by K. Bromberg
“I was in here early this morning. I startled Patrick when I walked in. We both jumped and I burned my hand spilling my coffee. When I looked up, he was putting papers onto Harper’s desk. At the time, I thought maybe he’d knocked some of Harper’s papers onto the ground because I’d startled him…but now that I think back, I’m pretty damn sure he had them in his hand before he dropped them.”
“Are you accusing him of cheating?” Mason’s back gets straighter and he sits up taller.
“I’m just telling you what I saw. It was just the two of us this morning before anyone else got here. Harper’s meticulous, Mason. She wouldn’t leave loose papers on her desk. They’d be in the color folder, not sitting there so anyone could just look at them.”
What in the hell are you doing, Ryder? This job is huge. HUGE. So why are you risking it?
Because integrity matters. Winning the fight when the others have their hand tied behind their back is not right. It’s dirty.
And getting dirty with Harper is one thing.
Being dirty this way is completely different.
“So what is it that you are suggesting, Mr. Rodgers?”
A woman is not worth giving this job up for. Don’t be stupid.
Don’t do it.
“I may regret this in the end, but let me review their numbers.” The looks on their faces tell me what I’m saying is as crazy as what I feel like I’m saying. “It has to be the one building that’s off, right? So let me figure out what that number should be with the original bid set package. I’ll most likely get close enough to their numbers and then you’ll have your answer over who cheated.”
“And what if you aren’t the low bidder anymore?”
My heart is pounding in my chest and my knee is jogging up and down. I purse my lips and look each one of them in the eye before answering. “Then I trust you to award the bid to the person you feel is most deserving in skill, experience, and ethics.”
Fuck, I just screwed myself, didn’t I?
“Why would you even offer this?” Tom asks.
“I don’t know,” I say as I shove up out of my chair and pace the room, hand on my neck and disbelief in my brain. “Maybe because I want to win the bid fair and square. I won’t accuse Patrick of cheating unless I know he did and I don’t think it’s fair to assume it’s Harper because of something we don’t know all the details of. I’d think it would be the opposite. If you’re trying to get your reputation cleared, you’d give a great bid and do it free and clear…but that’s just me.”
Easy, Ryder. One night of hot sex does not mean you side automatically with her. Your dick doesn’t make the decisions here. You do.
And yet I still know she wouldn’t cheat. Why would she have to? She’s just that good.
Mason looks at Tom and there’s a flurry of whispers between them before they turn to me and stare. “Young man, I’m not sure I agree with your business sense, but I admire it. I understand wanting to win fair and square, but while you’re playing clean, someone else is always playing dirty.”
I nod my head. “Agreed. But I’m the one who gets to sleep with a clear conscience every night.”
“Tom, go get him the numbers.”
What in the fuck did I just do?
Chapter Eighteen
Harper
“What in the hell was going on in there?” It’s my first thought as Ryder emerges almost an hour later from the conference room. He looks frazzled and tired as he lifts his glasses and rubs his eyes.
Exactly like how I felt out here pacing the halls, wondering if they’d awarded him the job, concluded they had, and ready to figure out my next step for a job since I’d fallen short for Wade and Meteor. But the look on his face tells me differently. It’s not one of jubilation but is rather pensive and stressed.
“Just a lot of questions,” he murmurs and yet he doesn’t look me in the eye for more than a second or two before glancing around at the others staring at him and wondering why he was in there so long.
“Can we have everyone in the conference room, please,” Mason requests, snapping everyone’s attention off of Ryder and to him. The room fills with the sound of shuffling and the tension is palpable as people move toward the room, and yet I stand and hold Ryder’s eyes. Try to figure out what they are telling me without telling me. There’s a quiet sadness there with a hint of something more…that I just can’t read and before I can look too deeply, he lifts his eyebrows in shall we.
He follows behind me as we walk into the conference room, and I hate that all I feel is a sense of discord when this morning there was so much more between us.
I should be smiling. I’m coming down from the high of numerous bouts of incredible sex with a hot guy.
I should be excited. I’m back in the game after two years, doing what I love to do, and I’ll find out if my gamble in telling Wade I’d get the contract in exchange for the Director of Development position will pay off.
