by MJ Compton
Unlike stopping Dixon. Because Red clearly did not want to get naked with him.
“Let her go.”
“You forget yourself. Or at least forget who you’re talking to. I can trade you to the worst team in the American League. I can trade you to Japan. So back off, and mind your own business.”
“I guess you didn’t hear me. Or didn’t hear Ms. Schuyler.”
“Let go of me.” Red’s voice rang out clear and strong. “I have no interest in participating in your party. You signed my standard contract. You hired me to cater. Nothing else.”
Dixon dropped his arms. “A misunderstanding.”
Red scurried away from Dixon. Ended up behind the wheelchair.
“My ass.” Tag managed to keep his tone mild despite the churning in his gut. “I heard you threaten her.”
Dixon shrugged.
Scrawny-shouldered bastard. Maybe his build and his small dick were why he indulged in orgies.
“Your word against mine.”
“I witnessed your threat.”
“You’d do well to think about Japan before you say anything else.”
“And I witnessed that threat,” Red said.
“Maybe you’d better leave. Both of you.” Dixon started to return to his guests.
“Not until you agree to sell the mortgage on Skye’s the Limit to me.”
Red kicked the back of his chair. Temper, temper.
Dixon snorted. “You can’t threaten me. And if I hear even a breath about what transpired here today, I assure you that you will regret it. And you, Ms. Schuyler. Perhaps you ought to read the codicil I added to your contract.”
“Franz?” Tag called. “You still there?”
The night nurse stepped into view, holding Tag’s phone.
“You get all that?”
“Yes. And it’s still recording.”
The hall was too dim to be certain, but Tag thought Dixon lost a couple of shades off his tan. A quick glance down confirmed his dick had shriveled.
“No cell phones allowed at my parties. Didn’t you read the codicil?” Dixon lunged toward Franz.
Red stuck out her foot as Tag replied, “I didn’t sign a contract with you.”
Dixon tripped over Red’s leg and went sprawling onto the carpet, giving Tag a much clearer look at his ass than Tag ever wanted to see.
“Yet,” Tag continued. “The only contract I will sign for you is for the purchase of Ms. Schuyler’s mortgage.”
“I will destroy you,” Dixon snarled. “You’re done as a baseball player.”
“And you’re going to make sure the Gems hire Skye’s the Limit for, I don’t know, maybe five seasons. Red, that good with you?”
Her eyes were wide. Her lips were moist and parted. Tag felt his cock stir. “Sure.”
“My agent will be in touch with you in the morning about the mortgage. And don’t even think about trying to fuck with me, Dixon, unless you want an instant replay on the Internet. Come on, Red. We’re out of here.”
* * * *
Skye’s hands shook as she tried to insert her key into the ignition of her van. All her trays and her presentation pieces. Abandoned. But she couldn’t stick around to retrieve them. Or go back. Ever.
“You okay?”
Franz stood outside the driver’s door with Tag beside him.
Skye unrolled the window. “Did I forget to say thank you?” Her voice trembled, and her vision was blurry from wetness.
“You can thank me later. I’m going to e-mail the video to you and to my agent. You might want to send a copy to your lawyer.”
People like her didn’t have lawyers, but Tag didn’t need to know that.
“Let’s talk when we get back to my place.”
“I’m going home,” she said.
“No, you’re coming back to my place. I don’t trust Dixon, and you’ll be safer with me and Franz than alone in an old building with a leaky gas stove.”
Everything Tag said was true. Her hands started shaking even more. And Tag, so much lower than her, must have noticed.
“Are you all right to drive?”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re more than okay. But I don’t want to have put my career on the line if you’re going to wrap your van around a telephone pole.”
She smiled. It felt crooked and scared, but it was real. “Okay. I’ll follow you back to your place.”
“Uh-uh. We’re following you.”
* * * *
“Pour her something strong,” Tag told Franz. He was still in his wheelchair although they were in his living room. “Like a brandy. And thanks for helping out.”
“I don’t want anything to drink.” Red was huddled in the corner of the love seat. Her teeth chattered.
“Then get her a blanket,” Tag snapped.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re in shock,” Franz said. “I’m the health care professional here. I don’t tell you how to soufflé a fish. You don’t tell me how to treat shock.”
“You don’t soufflé a fish,” she muttered.
“See what I mean?” Franz vanished down the hall.
“Let him do his thing,” Tag said. “I pay him enough money.”
“Okay.” Her voice was small, as if she were disappearing inside herself.
“I hope you’re not blaming yourself for what happened tonight.” Tag didn’t see any reason to avoid the conversation. Red was tougher than she thought she was.
“You tried to warn me. All I could think about was the money.” There was a wet quality to her voice, as if she were swallowing tears.
Thank God. He couldn’t deal with a weepy woman.
“I didn’t know anything for sure,” he said. “All I’ve ever heard are rumors.”
“If you hadn’t warned me in advance—”
“You still would have been okay. You’re not a pushover.”
