Baby Maker - A Secret Baby Sports Star Romance

by Rayner, Holly

  The club was bouncing—almost literally, it was so packed—and my date had ordered a bottle of champagne for both of us, though she had already gotten most of the way through it on her own. I looked out from the VIP section and saw people clearly having a better time than I was; all I could think about was the game I had coming up in a few days.

  There was a major film shooting outside of Minneapolis, and the VIP section was stuffed with cast members, along with a few guys from big-league football and basketball teams. I felt like they could switch out the VIP area for the main floor, and it would be more in keeping with the proportion of famous people in the building.

  Lana—I’d managed to find out her name by overhearing her introducing herself to someone—grabbed my arm and cuddled close to me. “Will you take me out onto the floor, Finn? I’m dying to dance.”

  I smiled and gestured for her to lead the way; it probably wouldn’t be long until people started wanting to take pictures or getting their shirt, napkin, or whatever else, signed, and she’d soon want to come back to the safety of the VIP area.

  I’d never been into dancing, but I made an effort; I knew people were watching, and if I was rude to my date, it would just cause a bunch of trouble.

  Lana put on her best innocent vixen impression, slithering against me a little bit but keeping things respectful. I kept my hands on her upper waist, because Heather had pounded into my head that while I should be seen out socializing, I was a “good neighborhood kid” in the eyes of the press, and if some paparazzo grabbed a picture of me with some girl looking less than goody-two-shoes, it would ding my reputation, and my sponsorship deals.

  There were so many stupid rules to remember; I had to be attentive to the girl, but not too attentive, because if I was seen out with someone else a week later, it would be said that I was a player, toying with women’s emotions. I had to look happy at all times. I had to pretend to be interested in whatever my dates had to talk about—and some of them had about as much personality as steamed broccoli. If it weren’t for the fact that Heather had such a solid record for representing sports stars, I’d have told her to give it up months ago.

  “Oh my God,” Lana half-screamed in my ear. “That’s Eric Henry!”

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw the star of some of the better action movies of the last few years making his way onto the dance floor.

  “Want me to go get his autograph for you?” I grinned at Lana. As long as I didn’t take this date too seriously, I was pretty sure I could actually enjoy myself.

  “Can I come with you?”

  I nodded and took her hand, happy to get away from the packed center of the dance floor.

  Eric Henry was apparently a fan; he spotted me as I came towards him and started mock-bowing like Wayne or Garth from Wayne’s World. “I’m not worthy! I’m not worthy!”

  I laughed it off and let go of Lana’s hand to shake his. “I like your movies, man,” I said. “Demolition Forge was great.”

  “You were awesome against the Terriers last week,” Eric said, returning my compliment. “That third period blitz, man.” He shook his head, his gaze drifting over to Lana.

  “This is my date,” I said, pushing her forward slightly. “Lana…” I glanced at her in a panic. Surely she’d told me her last name?

  “Lana Overton,” she said, beaming up at Eric. “I’m such a fan.”

  “Well, you’re here with the only living legend in the building,” Eric told her. “I’m nothing compared to this guy.”

  “Not at all,” I said, shaking my head. “Half of the country doesn’t even know I exist.”

  “But the important folks do,” Eric countered. “Hey—let me buy you a drink. Can I do that? I want to celebrate your next big win ahead of time.”

  I laughed and let him get someone to bring a bottle of whatever to our table in the VIP section. I wasn’t going to drink any of it; I didn’t want to spend precious time the next day recovering from a hangover, not when I had a game coming up.

  Eric sat down with us, and I was relieved to fade into the background as Lana talked his ear off about people she ‘knew,’ and Eric countered with his own stories whenever he could get a word in edgewise. At least he was being a good sport about it.

  I looked around the club again, relieved to have a chance to take my attention off of Lana. I wished that I could be there with someone else; someone who actually cared about who I was, instead of what I was. But I told myself to suck it up. I had, all things considered, a pretty golden life. I shouldn’t be complaining about the price of fame; not even to myself.

  FOUR

  Amy

  My feet were freezing as I walked up to the entrance of Underground, one of the most exclusive clubs in town, where Jen had somehow managed to score a VIP invitation with a plus one. She’d gotten a small part in a movie that was filming outside of Minneapolis, and I guess she’d just been included in the general invitation to the cast.

  Jen had told me to text her when I got to the entrance so she could come and get me, so I quietly bypassed the line outside and fished my phone out of my purse. I texted her that I had arrived and she responded immediately: Be there 2 min.

  People at the front of the line started glaring daggers at me when Jen emerged from the club, looking around.

  “Looking good babes,” she said when she spotted me, nodding her approval of my outfit. She turned to the bouncer manning the door and told him I was her plus-one, and he shrugged and pulled the velvet rope aside to let me in.

