by Crowe, Liz
He thumbed her chin. “Look at me, Makayla.”
She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. “No. I c-c-c-can’t.”
He brushed her lips with his. “Come on. Humor me?”
“I won’t.” But she opened one eye, if for no other reason than to assure herself she wasn’t dreaming.
“So, you taking my bet, or what?” He kept holding onto her, which was good since she was about to drop to the floor.
“Maybe. If you kiss me some more to convince me.”
He did, leaving her dizzy with way too many emotions to sort through, considering that her day had gone from mundane, with a mild overlay of dread about the documentary release, to something straight out of a Lifetime movie. “How was that? Convincing?”
“Yeah. Kinda. Give me the damn contract.”
“Read it all the way through first. I don’t want you to say I roped you into something you didn’t know about.”
“Hand me a damn pen,” she snapped, taking the heavy Cartier pen from his hand and scribbling her name above the line where it had been typed. “There. Now can we please get this day over with?”
J.D. slid the single sheet of paper back into the folder and tucked it under his arm. “I’m kinda glad you didn’t read the fine print. We now have a date with some hot wax and nipple clamps.” His breath was hot in her ear. “And don’t get me started on the fun with butt plug session I have planned.”
She shoved him away, laughing. “You’re one sick puppy.”
“It’s what you love about me, though.” He set the folder down and headed for the locked office door. But his words had set the ringing in her ears alight again. She was frozen in place, hearing that word—the dreaded “L” one—clanging in her brain.
“I don’t love … puppies, if you must know. I’m a cat person.” She sashayed over to him. “And now, let’s go watch this thing that’s either going to ruin my life or at the very least turn me into a Twitter celebrity. Your social media department has promoted the living shit out of it already. Hashtag Ladyballs is trending all over the place right now.”
“Yep. I only hire the best.” He reached around and cupped her ass, yanking her so close to him she sensed every muscle of his torso, and the distinct press of a rousing erection.
She fake-struggled out of his grip. “Get off my ass, freak,” she said, pulling her hair up off her neck when a flash of panic over what was about to happen made her break out in a sweat.
J.D. leaned in and bit down on the spot where her neck met her shoulder with a low growl. “Oh God, what have I gone and signed myself up for?” But she didn’t mean it. Not at all.
“Come on, sweet cheeks, let’s get downstairs. Your fifteen minutes are about to begin.” He let go of her and waited until she nodded. When she felt she had herself under some control again, he opened his door. The scrum of people in the outer suite burst into applause, surrounding the two of them as they walked into their midst. “See?” he said, draping an arm over her shoulder. “You’re a superstar.”
“I guess,” she said, her voice wobbly. She glanced at him, since she was on his eyelevel in her fuck-me pumps—which had come in handy thirty minutes prior. “Are you sure? I mean…” She bit her lip and looked away.” He drew her face back with his finger. “I’m scared.”
“Don’t be. It’s a kick ass doc. And you made it complete.”
She frowned at him, the noises from the crowd around them fading in her ears. She knew she’d made it complete but only because he’d tracked her down, hauled her in, bedded her, and…
“Come on, Makayla. Yeah, I mean, I only went to The Grange that night to meet you, talk to you, hopefully convince you to come to the station the next day and meet LeeAnn but….” He shrugged, a gesture so little-boy-ish it made her giggle. “What can I say? You’re irresistible.”
She pushed him away, but let him hang onto her hand. “You got me shitfaced on expensive tequila and poured syrup all over me. I think that was all a part of your plan.”
“Well, damn I am busted.” He threaded his fingers through hers. She glanced around and felt plenty of raw female jealousy swirling around at the sight of them. They’d never acted this way in a crowd. Only for Lisa’s benefit. She stared down at their hands, then up into his eyes, losing herself in them and letting the sight of his smile soothe her for a few seconds. “Relax, Makayla. You’re among friends.” She tried to smile. “Come one, let’s head downstairs.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
They rode the elevator with the boisterous crowd from the penthouse office. Kayla attempted to relax, to joke and laugh with everyone else, but all she could picture was herself, crying for something like the fiftieth time in front of a rolling camera. If she hadn’t spent the past three years wallowing around in her own sea of pity-party tears she might not be in this … what? Moment? Position? Holding hands like a teenager with the hottest god damned dude on two legs?