“If you hadn’t been there—”
“You’d have found some way to lodge his balls in his throat.” He wasn’t going to let her wallow in what-ifs. He was grateful he had been there. Grateful his instincts had warned him Dixon was up to no good.
“You know, when he kept showing up to supposedly check on the party, I didn’t get a good feeling. He made me nervous.”
“Showed up? Where?”
“At my place. A couple of times. I couldn’t figure out how he knew where my building was. And he stopped me after the second game of the series.” She shuddered. “He was always…touching my arm. My shoulder.”
Franz returned with a blanket, which he draped over and around her, cocooning her like a mummy. “You know, I see a lot of things in my work,” he said. “And I need to be discreet. Otherwise, I won’t get hired to go into people’s homes to help them. But in this instance, I can make an exception. If you two want to press charges or need another witness, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you,” Red said.
“Probably won’t be necessary, but if you want to swear out an affidavit for my agent to keep on file, I wouldn’t fire you.” Tag knew Dixon really could fuck with the rest of his career.
“That would work. I’ll leave you two alone now. I’m sorry that had to happen to you, Skye. You’re good people.” And with that, Franz took himself off to wherever he kept himself until Tag called him.
“Why do you want to buy my mortgage?” Red asked after several moments of silence.
“Because you don’t deserve to lose your building due to bad timing. I will give you a fifteen-day extension on your balloon payment. You’ve got game six of the Series tomorrow night.”
“I can’t let you—”
“I’m not paying off your mortgage, and I’m not buying your building. The only difference will be me holding the loan. The bank will still service it. You’re still independent, building your business on your own. I said fifteen days, not fifteen weeks, not fifteen months, and not fifteen years. Days. Besides, there’s no letting. I’m fucking with Dixon.”
“Why?”
“I like you. I mostly like that you don’t want anything from me. We’re friends with benefits, and benefits aren’t limited to sex.” He shifted in his wheelchair and yawned. “Now roll me down to my room while I call Franz to get me ready for bed. Give me about half an hour. Then join me so I can show you some of the other benefits.”
November 1
World Series Game 6
Skye swallowed a yawn and struggled to keep her eyes open as Tag’s kitchen wavered around her. She hadn’t slept at all, despite his best efforts to wear her out. Dawn meant hitting the produce market and then figuring out a menu for the returning Columbia Gems based on what she found there.
And of course she fretted about her serving pieces and the cleanup at Dixon’s. Cleanup was part of her contract. Not only would she lose her best trays, platters, and such, but Dixon might not pay her.
She needed that money. She needed her equipment.
At least some of her frustration could be taken out on the chicken breasts. All she needed to do was pretend each slimy slab of poultry was Dixon’s face—or other parts of his anatomy—as she savaged it with her meat mallet.
“Whack it a few times for me,” Tag said.
Skye started. She hadn’t heard him roll into the kitchen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tag snorted. “You’re substituting the chicken for what you’d like to do to Dixon. What we’d both like to do to Dixon.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just worried about my serving pieces.”
“I hired someone to clean up,” Tag said. “And before you get all pissy about it, it’s my fault you left the party early.”
No, it wasn’t. She wanted to cry, raise her face to the heavens, and howl. Instead, she reached for another chicken breast. “By rescuing me?” She could have been raped. If Tag hadn’t…
“I didn’t rescue you. You’re the one who tripped him. I just guaranteed our getaway.”
She brought her mallet down on the plastic-wrap-encased chicken. Smashed through it all the way to the marble counter.
“Man, are you going to have fun slicing all that zucchini.” Tag nodded toward the pyramid of yellow and green summer squashes. “I think I’m going to leave you alone for a while.”
* * * *
Tag’s mind was not on the physical therapy, and Bluto gave him shit for his lack of concentration.
Instead of focusing on reps and the pain Bluto was so fond of inflicting, Tag thought about hiring a bodyguard for Red when she went to the stadium that night. But procuring credentials to get someone during the regular season was a hassle, so postseason would be tougher. The best he could do was to go with her himself. Because Dixon was going to be there. How could the majority shareholder of the Gems not show up when the Gems could clinch the Series at home?
And Dixon knew Red would be there.
Tag swallowed the bitterness building in the back of his throat. He’d purposely stayed away from the stadium for games one and two. If he was going to be there, he should be wearing his chest protector, his leg guards, and his mask. He should be crouched behind home plate, not in a wheelchair.
And if he knew Red at all, he knew she wouldn’t back down. She might be scared to death, but when it came to her job, she would be willing to risk facing Dixon less than twenty-four hours after his assault on her. Besides, there were plenty of out-of-way nooks in the bowels of the stadium. Tag wasn’t familiar with Red’s routine or how the luxury suites were serviced, but he did not want her alone and vulnerable.
Tag knew Dixon would be wary around him. The video was too damaging for him to ignore. Marty had a different view of the video: blackmail, he’d called it. He wanted Tag and Red to press charges.
“I’m not going to use this in your contract negotiations. I don’t use extortion to conduct business.”
Tag had to respect Marty’s stance.
