The Hot Corner

by Amy Noelle

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Also by Amy Noelle

  About the Author

  The Hot Corner

  By

  Amy Noelle

  First published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop, 2014

  Copyright © Amy Noelle, 2014

  The right of Amy Noelle to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  All characters and events in this Book – even those sharing the same name as (or based upon) real people – are entirely fictional. No person, brand or corporation mentioned in this Book should be taken to have endorsed this Book nor should the events surrounding them be considered in any way factual.

  This book is a work of fiction and should be read as such.

  The Writer’s Coffee Shop

  (Australia) PO Box 447 Cherrybrook NSW 2126

  (USA) PO Box 2116 Waxahachie TX 75168

  Paperback ISBN- 978-1-61213-228-0

  E-book ISBN- 978-1-61213-229-7

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the US Congress Library.

  Cover Images: © depositphotos.com / ibphoto,

  © depositphotos.com / aremafoto

  Cover Design: Jennifer McGuire

  www.thewriterscoffeeshop.com/anoelle

  To my friends, those I’ve met in person and virtually, who give me the support, encouragement, and inspiration to write, and who let me use little pieces of themselves in the characters I create. I love you all!

  Chapter 1

  “Have I got news for you!”

  I looked up as my friend and agent, Rebecca Sutter, plopped down in the chair across from me. It was a beautiful Florida winter day, and we were sitting on the patio at Marty’s Café to take advantage of the sunshine.

  “Your kind of news, or my kind of news? Because if you’re all excited to tell me I’ve got to go through another round of substantive edits, I’m going to kick you.”

  She laughed and shook her head, brown curls bouncing. “You’ll be happy to know there will be no more cuts to the new biography You’re through the gauntlet.”

  Thank God. There was nothing worse than getting back that document all marked to hell. This was my third book and I didn’t think I’d ever be comfortable with the changes that were made, even if they did make the book better.

  “Well, that’s worth celebrating, then. First drink’s on me!”

  “That wasn’t the news.” Bec sat back and regarded me with what could only be described as a wary look. Her brown eyes were superwide, her cheeks were flushed, and she was drumming her fingers on the table and bouncing her leg beneath it. My back went up.

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing, Dani. There are just other things on the agenda besides edits.” She picked up her menu and studied it like her life depended on her order.

  I didn’t like her tone. It was entirely too smooth. But she wasn’t the type to just give up the information. I had to wait until she was ready. Bec ordered her food and I ordered mine before she put the menu aside and smiled at me.

  “First things first. Shooting to the Top is currently number four on the Times Nonfiction Bestseller List and we have every confidence you’ll be number one within the next week or two.”

  It was surreal. A passing comment from a friend had resulted in my being able to give up my writing job at The Florida Times-Union and pursue my dream of writing books. Sports biographies, at that. I needed to send Roxy Caldwell a magnum of champagne or something.

  “Reading Between the Lines is also gaining attention, because of Shooting. It’s at number thirty-eight and rising.”

  Forget the magnum, I’d send Roxy a case. She’d given me the untold story—about her husband’s dyslexia being ignored to keep him on the football field. I’d told her the triumphs of Randy Caldwell, beloved starting quarterback for the Jacksonville Jaguars, would make a great book. And she’d told me to write it. Bec had fallen in love with it and pushed to get it published, and now we were at Marty’s Café discussing “other things on the agenda” three books later.

  “We’re looking to get Fighting out by midsummer.” That sounded about right. “You’ll have to do a press tour and signings. Karen will get with you on that when we start solidifying dates.”

  “Sounds good.” Too good. Way too good to have caused Bec’s earlier discomfort. I was still waiting for her to lower the boom.

  “So now we need to talk about your next book.” She tapped her fingers on the table again. “Do you have any ideas?”

  Of course I had ideas. I always had ideas. “Well, there’s this hiker with one leg who . . .”

  Bec cleared her throat. “Um, that was really more of a rhetorical question.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “So you didn’t want me to answer, which means it doesn’t matter what ideas I have, because you have your own?”

  “Yes, sort of.”

  This was a first. “By ‘sort of’ do you mean, ‘yes, absolutely’?” I asked. Her nerves were bringing on my own, and I toyed with the straw in my soda.

  “Well, I can’t make you write it, but I feel strongly that this is the way to go. Durham themselves approached me with this, and I told them I’d pitch it to you and see how it went.”

  My publisher had a topic for me to cover? Another first. It was no big deal, of course. As long as I liked the athlete and he or she had a story to tell, I’d happily write it. “So what is it?”