She groaned and leaned her head back against the back wall, confusion and anxiety mixing in her guts and making her want to puke, or bolt and never return to this strange, female-intensive, fancy building. She watched J.D. talk and laugh and lightly flirt with the women around him, all of whom he’d hired specifically, for one reason or another. Some of whom, she guessed, he’d slept with at some stage of his life.
Stop it, Kayla. You deserve this. You deserve him. Quit telling yourself otherwise, or you’re going to talk yourself out of something great.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” she said, waving her hands in front of her face. “Just too hot in here for me.” He grinned and glanced at his phone screen, which made him frown. But before she could tell him he looked like a constipated crocodile just to bring him down a few notches, the doors opened onto their production floor which had been transformed into a temporary nightclub, complete with two bars, tons of tables, and, if her nose didn’t mislead her, Thai food, which was, as he knew, her absolute favorite. Giant LED screens lined the walls, all with psychedelic images that matched the music rolling from hidden speakers. “Wow. Spared no expense, did we?”
“I never do,” he said, holding out his arm so all the women could precede him out of the lift. When she sauntered up to him, trying like hell to recall how happy she’d felt earlier in his office, he took her hand and pulled her into the hall that led to make up and wardrobe. Before she could protest, he had her pressed against the wall and was kissing her so hard, everything in the universe disappeared except for him. “I love doing this,” he whispered into her neck after breaking the kiss. “I love—”
“Nope, don’t you dare. Not yet anyway. I have to wrap my mind around the butt plugs and nipple clamps clause first.” She eased herself out of his embrace and tugged her dress back down around her thighs.
J.D. grinned and buttoned his suit coat. He stuck out his elbow.
She put her hand in it, pinched her arm a couple of times to ensure she was, indeed, one wide awake and crazy lucky female. “Let’s do this,” she said, squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw the same way she did before every game. “God damn it. I don’t know why I’m such a mess.”
“You’re fine,” he said, pulling her back into the fray. There were Snapchat stations, Instagram backdrops, hashtags, and running cameras for anyone who wanted to go “live” on Facebook during the broadcast. The entire cast and crew were there, and Kayla found herself enjoying the pre-party, almost forgetting the day’s earlier revelations. Even though she caught J.D. at one point, yelling into his phone at someone over the fact that he was “still getting those calls” and that he “knew damn good and well where they were coming from.”
She backed away from him, determined not to allow a creep like Don Harris to invade this night. After an hour and a half of pre-tuning with booze, delicious food, music, and camping it up for DSN’s social media accounts, the lights lowered, and the screens all around the room flickered. Then they flashed on with the station’s documentary logo, a h
uge DSN with the tiny letters “documentary series” running in front of the S and the N. Kayla found herself standing alone behind the rows of chairs that had been set up, facing the largest screen, auditorium-style.
Panic slithered up her spine, dimming her vision and setting up that infernal ear ringing yet again. She froze, clutching a water bottle in one hand, trying to figure out how in the hell she could duck out of here and skip seeing herself up there, acting a fool, as her favorite auntie would say, in front of God and everybody.
“Makayla!” She whirled around at the sound of a familiar voice—one she’d avoided for the better part of the last three years. “Hey, ugly!”
“Oh. My God.” She slapped a hand over her mouth until her oldest brother James hauled her up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Put me down!” she squealed, as she pounded on his back. He dropped her to her feet without fanfare and gave her a tight bear hug. “Jesus, James, you came … for this?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything. You know we’re in it, right?” He patted his hair and ran fingers around his lips. “I’m gonna steal the show right out from under you, girl. Be ready.” She giggled, unable to stop the tears when he pulled her close again. “We’ve missed you, Kayla. I hope this ends all that.”
In the next few minutes, she was surrounded by family—her parents, whom she talked with sporadically, so they’d know she was still alive and breathing. And her three brothers, all of whom were here, now, today, to share this horror—or whatever it was—with her.
