Made to be His (The Archer Family #1)

by Allison Gatta

  Which was more than fine with Andy.

  When she was finally inside the venue, she mentally wiped her brow with relief. But just as soon as she'd calmed herself, panic flooded in again at the realization that she'd completely lost her brother and business partner in the process. She scanned the crowd, but with so many near-mythic human beings circling around, it was almost impossible to see the ceiling, let alone the space through the throng.

  After ten minutes of searching to no avail, she tapped on a huge, tree-trunk like arm and one of the most famous football players on God's green earth turned to look at her. The coursing adrenaline of being in his presence was overwhelming, and while she struggled to come up with something to blurt out, heat rushed to her cheeks and she managed to splutter, "I'm looking for someone. A tall brunette? Short hair? Sort of…” She gestured to her chest, and then, as the hot lava of humiliation rolled over her, she finished, “Uh, busty. She is, I mean. The person I’m looking for. Not me."

  Stop talking. For the love of god, stop talking.

  He laughed politely, but shrugged. Like one of those massive tree things from The Lord of the Rings. "Be sure to let me know if you find her. Sounds like my type."

  Andy nodded and weaved through the crowd, trying a couple more times with similar results, though luckily with considerably less self-flagellation. By the fifth inquisition, it had finally sunk in that she could either spend the rest of the night hunting down her friend, or she could get to work.

  She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. Sure, it would have been easier to work with Shay. They had a system. Andy would recite their carefully outlined pitch, and Shay would smile and nod beside her. All the while, most men would stare at Shay while Andy spoke, and when all was said and done, they’d usually walk home with his number.

  Well, Shay did, at the very least.

  But if her friend couldn't help tonight, she'd have to let her old buddy, alcohol, do the trick.

  She sliced through the crowd as best she could, thanking every deity she could think of that the bar was on an upper level. And when she got there, she found the rest of her luck.

  There was Shay, encircled by at least ten men, all laughing and holding drinks out to her.

  Andy should have known. Not that Shay was a barfly—far from it—but if there was a life at any party, Shay was sure to be a part of it. Or the source of it.

  Not for the first time, Andy hung back, studying her friend's technique as she leaned into her admirers and laughed, dimples cutting her beautiful, angular face. The whole thing was an utter mystery. How she looked so natural around all those strangers. How she stood so straight in her uncomfortable-looking dress. How confidence seemed to radiate from her. And especially how she managed to walk in those six-inch heels.

  It just didn't make sense.

  If Andy so much as looked at those things, she'd break an ankle. And the other stuff? Well, that wasn't for lack of trying. She'd been to plenty of parties, swishing around drinks and throwing her head back in laughter. But for some reason whenever she tried to do things like that, she looked less like a Chanel commercial and more like someone in the middle of a pulmonary embolism.

  Still, she reminded herself, that's why we make such a good team. I'm the brains, she's the brawn. Nothing wrong with that.

  Andy scanned the crowd and the bartender finally plunked her drink down in front of her. After a long pull, she glanced at her friend again. Now the men were practically fawning over her. It was sickening. Or at least it would be, if envy weren’t chief among her emotions right now.

  Maybe I should give it one more try…

  Surely nothing terrible would happen. Maybe she'd look like an idiot for a minute or two, but that wouldn't be anything so out of the ordinary.

  There weren't too many men around who hadn't already flocked to Shay's side, but there were enough. She fixed her sights on the tallest of them, a broad-shouldered guy who, even from the back, looked almost certainly like a pro athlete. Just what she needed.

  She unbuttoned the top of her blouse, spread the lapels apart, and then, looking at her naked flesh, re-buttoned it. Skin that pale might blind someone. Besides, he'd hardly notice that much skin. She reached for her bun, but left it. Letting it down would probably be more messy than sexy.

  Makeup might have done the trick, but even if she owned more than the general brown eyeliner-beige eye shadow combo, she sure as hell didn't have any on her right now. She hadn't even brought a bag with her. Flicking furiously through her mind for ideas, she remembered an old movie she'd seen where the heroine had bit her lips to make it look like she was wearing lipstick. That didn't sound half bad. It might hurt a little, but it could totally work.

  With a deep breath, she marched toward her target, biting hard on her lower lip, then alternating to the top until they both pulsed and stung. The tears welling in the corner of her eyes might have been an unfortunate side effect, but the benefit would likely outweigh the cost. For good measure, she pinched her cheeks between thumb and forefinger, making sure to catch every little area she could.

  Easy, breezy, beautiful—

  "What the hell are you doing?" Her target turned around and her heart thudded directly into her shoes.

  Busted, girl.

  Logan Grant. Her brother's best friend, world-renowned catcher extraordinaire, and subject of nearly every dirty thought she’d had for a decade.

  Slowly, she released her cheek from her pincer-grip and let her hand rest awkwardly by her side. "Hey, I, uh, I thought I had something on my face."

  Egg, probably.

  She swallowed, gulping down her heart along with her deep, all-consuming shame.

  "A bee sting, by the looks of it," he said.

