a charge,” Finn protested, “and a change. We’ve done fairly basic challenges up to this point. Traveling, stuff like that. Not to say it hasn’t been cool,” he hastily assured several of the new members who had chosen travel, “but I’m just saying this could be a blast for a lot of us players, as well as the pledges. And if they’re coming up with this just in the challenges, imagine what sort of player’s outings we could come up with…”

  “Like what? Raiding Fort Knox?” Lincoln yelped.

  “All right, knock this shit off,” Tucker insisted, clearly irritated. “I know you two started this club, but we’re a democracy. So let’s just vote on it and act over it. All those in favor of letting these two go for the challenges, say aye.”

  A chorus of muted “ayes” echoed in the plant-strewn room.

  “Okay. All those opposed?”

  Lincoln’s “nay” was the loudest, but there weren’t very many of them. Lincoln grimaced.

  “We’d all be accomplices,” Lincoln couldn’t help adding.

  “Only if they caught us,” Finn said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked totally revved up. “Besides, nobody’s saying she has to break into Fort Knox. You worry too much.”

  “I want to help out on the paint challenge,” Scott said, and his girlfriend Amanda nodded.

  Lincoln blanched as he saw most of the players volunteering to help with either of the illegal challenges. He pulled Finn aside.

  “If we get caught, the chief of police is going to kill us,” he said. “Ever since the article came out, you know he’s been pissed. You know he’s been just itching for one of us to slip up.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “You don’t get it,” Lincoln growled, glancing over at where Juliana was sitting in her chair, staring at him. “She’s up to something.”

  Finn shrugged. “I’m only going to say this once, dude. Switch to decaf. Seriously.”

  “She’s doing this for publicity,” Lincoln said, almost inaudibly. “I’m sure of it. She’s going to expose every one of us if it will help her stay famous.”

  “Yeah?” Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”

  Lincoln clenched his teeth so hard he was surprised his molars didn’t crack. “If I can?”

  “Then she’s out. And I’ll make sure she’s sorry she ever messed with us,” Finn added, with more seriousness than Lincoln had ever seen before in his friend. “But until then, I think you need to start getting a little less judgmental.”

  “Judgmental?” Lincoln repeated, shocked.

  “She’s not just a party girl,” Finn said quietly. “Damn it, she’s not some useless rich kid.”

  Suddenly, Lincoln realized: Finn obviously identified with Juliana on some level. And was taking Lincoln’s attacks on her personally.

  “Damn it, Finn.” Lincoln ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t mean…”

  “I know. But give her a chance, would you?” Finn smiled tiredly. “And drive her home. She looks wiped out.”

  Lincoln saw that, indeed, she was starting to look a little tired—and a little annoyed. “Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  He walked over to her. “All right. We’ve approved the challenges. You’ve got one month to complete all three things.”

  “Wonderful. Swell.” She rubbed at her temples. He wondered if she got headaches a lot. “I need to produce a short video, talk to my parents and rob something.”

  “In a nutshell,” he said. “Between your heist and Terrence’s mural, you’re probably going to be a pledge class they talk about for years to come.”

  “Then I get to do something real, right? Something exciting, or dangerous or whatever?”

  He stared at her. She was frustrated, he thought: not nervous, n
ot excited. He immediately wondered why.

  Don’t be so judgmental, he reminded himself. “You won’t be able to participate in any player activities until you’re a full member, but the other players can help you with your challenges if you want.”

  She sighed. “I’m sure I can manage on my own,” she said curtly. “Can you take me home now?”

  He nodded, helping her put on her jacket. He escorted her back to his car, a sleek black Maybach. She climbed in without a word.

  “Why are you so upset?” he asked, as he drove her back.

  “I just…this wasn’t how I was expecting this would go,” she said, her voice muted.

  “What did you think was going to happen?”

  “I don’t know,” she snapped, then took a deep, calming breath. “Just…not this.”

  “Then how…”

  “Listen, it’s like three in the morning and I’m wiped out. Could we can the small talk?”