I should be second-guessing myself why I’m not either of the above, and yet I’m doing neither. Instead I just want that feeling back from this morning when I was ready to conquer the world instead of wondering if I’m about to lose a piece of it.
I exhale an unsteady breath and glance over to Ryder, who’s looking straight ahead at Mason. But his knee is jogging up and down and that tells me he’s just as nervous as I am.
“I’d like to thank you all for your hard work in completing your bid packages. We had a set of unusual circumstances come to light when we were in the process of awarding the bid.” Murmuring begins throughout the room and I can feel the trepidation and unease in the air as we all look to each other wondering what Mason means by the comment. “Due to these circumstances, we’ve made a slight change to the project.”
Ryder’s knee jogs harder.
My fingers wring together.
“Phase One has been awarded to R Squared Management.”
Ryder’s sharp inhale of air is audible just before the room breaks out in chatter as heads nod and thumbs-up are given his way.
I glance over to him and he smiles softly at me. Something is off with him; I’m not sure what. I’m thrilled for him. And at the same time am more than disappointed because I just failed Wade. And myself.
Back to square one with a pocketful of hope and a heart full of determination.
“And phase 2,” Mason says, snapping the room to attention when we thought the awarding was already over. “Phase 2 has been awarded to Meteor Development.”
It’s my gasp I hear this time. It’s my disbelief that clouds everything else I hear around me as I try to wrap my head around what’s going on.
I don’t understand it.
But I’ll take it.
My heart is pounding through the confusion; my eyes are fighting back the tears stinging in my throat.
My doubt whether I lost my touch vanishes.
Our table is swarmed with well wishes from our disappointed but considerate colleagues. And it’s only when they leave the room to begin to clean up their desks that I am able to turn and look over to Ryder.
He’s sitting facing me, elbow on the table, fingers playing with that beard of his, eyes full of emotion.
“Congratulations,” he says softly, almost as if he wants to absorb the moment in silence a bit longer.
And so I let him. With my eyes on his. With our smiles wide.
Until I can’t stand it any more.
“What in the hell happened in there, Ryder?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later.”
“So this means we kind of get to work together for once. Not against each other. However are we going to handle that?” The thought strikes me as I speak and makes me smile even wider.
He leans forward and lowers his voice. “Considering your panties are currently renting space in my jacket pocket, I can think of a lot of ways we can handle it.”
I laugh. “Good thing you came in early then and found them.”
&nbs
p; “You have no idea.” And for some reason, I know he’s talking about more than just finding my panties. His face becomes serious for a moment, eyes flicking over to where Mason and another guy are speaking, before looking back to mine and filling with mischief. “I think we need to set some ground rules right off the bat though.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.” His smile widens. “Since we both won, does that mean we both get reward sex?”
“Does that mean double the orgasms?” My body is already reacting to the thought. The sweet rivalry between us just became a whole lot sweeter.
“Yes. It does.” He leans in close, the heat of his breath tickling my ear. “And it also means double the beard burn.”
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The Player
By K. Bromberg
Coming April 17, 2017
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Baseball has never been sexier in an all-new novel by New York Times Bestselling Author, K. Bromberg.
Easton Wylder is baseball royalty. The game is his life. His passion. His everything.
So, when an injury threatens to end Easton’s season early, the team calls in renowned physical therapist, Doc Dalton, to oversee his recovery. Except it’s not Doc who greets Easton for his first session, but rather, his daughter, Scout. She may be feisty, athletic, defiant, and gorgeous, but Easton is left questioning whether she has what it takes to help him.
Scout Dalton’s out to prove a female can handle the pressure of running the physical therapy regimen of an MLB club. And that proof comes in the form of getting phenom Easton Wylder back on the field. But getting him healthy means being hands-on.
And with a man as irresistible as Easton, being hands-on can only lead to one thing, trouble. Because the more she touches him, the more she wants him, and she can’t want him. Not when it’s her job to maintain the club’s best interest, in regards to whether he’s ready to play.
But when sparks fly and fine lines are crossed, can they withstand the heat, or is one of them bound to get burned?