  Bec sighed. “First of all, I want to be clear that this was their idea, not mine.” I felt a pit was starting to form in my stomach. “Don’t freak out, okay? Honestly, I don’t think it’s a bad idea. In fact, once it had time to settle, I saw it was really genius and that this could be the book that puts you on the map as the biographer for major athletes. Maybe Tiger would sit down with you! Lance, Barry, Magic, Ali . . . you could get big names from today and yesterday. It could be epic.”

  Her eyes were shining and her face was flushed again. I had to admit, it all sounded wonderful. But the ball in my stomach told me the dream would come at a price I might not be willing to pay.

  “Just tell me.”

  She sighed. “Okay. They want you, Dani Young . . . also known as Danielle Pierce . . . also known as a wonderful, beautiful, forgiving woman with a heart of gold, talented author, fantastic friend . . .”

  Shit. I was really, really not going to like this. “Would you spit it out? You can flatter and cajole me later.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she muttered. She took a sip of her tea and closed her eyes for a moment before focusing on me. “In a nutshell, they want you to write about Brad Reynolds.”<
br />
  It was a good thing I hadn’t eaten yet because the ball in my stomach grew about five times bigger. Was she kidding me? No, she wasn’t, because she was looking at me with something akin to terror on her face.

  “No.” There wasn’t anything more to say. I was not doing it. Why she thought I would was beyond me.

  “Dani, just listen to me for a minute.” She leaned toward me, her hands folded in front of her like she was saying a prayer. She’d need more than an act of God to get me to agree to this asinine idea. Her prayers weren’t going to work here.

  “He’s the biggest baseball star in the world right now. Heading into spring training, he’s the player all eyes are on, on the field and off.”

  There was a reason for that. Bradley Reynolds dated big-time movie stars and models and spent just as much time partying as playing ball, as far as I could tell. He was on par with a certain Yankee when it came to women, only he played in Los Angeles instead of New York.

  “I write about athletes who have to overcome trials on their way to stardom.” That was my story and I was sticking to it. Randy’s dyslexia, Khari’s struggle with drugs and gangs, Darnell’s abusive home . . . that’s what I wrote about. Bradley Reynolds hadn’t had to overcome anything. He’d been born with pure talent, a superstar since high school. He’d won a College World Series and, if the prognostications were to be believed, the Dodgers were a solid bet for the playoffs and maybe the championship as well.

  “But you could switch it up. Brad Reynolds is a name, Dani.”

  Yes, and just hearing that name made me feel ill.

  “So he should have a name write for him,” I said. “I’m sure there are tons of authors who would be more than happy to write about the super-talented third baseman with the penchant for scoring on and off the diamond. He doesn’t need me.” He never had.

  “Maybe not, but he wants you.”

  Soda sloshed over my cup when my hand tightened around the glass. “What?”

  “He asked for you, specifically.” Her smile was almost sympathetic.

  I wanted to push away from the table, go bury myself in my bed, and pretend today had never happened. But I had to ask. “Why, Bec? Tell me why my ex-boyfriend wants me to write his story?”

  Chapter 2

  “Because you’re the best.” I raised an eyebrow, and she laughed. “Well, I think you are and clearly he does, too, or he wouldn’t have requested you.”

  Bullshit. He must not know. He knew me as Danielle Pierce, though he’d always called me Dani. Everybody did. But I wrote as Dani Young. He probably hadn’t made the connection.

  “Why?” I asked again, because it felt like that was all I was capable of saying right then. The word kept echoing in my head.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t there when it was discussed.”

  I hadn’t seen him in almost seven years. Well, not in person, anyway. I saw him all the time on ESPN and in People and stuff like that. I couldn’t avoid seeing him if I tried. He was the talk of the sporting and gossip worlds. He was unavoidable, and he had a hell of a face, even better with age. I could hate him for that alone, if I didn’t have better reasons.

  “Explain, please.” My head was starting to pound.

  “Apparently, he read Reading and Shooting and was impressed. He’s been approached to tell his story before and he’s never wanted to until he read you.”

  “Does he even know it’s me?” There were other Danis in the world, tons of them. He had no reason to think the girl he met in sophomore English at Florida State was the same Dani who was writing books today. He’d known I loved writing, but I’d been pursuing a Journalism degree, not English, back when he knew me.

  “He knows. And the brass at Durham knows as well. I figured it was best to tell them before I approached you.” She screwed up her face like she’d just sucked on a lemon. “Part of me hoped they’d agree it was a conflict of interest and drop it, but they said if he doesn’t care and you don’t have an issue, then it’d be interesting to see how things worked out.”

  “Interesting?” I spat the word like it tasted bad. It kind of did. “It is a conflict of interest. How am I supposed to write impartially about a guy I dated for almost two years in college? A guy who I actually had the bad taste to fall in love with?”

  “You’re not.”

  Exactly. And I wasn’t . . . wait. “What?”