  The club was packed. Even without the VIP section being filled to the brim with celebrities, there were so many people that my heart immediately started beating faster in my chest, almost in time with the pulsing music playing over the sound system. The lights flashed and flared, spinning all over the dance floor, and I forced my eyes to adjust as I followed Jen through the club, holding on to her hand like a toddler at a parade.

  Jen put a glass of champagne in my hand the moment we sat down in the VIP section. “If you didn’t have to drive, I’d steer you to the vodka bottle,” she told me.

  We sat down on one of the couches and I took a sip of my champagne; it was Veuve Cliquot, and though I hadn’t had enough of the good stuff to have the taste buds for it, I could appreciate the bubbles that melted like velvet on my tongue.

  “So, how in the world did you score an invitation?” I gestured around the VIP area and Jen laughed.

  “I’ve been majorly sucking up the whole shoot,” she told me matter-of-factly. “The director loves me, says I need to audition for the next project he wants to do, and I flirted with a few of the other actors—nothing that would get me in trouble, obviously, just playing the game.”

  “And here you are,” I said, grinning. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say acting was the ticket to the easy life.”

  “I will remind you that I’ve been getting up at three in the morning for weeks to have this kind of payoff,” Jen said tartly, before beaming at me. “But anyway, how are things at the paper?”

  “Ugh, I do not want to talk about that,” I told her. “Tonight, I want to pretend like the Inquisitor doesn’t even exist, and I’m just here having a good time.”

  “Well, I just hope that you’re not pretending to have a good time, instead of actually having a good time,” Jen countered. “Otherwise, I wasted a perfectly good plus-one.”

  “No, you haven’t wasted it,” I told her quickly. “It’s just— I had a meeting with the editor-in-chief today and the assignment he gave me is going to be like squeezing blood from a stone.”

  “Then you need to drink lots of champagne, and you need me to find you a driver to take you back to that tiny apartment of yours,” Jen said.

  I laughed, shaking my head. “It’s fine, honestly. I just want to enjoy a night out with my girl, pretend to be glamorous for a while, and go back to being Cinderella in the morning.”

  “That we can definitely do,” Jen told me. “Let me introduce you to a fe
w people.”

  She took me by the hand and we circulated around the VIP area; I met Eric Henry and managed not to get too star-struck, and chatted with Vanessa Kelley, the star of the movie Jen was in. I let myself relax, let myself forget that there was such a thing as Finn McClane.

  Jen managed to introduce me to everyone as a journalist without actually saying which newspaper I worked for, changing the subject in one of her charming little asides, and I played along, letting a few of the VIPs jokingly check me for a hidden camera or recording gear.

  I had managed to forget about my day completely, even though I’d only had a glass of champagne, and I was starting to feel great about the night. My feet would hurt in the morning from the heels I was wearing, but that was a small price to pay.

  Then, I spotted him on the other end of the VIP area.

  Finn McClane stood in a corner, talking to a girl who must have been his date for the night. She was smiling up at him, trying her best to be sultry yet cute, and he was listening intently to every word that came out of her mouth.

  All the noise of the club fell away, and my brain focused on the fact that the guy I was supposed to write a hit piece on was standing no more than twelve feet away from me. Any notion I had of forgetting that he existed until Monday went right out the window, and I immediately started trying to think of a way to get some kind of contact with him.

  If I could get around his manager, I might be able to get the interview I’d need to write the article, and there couldn’t be a better opportunity than in a club. His date looked like she was at least one sheet to the wind, probably closer to two, and I thought—I hoped—it would be easy to get to him.

  I started moving in the direction of where the two of them were standing, keeping Jen at my side so that I had my reason for being in the VIP section as close as possible. She didn’t think anything of it; I always tended to wander around parties, so she just made do with talking to whoever we were close to, being her usual charming self.

  I thought about the best way to get what I wanted out of the situation; I needed to get Finn’s attention somehow, and then I could maybe get him away from his date for a quick chat. But he was totally glued to her—though it didn’t actually look like he was completely enjoying himself. He held a glass of champagne in his hand that he didn’t drink from, though he didn’t hesitate to refill his date’s glass every time she emptied it.

  That might be something: he gets girls drunk. If they leave together…

  The thought of writing a story about Finn McClane taking advantage of intoxicated women made my skin crawl, but if he actually was the kind of guy to get a girl drunk and then take her home, it wouldn’t be a lie; it would be my journalistic responsibility to cover it.

  I tried to get his attention without being obvious about it, waving my hands as if I was telling someone a story and just gesticulating wildly, but it was impossible. Finn McClane was determined to pay attention to his date, and neither Jen nor I were big enough personalities for her to notice either of us. If Jen had had a starring role in the film she was shooting, I might have had an in—but she was, for the purposes of the party, the next thing to a nobody, and I was less than a nobody as her plus-one.