  Andy stood corrected. Her shame had not been swallowed. Oh no, it was alive and kicking, forging forward with Napoleonic force to take over her whole body. At the moment, it was spreading from her sinking stomach to her now-burning cheeks.

  She cleared her throat and did her best to rally. What did normal people do in these situations? What would Shay do? Straightening her shoulders, she went on, "I think you missed the part where you said how happy you are to see me. It's been a while."

  Logan shrugged, the same way he did in every magazine spread he'd ever graced, but he managed to offer her a half smile all the same. And even though it looked so nonchalant he probably hadn’t noticed it, the little gesture still made her heart flip over in her chest.

  Damn him.

  She swore she wouldn't do this. Wouldn't "run into" him tonight. She felt like she was in college again, staring at him from the stands at Matt's spring training and doing her best not to drool. Why, of all the guys on every team Matt had played for, did Logan have to be the one to stick around?

  And how had she not recognized him? She’d spent nearly a decade fantasizing about that backside, those broad shoulders, his always-laughing eyes…

  Her pity party was interrupted when Logan spoke again. "You're right, Andy. I'm happy to see you. How the hell did you get in here, though? It's invite-only."

  "I have the newest sports agency in town." She worked her most confident expression, but suspected that it looked more like constipation than triumph. Classic Andy.

  "Oh yeah? What's it called?" He folded his muscular arms over his barrel of a chest and she was tempted to close her eyes, if only to focus on his question long enough to answer it. Why did he have to do that when they were talking? Move like that?

  Breathe like that?

  "We’re A&M Sports Management,” she answered.

  "Never heard of you." The girl he'd been talking to leaned in and whispered something, eying Andy as she went, but when Logan shook his head, she scampered away.

  Andy didn’t have to guess what that was all about. The woman had probably asked if Andy was some former lover, and Logan had politely held back his urge to gag or laugh or both.

  After all, in a place this big, any woman on his arm would have to expe
ct to run into at least five supermodels who’d once been exactly where they stood—and that wasn’t even counting the one-night stands.

  Andy frowned, trying desperately to keep herself focused. What had they been talking about?

  Ah, yes. The business. "We're a new firm."

  "And yet you were invited to one of the most exclusive parties in the industry." That irritating half-smile returned, crooked as ever, and Andy steeled herself.

  "Yes." Technically, she wanted to add. In truth, it had taken quite a lot of doing in order to score these tickets. Matt had swindled them from a staffer he’d been seeing at Big Hitter Magazine.

  Which, coincidentally, might explain why the name on her ticket was “Fernando Gutierrez.”

  She blushed and stuffed her entry badge out of sight, but his words brought her back to the present. "No offense, but I doubt you had enough high-end clients to get an invite here. Considering." His gaze swept over her and the urge to curl up and die followed swiftly behind.

  No, this isn't the time for shame. This is the time for indignation. I earned this. I’m not just my brother’s sister. I’m an accomplished businessperson.

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asked. “You think I'm not a professional?"

  "No, nothing like that. It's just you don't exactly look the part. I mean, I like you, but did you break out your fanciest orthopedics for this shindig? Did whatever thrift store you found that outfit in not have dressy enough overalls for the occasion?" He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Nobody will take you seriously dressed like that. It's hard enough to be a woman in this business, but—"

  "We have clients," she snipped, and it was true. Even if things weren't perfect, it wasn't like the company was a failure. They had her brother. Once his wrist healed up, that would be just fine.

  So what if she hadn't personally brought in any other business? What did that matter? She helped in other capacities. She had a mind for business that Shay didn't.

  That was good. Better, almost.

  Logan cleared his throat and Andy turned her attention to him again. Without realizing it, she'd been staring at Shay, watching her pantomime something that was, based on her crowd's reaction, apparently hilarious.

  "That your partner?" he asked.

  She nodded, the will to fight swiftly draining from her.

  "You know, you could do double the business if you got out there and did that." He motioned toward her friend, but Andy turned her back.

  "I do what she’s doing, it’s just—"

  "No, you don't." He rested his palm on her shoulder and it burned through her suit jacket and down her spine. A searing insult to her injury.

  She shrugged away. If she kept her distance, maybe she could pretend the touch hadn’t affected her at all. Pretend her heart wasn’t beating a mile a minute. Even if it was, though, half of the reaction was probably pure rage. Seriously, where did he get off?

  “Andy.” The way he said her name wasn’t the snappish way she was used to—like he was about to punch her on the arm and call her “sport” or something. No, this time, it was all concern.

  Which, of course, only made the white-hot indignation simmering beneath the surface boil over. Insults were one thing. Pity was another.

  “I can do it,” she said, her gaze narrowing. She pulled her lapels apart again and let down her bun, but all of her hair flopped in front of her face. Whatever it must have looked like, it couldn’t have been good.

  Great. Just freaking great.

  A big, masculine hand swept her cheek, pushing her mousy locks away so that Logan was the center of her view again. The contact had only been for an instant, but it sizzled through her body and lingered beneath the surface.

  “I’m sure you can,” he said. “But why don’t you let me help? An honest deal. I can make you twice the woman your business partner is. Just give me one day.”