  He pulled his lips in a tight line and stayed silent until he pulled up in front of her condo in the swanky South of Market area—aka the SoMa district. “I’ll be calling you,” he said.

  “You will?” Now she turned to him, surprise evident in her beautiful violet eyes. “Why?”

  “Because I agreed to be your mentor. I’ll monitor your progress.”

  “That sounds suspiciously like ‘keep an eye on the loose cannon,’ Lincoln,” she said, but her voice was more tired than anything. Her expression tightened. “If you’re my mentor, I guess it’s up to you to decide whether I make it in or not.”

  “Sort of.”

  “Great.” She snapped off her seat belt viciously. “So I’m screwed.”

  He glared at her. “I can be impartial. If you pull off the challenges, you’re in.”

  “Well then, you’d better get my name tag ready,” she said, her chin notching up. “Because I can pull off anything.”

  He leaned closer to her. “If I find out that this is some stupid prank with the club, or you’re using it to push yourself forward,” he said, in a low, dangerous voice, “I will personally destroy you.”

  They were close, both angry, both breathing hard, staring into each other’s eyes. He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first. It didn’t matter. Between one second and the next, they went from completely furious at each other to mouth on mouth, the heat between them like a forest fire. He groaned against her pillow-soft lips, started to reach for her. Got yanked back by his own seat belt.

  The motion seemed to bring her back to sanity, and she pulled away. “Good night, Lincoln,” she said shakily, opening the door and getting out. Before he could do anything, she was through the door of her lobby and gone.

  He smacked his forehead down on the steering wheel. This woman was going to be the death of him. And apparently, he simply couldn’t help himself.

  5

  I REFUSE TO FEEL GUILTY about this.

  Juliana was still thinking of the challenges—and her heated exchange with Lincoln—two days later, when she drove the few hours in traffic that it took to get from San Francisco down to Monterey. She didn’t know why she’d kissed him in the car, or why she’d let him kiss her.... However, it had happened.

  All she knew was, he was a suspicious, prudish, judgmental watchdog who seemed to hit every single one of her turn-ons. She wanted to kill him and jump him, in the space of a heartbeat.

  He was going to be a problem. She could already tell.

  Right now, though, she thought as she pulled into the driving range and straightened her sexy violet sundress, she had bigger issues.

  She made her way past the rows of golfers until she found the man she was hunting for.

  “Stephen! I can’t believe you didn’t make it to my birthday party,” Juliana said, with her sexiest pout.

  Stephen Trainer, television producer, looked over at her and grimaced. “I can’t believe you stalked me to a driving range to ram your reality-show pitch down my throat.”

  “You’re up in the Bay Area, in my neck of the woods, which is why I invited you to my party,” she said, sitting on a folding chair that was in his “driving” area. She crossed her legs, smirking slightly when he paused in his swing to check them out. He wasn’t Lincoln, she thought smugly, then frowned.

  Stop thinking about Lincoln.

  “And I’m not ramming anything down your throat,” she soothed. “How do you know I’m not just here to whack a few balls around?”

  “I’ll bet that’s exactly what you’re here to do,” he muttered, swinging the club and connecting with a loud thwack. “I’m just afraid they’re going to be mine.”

  She laughed. “Come on, Stephen. I know you read my pitch.”

  He sighed, resting on his club for a moment. “I know, I remember the log line. ‘Infamous, the wild and crazy life of Juliana Mayfield—daughter of the famous Mayfield acting clan and a hot French model. Wannabe actress, model and socialite. Sort of like the poor man’s Angelina Jolie, with maybe a little Paris Hilton thrown in—all the partying, not quite all the money. Am I missing anything?”

  She felt a flush of heat. “I’m not the poor man’s anything.”

  “Trust me, that’s probably the most appealing label,” he said callously, whacking another golf ball.

  Idly she shot a glance at the expensive golf bag propped up behind the paunchy television producer as he teed off. What club would you use to pound some manners into a shortsighted TV exec? One of the woods? Maybe the nine iron?