  “Well, that’s the hook. You’d be writing about your ex, so you can’t be impartial. They don’t want you to be. They want you to write about him, the guy you knew once upon a time and the guy he is now. Think about it. Usually you talk to old teachers, old friends, family members, to get a sense of who the person was before you came in and started their story. Here, you already know.” She shrugged. “Plus, he’s not going to be able to make you believe he’s something he’s not.”

  I knew exactly who he was. What I didn’t know was what his game was. Maybe he just wanted to torture me with his fame and fortune and parade of women. Maybe this was payback. But I hadn’t been the one to break his heart; he’d broken mine. Maybe it was a pride thing. I’d walked away and hadn’t looked back. Maybe he wanted to force me to do that now. Well, screw that. I wasn’t playing his game.

  “I know exactly what he is. He’s a lying, cheating piece of shit. Any woman with a brain in her head should be able to see that, once they look beyond the package.”

  “It’s a hell of a package,” Bec murmured. I glared at her. “Sorry, but it is. That thick, black hair and those green eyes?”

  I’d touched that hair more times than I could count. I’d drowned in those eyes until I couldn’t breathe. I knew exactly the effect he had on women. I’d been one of the many; only back then, I’d thought I was the one.

  “Do I need to find a new agent?” I asked, annoyed.

  She reached across the table and took my hand. “Dani, I’m saying this as your friend, okay? I think you should do this.” I tugged my hand away and she sighed again. “Hear me out. Can you honestly say you’re over him?”

  “Of course I’m over him. It’s been almost seven years! I’ve dated, hell, I was even engaged.” Things hadn’t worked out with Jason, but I’d been happy and committed to him for a time.

  She rolled her eyes at the mention of my ex-fiancé. “Please, as if Jason Derringer was more than a blip on your radar.”

  “I was engaged to him!”

  “You two were the most boring couple ever. You were like a trip to the dentist. Worse! A night at the opera.”

  Damn, that was cold. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Bec?” I asked.

  “Always,” she said with a grin. “Can you honestly tell me you were hot for Jason? That when you went to one of his corporate dinners, you two snuck away to do it in the bathroom or the coat room or something?”

  “No, of course didn’t. We were adults, for crying out loud.”

  “Don’t knock it ’til you try it,” she murmured.

  The next time she and her husband disappeared for any length of time, I’d be wondering if they were screwing in some bushes. Some things you just don’t need to know about your friends.

  “And can you honestly say you and Brad didn’t have your way with one another at any and every opportunity?”

  My mind flashed with the memory of us on the pitcher’s mound late one night. But that was different. A different time, a different place, a different me. “That was college.”

  “Fun doesn’t have to end after college, my dear.”

  “What’s your point, Bec? Jason has nothing to do with Brad or why I’m not going to write about him.”

  “No, but fear does. Fear is why you dated and got engaged to Jason in the first place, and fear is why you don’t want to see Brad again. You’re afraid all those feelings are going to reappear and leave you crying and hurting all over again.”

  “I won’t shed another tear over that man.” A summer spent crying my eyes out was more than enough. He’d get nothing more from me
.

  “Good.” She beamed at me. “So do you want me to tell you the reasons why you’re going to do this?”

  I might as well humor her. “Sure, hit me with it.”

  “For one thing, Durham is paying you an advance of fifty thousand dollars.” I couldn’t breathe. It was unheard of. I’d gotten ten for my newest book and nothing for the other two. I’d had to earn my way to advances.

  “I see that has your attention.” She smiled. “But I know you and I know you can’t be bought. Besides, you’re doing well enough without that payday, but I thought I should put it out there.”

  She leaned forward. “The real reason you’re going to do it is because if you don’t, he wins.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “He’s thrown down the gauntlet, Dani. He’s challenged you to forget the past and face him, deal with him, write his story, even write part of your own story. And if you don’t do it, he wins. He knows you’re afraid of him and that he still holds a piece of your heart.”

  Like hell he did. Did he think I was still in love with him after all this time? If he did, he was more of a moron than I gave him credit for. “He doesn’t win. He’s nothing to me.”

  “Then you can write about him.” She grinned. “Shall I tell them you’re in?”

  My head was spinning and my stomach was lurching but I’d be damned if I let him think he’d scared me away. I was over him and I was going to prove it.

  “Yeah. I’m in.”

  Chapter 3

  “Oh my God, is that him?”

  I looked up from my book at the breathy hero worship in the girl’s voice.

  “Who?”

  She pointed to a tall, raven-haired guy sliding into a seat a couple of rows ahead of us. Like that was any help.

  “All I can see is the back of his head.” Did we have a celebrity going here or something? I thought they only went to USC or the Ivy League schools.

  “Bradley Reynolds,” she whispered. “God, isn’t he just the hottest thing you’ve ever seen?”