  * * *

  She surveyed him for a long moment, and it was shocking to know that such a petite, poorly dressed woman had the power to make him feel so naked. Not in a sexual way, obviously. This was Andy Archer, for Christ’s sake.

  Still, there was something in her gaze that always made him feel like she was lasering directly into his soul, penetrating his core. He was loath to break the silence, but she managed to do it before he worked up the nerve.

  "Why the hell would you offer me something like that?" Her eyebrows disappeared behind her horrible, uneven bangs. Her mouth was a straight line, and the whole effect gave her the look of a middle school principal patiently waiting for a student to explain himself.

  And in a lot of ways, he did feel like a kid.

  It was a strange offer. He knew that much. But she was his best friend's sister, and it couldn't hurt to help her. What was so wrong with being a Good Samaritan? People saved kittens from burning houses all the time without getting the third degree like this.

  He shrugged. "Call it a favor."

  Her line of a mouth curved to the side and she crossed her arms over her chest, emphasizing just how oversized her blazer was.

  "But you didn’t. You didn’t call it a favor. You called it a deal. What's in this for you?" she said.

  He sipped his drink, trying to ensure his expression remained unfazed. He should have known it wouldn’t be this easy. Admittedly, when he “bumped” into Andy tonight, he should have had an explanation up his sleeve, but he’d been too busy trying to make sure Matt had gotten her tickets to bother with the other details.

  Of course, telling her to truth was not an option.

  She'd say the same things that everyone else had already said, the same things her brother had told Logan after the accident. But nothing that anyone said could dull the aching guilt he felt whenever he looked at his friend's mangled wrist, complete with the knowledge that he was the one who had caused him harm.

  The doctors, the refs, even the sportscasters had said it was an accident, Logan stomping onto Matt's hand as he slid into home. It was. But did that change the fact that he’d ruined his best friend's career? That the broken wrist had still not healed completely? That Matt might never play in the majors again?

  Dealing with the past was a daily struggle—an enormous tower to leap over. But then, in the locker room…

  He could still hear the guys talking about her. How they wanted to do dinner with the hot one at A&M, but they didn’t think there was a chance in hell they’d sign with a company whose star player was someone almost bound to head back to the minors.

  “Maybe if both of them were hot,” one guy had joked, and the others joined in his laughter.

  He gritted his teeth, trying to force away the nagging memory.

  If there was something he could say to quiet the voices in his head, or the guilt gnawing at his gut, then was it so wrong for him to try? To do right by at least one member of the Archer family? So long as Andy didn’t know his real motives, he could hardly come up with a downside to his scheme.

  “Your silence is more telling than you might think.” Andy raised her eyebrows, her voice drawing him back into the crammed ballroom mezzanine.

  “Look…” He speared a hand through his hair, searching desperately for anything but the truth. He just had to let her think that he'd come sweeping in like some kind of fairy godmother. Because the alternative required a lot of talking he wasn't willing to do. He just had to tell her something...

  The gears in his brain whirred, and finally he said, "I could use some free publicity."

  It wasn't a complete lie. After the accident, nobody had made a secret of the decrease in his performance. For crissake, he'd had to block ESPN from his television because he was always a hot topic for debate: "The Future of Logan Grant: Catcher or Caught."

  The team had tried to keep the trouble at practice as quiet as possible, but apparently they were doing a shit job of it. His agent hadn’t been much for answering Logan’s calls of late. Essentially, he was in much the same spot as Matt.
A cruel kind of irony.

  But Andy didn't need to know that, either. At least, he didn’t think she did. Because, whatever the reporters had to say, he was still top of the division.

  "You're saying you want to make me over in order to get a couple of photo shoots?" Andy's voice broke through his thoughts and he shook himself from his reverie.

  "Yes. I help your business. You help mine." He gestured toward Andy's too-tall friend, then added, "That could be you."

  Her hard, business-ready expression melted away, replaced by the dreamy gaze she'd worn earlier when surveying the other woman. For some reason, that look alone might have been enough for him to help her with no strings attached.

  When she still didn't answer, he clicked his glass to hers and her green eyes focused on him again.

  "I'll see you at one tomorrow. I’ll text you the address," he said.

  "What if I—"

  "You will," he cut her off. There was no use arguing with her. The fact was, she'd be there, whether she thought so now or not. He sensed it in every move she made, every question she asked. She wanted his help. She just might not know it yet.

  Her cheeks were quickly turning a brilliant cherry hue, and even with all of the terrible fashion choices she'd made, the color created the hint of prettiness he suspected was underneath. Yes, with a little work, she would be as good as gold.

  And he just might have something to salve his all-consuming guilt.

  "Don't be late," he added, and before she had the chance to spout off again, he turned his back to her and walked away.

  Chapter 3

  Andy spent half the morning convincing herself she was not, in fact, going to meet Logan. There was simply no reason to. She was fine. Sure, she didn't look like Shay. She didn't have the willowy limbs or high-end haircut. Men didn't look at Andy like she was the hottest dish on the buffet line. If anything, she was the breadbasket that nobody touched, but that wasn't so bad.