But that didn’t help Red.
* * * *
Skye kept her smile in place as she stood behind the serving station in the Gems’ clubhouse. So far, the evening had gone pretty much close to normal except for the tension in the players. A minor commotion by the doors had her scanning the open space for Dixon. Maybe she was jumpier than usual, but after what had happened the previous evening, she wasn’t surprised.
What did surprise her was when Tag rolled his way into the serving line. He’d been the source of the hubbub in the clubhouse.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I was going to come back to watch the game with you after I dropped the leftovers at the shelter.”
“I just want to make sure you’re not rooting for Seattle. That might upset the guys.” He said it as if he was joking.
Adam Chrestler, who was next in line, punched Tag’s bicep. “Don’t pick on Skye. She might start serving slop like we had in Seattle.” Skye thought about revising her negative opinion of Chrestler. Until he said, “I didn’t know you two were a thing.”
“We’re not a thing,” Skye said.
“The team hired her to cook for me,” Tag said at the same time.
Chrestler snickered as he filled his plate with grilled chicken, summer squashes, and bell peppers. “I think I’m going to start a rumor about you guys.”
“Darn,” Skye snapped. “I forgot to bring your chocolate laxative dessert.”
“You should start working on your fastball or your sinker.” Tag’s tone wasn’t any warmer than hers. “You know, instead of hassling the help.”
Chrestler snorted and moved on.
The help. Right.
Tag wouldn’t be at the stadium without one of his hired hands. “Where’s Franz?” she asked as she served the next player.
“In the car. We’re not going to be here that long.” Tag rolled his chair to her side of the table.
Skye hated to admit it, but she relaxed a bit once she knew Tag was at the stadium. She hadn’t realized how tense she was until she saw him.
“Who’s serving the boxes and suites?” Tag asked after the last player straggled through the food line.
“Food-service workers.”
“That’s good.”
“That’s standard.”
He had nothing to add, so she started packaging the leftovers for the homeless shelter. He moved away from the tables, settling out of the light to watch. Her. Because the game wasn’t due to start for another couple of hours.
Simply having him nearby reassured her.
When she was finished and ready to roll her coolers to her van, Tag said, “If we hurry, we can catch the first pitch at home.”
Home. His penthouse. But she couldn’t stay there forever. Once she’d taken delivery of her new stove, she could move back to the third floor of her building. Tag had already started the process of buying her mortgage.
A movement in the shadows snagged her attention. The rumble of the cooler wheels on the uneven pavement masked any sound. She couldn’t be certain, but her gut said it might be Dixon.
She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life flinching at random flickers in the corners of her eyes.
THAT WASN’T TOO bad.
Tag’s first appearance at the ballpark since his injury wasn’t as uncomfortable as he’d thought it would be, and that was good. It helped that he’d avoided areas where he might encounter the media. Most of the guys were too tightly wound about the upcoming game to give him much grief. Not that they would even be in the Series if it hadn’t been for him.
“Baseball is the only place in life where a sacrifice is really appreciated.” He’d heard that quote once and laughed. Wasn’t so funny now. Did his teammates appreciate his sacrifice? No one had alluded to his injury except to say it was great to see him. No one had said, Wish you were behind the plate tonight.
“I’m really grateful you came to the stadium tonight,” Red said as she hung her jacket in his hall closet. “I didn’t realize how nervous I was until I got there.”
“Another benef
it of friendship,” Tag muttered.
Her lush lips curved in a smile that shot straight to his groin.
“Let’s watch the game. Then you can show me exactly how grateful you are.”
Her smile morphed to a smirk. A teasing, flirty, bad-girl smirk. “Only if Seattle wins.”
The Gems lost, three nothing.
November 2
World Series Game 7
Tag was grumpy all day. Skye wished she knew him well enough to ask how he felt about the game, but although they’d become friends since his injury, although he had rescued her from Drake Dixon, and although they were having amazing sex, she still didn’t know who Tucker Alexander Gentry was. Still didn’t understand what made him tick.
She only knew how to entertain him.
He’d eaten his early dinner of grilled salmon and steamed green beans—the same meal she was serving the team for their pregame spread—in silence.
Finally, she couldn’t take any more.
“You don’t need to come to the stadium with me if it bothers you.” She was taking a stab in the dark, but he’d been broody since the game six loss.
“I don’t trust Dixon.”
Handy excuse.
“He won’t try anything in public,” she said. Not that she was convinced she was safe. Her illusion of invulnerability had been shattered.
“It would be too easy for him to get you alone.”
“He won’t. I’m putting my faith in your phone insurance.” She had to. She inhaled deeply. “So if going to the stadium makes you feel weird or anything, you really don’t need to play guardian angel to me. Not that I don’t appreciate it. But—”
“Why would I feel weird?” Tag snapped. He glared at her, not blinking. Not moving at all except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. “I don’t feel anything except wanting my team to win. Something you should think about. What was it you said to me? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you?”
“I ‘m cheering for the Gems tonight.”