* * * *
Scout
Each thump of Easton’s stride on the treadmill irritates me more than the last.
Every grunt of exertion adds to it.
And then there’s the beep. The one that tells me his thirty minutes of high intensity running is complete, and now it’s my turn to complete the session.
Lucky me.
I’m irritable. Pissed off. And I’m not sure if my current mood stems from exhaustion after spending too many hours last night Googling Easton Wylder or that it seems he was doing the same about me.
“So are you actually going to touch my arm today, or are you only good for telling me treadmill, thirty minutes, level ten? If you wanted to avoid me, then maybe you should call in sick for the next few months.” Sarcasm drips from his voice. His obvious disdain for me, more than evident, and that even keel I thought we might have found yesterday, seemingly nonexistent.
I need to turn around, to face him, but I stall. The images from Google last night are seared in my mind. The charity calendar pictures where he’s wearing nothing but a strategically placed baseball glove. The ESPN body issue where he’s batting—naked—the twist of his legs hiding his package. The three-piece suit at the ESPYs. All of them are there, floating around, reminding me how all those hard lines and toned edges look like in person.
And it would take a dead woman to not be affected by him.
So, I steel myself for the visceral impact of looking at him—hot, sweaty, relaxed—but it doesn’t help when I turn around. I’m not sure anything could. Because even in his sweat-dampened T-shirt, he’s still breathtakingly handsome with his mixture of All-American and rugged outdoorsman. He still exudes that tinge of arrogance. And the odd thing is, today, when I look at him, after I’ve stared at pictures of him for hours last night, somehow the arrogance adds to his appeal.
And then he smirks, and I shake my head and question my own sanity.
“So you actually want me to look at your arm? You mean you’ll trust me with it? And here I was under the impression you thought I was just a trophy trainer.”
“Come again?” he chuckles.
Time to clear the air between us. Being handsome doesn’t override being an asshole. “You know, trophy trainer—someone good for you to look at, but incapable of much else.”
“If the shoe fits.” He shrugs.
I take a step closer to him, his sarcastic comeback igniting the embers of my temper he lit yesterday. “Don’t be a jerk. If you want to find out if I’m qualified for the job—capable of getting you back in top form—then you ask me for my credentials. You want a resume? You want references? I’d be glad to hand you a list of them, so don’t go snooping around, making phone calls, and questioning everything about me without talking to me first. Got it?”
Our eyes hold as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth to combat the smile he’s fighting as he takes a step toward me. “You want me to take my rehab seriously, right? Then don’t chastise me for making sure the person charged to do it is up to par and has the right experience. I don’t trust my body with just anyone, let alone a rookie trainer still learning the ropes. Got it?”
“Touché,” I murmur as we wage a visual war of defiance and misunderstanding. “
We’re wasting time. Let’s get started.”
Maybe if we begin I’ll forget about the phone calls I’d received last night. The ones from previous clients and personal friends I’d rehabbed letting me know I was being vetted. I was glad for the friends letting me know, and pissed at being questioned.
I grab the ultrasound cart and wheel it toward the table, but he’s still standing there like yesterday, still questioning me. Obviously, the point is not moot, but I shrug it off, knowing after my rebuke of him, he was bound to either respect me or test me, and by the current standoff, I’m guessing it will be the latter.
“Yes?” I finally ask when he doesn’t budge.
“You wanna tell me where Doc is?”
“He’s got a packed schedule on the East Coast right now. As you know, injury happens without warning.” I hold his gaze and hope he doesn’t see through the lie.
“Uh-huh.” He just nods, but I can tell he’s not convinced. But there must be something in my eyes he sees—the something I’m trying desperately to keep together—that prevents him from digging deeper. “He’s the best there is.”
“Agreed.”
“Shouldn’t I be worried then?”
“About?” I prompt.
“If he’s the best, then doesn’t that mean you’re second best?”
His remark serves its purpose and hits closer to home than I’d like, but it’s his body, his career, and his right to ask.
“Second best to Doc Dalton isn’t a bad place to be. I learned everything I know from the man. I assure you, he’s the last person I want to let down, and therefore, you’re the beneficiary of that fear . . . so. . .” I quirk my brows. “Lucky you.”