  “Celebutantes aren’t selling right now, Jules,” he said. “I skipped your birthday party because I already knew what I was going to see. Some velvet rope stuff, rich B-listers and C-listers getting outrageous. It’s been done to death. Other than some product tie-ins with maybe a teeny-bop clothing line, which wouldn’t do well with your other potential booze sponsors of Bacardi or Absolut, and I’m not getting a lot of buzz or bang for my buck.”

  For a second, Juliana held her breath, the pain flattening her. Then she sighed. “Well, don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think.”

  He looked at her, and damn him, there was pity in his eyes. “I’m doing you a favor,” he said, his voice gruff. “You’re going to waste your time shopping this thing around. You could be Madonna and this show wouldn’t get picked up. I’m sorry.”

  She forced herself to breathe, a slow, quavering inhalation. Then she smiled. “I’ve got a new spin now. Maybe you’d find it more interesting than the, ah, ‘celebutante’ angle.”

  Now he sighed, turning back to the range. “Fine. What’ve you got?”

  “The Player’s Club.”

  “The what?” He hit another golf ball. “Damn it. Still slicing.”

  “The Player’s Club,” she repeated, leaning forward. Okay, she threw in a little cleavage. At this point, she needed all the help she could get.

  “The…” Now he turned to her, and she saw it: the little gleam of interest, for both the cleavage and the club. Then he shrugged. “Bunch of crazy rich guys, right? Like a fraternity or something. Pull stunts.” He paused. “I hear the cops are pretty angry at them, they’ve pulled one too many pranks or something. What about them?”

  “I’m joining.”

  He laughed. “Sure you are.”

  “I’m serious,” she said, lowering her voice dramatically. “I can’t get into how, but I’m a pledge.”

  Definite gleam. Her heart started to pound in a good way. “So you’re going to be doing these crazy stunts?”

  “As soon as I’m a member,” she said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. After all, she didn’t know what she was going to be doing, right? She still had to worry about the stupid challenges.

  “You’re not a member.” He switched clubs, focusing on the green. “Right.”

  “I’m still in the hazing portion,” she corrected. He was nibbling on the bait. Now, she just had to reel him in.

  “That sounds promising. What do you have to do?”

  “I’m not really supposed to
talk about it,” she hedged. The challenges themselves weren’t that exciting…except the last one. “A little bit of emotional stuff, some ‘very special episode’ family time. Trust me, though, this show will get media coverage.”

  “If you call the tabloids and those sleazy gossip websites ‘media,’ I guess.”

  She reddened, then played her trump card. “And I’m going to pull a heist.”

  Now he goggled. “You’re what?”

  “Gonna rob something,” she said, leaning back.

  He stared at her, and she watched him swallow, saw the look of calculation in his eyes. Hooked, she thought with a crafty smile.

  “It’d be touchy, running footage where you break the law,” he said, then swallowed again as she saw common sense warring with ambition. And losing. “That’s not to say I couldn’t broker the story once you got out of jail, though. Hell, Lindsay Lohan stole a car and ran over somebody’s foot, and she just did community service. What the hell are you going to steal, anyway?”

  She laughed, evading the question since she had no idea of an answer. “You’re drooling, Stephen. Make me a deal.”

  He looked pained. Then he gritted his teeth.

  “I need footage.”

  She blinked. “What? Why?”

  “Sure, this sounds great,” he said slowly. “But these guys have been underground for, what, a few years? Why the hell are they going to agree to let themselves be filmed on your say-so?”

  “I’ll get the releases,” she said, standing up. “You know me.”

  “Sure, you’re the sexiest steamroller I know. But that’s not enough to work in Hollywood,” he snapped back. “Not for you, anyway. If I’m going to pull this deal together, I need visuals. I need to see what this would look like, develop some sizzle. Make this work, damn it.”

  She deflated. Footage? How the hell was she going to get footage? She wasn’t planning on getting the releases until she could ingratiate herself with some of the players, which probably wouldn’t be until she passed the damned challenges.

  He was watching her. “Without footage,” he said, “I’m not getting a green light.”