  I saw Finn leave the area with his date, and thought to myself that I had gone and screwed the whole thing up; if I could have just walked up to him and introduced myself, I might have had a chance. It wouldn’t have been a great one, but it would at least have put me in contact. Why had I bothered with the subtle route at all?

  I was mentally raking myself over the coals when I saw him come back into the VIP area—this time, alone.

  Okay, so he’s not a bad guy, I thought absently, trying to come up with a new plan of how to get to him. Alone, he was an easier target, but I doubted that introducing myself as a reporter for the Inquisitor would get me anything but kicked out of the VIP area.

  I would have to get creative; Finn was clearly taking his leave of the other people in the section, and I would need to do something to get that contact.

  “What do you know about Finn McClane?” I asked Jen.

  She glanced at the NHL player and then shrugged off my question. “He’s apparently at parties like these a lot,” she said. “He and Eric Henry chatted it up for a while; his date’s a big fan. Always leaves pretty early, from what someone was saying.”

  “Does he drive himself?” An idea slowly materialized in my brain.

  “I think he normally has a driver. I saw him come in from the back of a Lincoln,” Jen said. She paused and looked at me sharply. “Oh my God. Is this the assignment you were talking about?”

  I shrugged it off, giving her the kind of smile that would tell her all she needed to know. “I think I’m going to make an early night of it,” I said. “I can’t party all night like you famous folks.”

  “Don’t get yourself thrown in jail, Amy,” Jen said, no doubt suspecting what I had in mind. “And if you do, call me.”

  I grinned and shook my head. “If things start looking dicey, I’ll do the right thing and back out,” I told her. “I have no intention of going to jail for the sake of some assignment. Or at least, not for one this small-time.”

  I hurried out of the club, trying to think, trying to figure out how to best corner my target.

  It was freezing outside, and while I’d chosen a pretty neutral dress and heels to wear, I was pretty sure I’d stand out like a sore thumb. I gripped the VIP pass that Jen had handed to me and looked along the street fronting the club. I spotted a Lincoln idling by the curb and made a beeline for it. I knocked on the window and the driver rolled it down, looking up at me doubtfully.

  “You look like you’re in desperate need of a good time,” I told the guy. He was young—maybe thirty, and his uniform was an all-black three-piece suit. “I’ve got a VIP pass right here. You could go in and party it up.”

  “You’re kidding me,” the guy said, looking at it doubtfully. “What do you want for it?”

  “You’re driving Finn McClane?” I asked, and the driver nodded. “Let me take over for you, and I’ll make sure the car gets where you can pick it up.”

  “It’s not my car,” he said. “McClane owns it—I’m just the driver.”

  “I can give you…” I reached in my purse. “I can give you thirty bucks for a cab. Make sure you get home. Deal?”

  The man looked at me and then at the pass.

  “I’ll just get a friend to pick me up,” he said, opening the door. He climbed out from behind the wheel, and unbuttoned his jacket. I handed him the pass, he handed me the coat, and I climbed in where he’d just left.

  I had acted just in time—Finn McClane came out almost as soon as his driver disappeared into the club, and I flashed the lights on the Lincoln to get his attention. He hurried to the car and I made sure the back door was unlocked. I had to do whatever I could to keep from attracting attention to myself.

  Finn climbed into the backseat and put on his seatbelt. “Back to the apartment please,” he said, barely looking up into the front. Luck was on my side, but it probably wouldn’t be for very long.

  I pulled away from the curb and set off, trying to figure out how to cover myself and get the information I needed, all at the same time.

  Why didn’t I think to look up his address? It wouldn’t be publicly available, but surely one of the resources at the Inquisitor could have turned something up.

  “Hey—what happened to Ryan?” Finn asked, then.

  I bit my bottom lip. “His mom had to go to the hospital; nothing too serious, but he called me in to finish the night so he could be with her.” I glanced in the mirror and Finn nodded slowly.

  “I’ll have to send her some flowers or something,” he said absently. “So, you work at the agency too?”

  “Yep. Just started a couple of weeks ago,” I replied.

  “But you know where my apartment is?”

  I looked at the rearview mirror; Finn was looking up at me, curious.

>   “No, actually,” I breathed. “But I know the city pretty well—if you give me the address, I can get you there safe and sound.”

  The flurries that had never really stopped began to transform into a light snow. At least someone put snow tires on the car, I thought. And I’ve driven through worse before.

  I took a deep breath and tightened my hands on the wheel as Finn gave me an address that I knew was in one of the pricier parts of the city. It was never fully dead on the streets, but traffic was sparse due to the weather and the late hour.