“Oh … I can’t believe it.” Tears were flowing freely now. Her stupid big brothers, all of whom were successes in their own right—one lawyer, one stock broker, and James, her oldest and favorite, a high school principal and part-time football coach for a league that served kids in the poorest school districts. He was and always had been her hero. Why she’d been avoiding him all this time she couldn’t even fathom, now that she had him, and all the others, around her again.
She was sniffling and hanging onto her father’s arm when the group of tall men related to her parted, revealing another man. She smiled and held out her hand to draw him closer. “J.D, these are my parents, Joan and Thomas. And my brothers, James, TJ, and Randall.” The men eyed the tall, famous former football player with the blond hair and blue eyes a little too long for it to be polite as they each shook his hand.
“You come here and give me a hug, young man,” her mother said, before wrapping her arms around J.D.’s neck. “You had a big hand bringing this girl back around to her senses.”
J.D. grinned so wide it looked cartoonish as he shook Kayla’s father’s hand and told them he was glad they’d come.
“He’s awfully…” James whispered in her ear.
“Pale? Yeah. I know. You’ll get past it. You used to think he was a great QB, remember?”
“Mmm hmm,” her brother said, still eyeballing the man from a distance. “That doesn’t matter anymore. He’s something else—at least to you, I take it.” He lifted Kayla’s left hand and made a show of ogling the obnoxious ring before she snatched it out his grip, embarrassed by it and by the lie behind it. “So now, he’s my enemy, until and unless he proves himself worthy.” James popped his knuckles, keeping his eye on J.D. who was escorting their mother to a seat close to the screen. “I mean, he’s got quite the set up here, doesn’t he?” James made a sweeping motion with his arm, taking in the party scene and, she knew, the crazily skewed ratio of men to women. “He can’t just pick out one of these walking Barbie dolls anytime he wants?”
Kayla smacked his arm, but her irritation rose at the truth of his words. “Shut up. It’s time for my big debut.” Her phone buzzed in her hand as they walked between the rows of chairs and took seats behind her parents and two other brothers. She glanced at the unfamiliar number for a half second before touching the button to make it stop buzzing. Something in her knew who it was, and why he was calling her, but something else in her refused to let him invade this day. She watched as Rick, her hopefully future coach showed up late and slipped into a seat, along with half the team, all of whom gave her thumbs-up as the screen changed from the logo to—
“Oh my God in heaven,” she blurted out at the sight of herself doing push-ups during her college years, sweat dripping off her face, her teammates cheering her on. She’d always won all the push-up, sit-up, and sprints contests while she’d been an undergrad. Her record still stood, last she’d heard, for burpees inside of five minutes.
She hid her face in her hands, her heart racing when LeeAnn’s soft drawl begin laying out the parameters of her life, and how her options after working as hard as any guy in any sport were limited to non-existent. She was one of the talented few, of course, who’d got a shot at gold.
Her mother gasped and buried her face in her husband’s arm when they played footage of the scrimmage where her leg, and her life got shattered into a zillion tiny pieces.
James patted her arm. “It’s all right, baby sister. You’re gonna be just fine.”
She sensed J.D. taking a seat on her other side. “You never told me you had body guards,” he whispered when she leaned into him. “But I think I can take him.” He looked around her and smiled at James, whose frown only deepened. “Then again, maybe not.”
She tried to laugh. But the sound of her own voice, and the images she’d worked on for weeks with LeeAnn and the production team wouldn’t let her think, much less breathe.
It ended, finally, forty-five minutes after it started, plus commercial breaks which included huge names in cars, booze, hair products, healthy foods, and funnily enough, a few local restaurants, including The Grange. “Wow,” she said, after one of the four Jeep ads. “Nice work, ladies.” She turned to wave at the advertising gaggle, all of whom blew her kisses or snapped photos of her and J.D. She understood enough about this business now to grasp the goal—ad money from deep-pocketed companies eager to get their products in front of J.D.’s audience.
“I know. They came, they saw, they kicked advertising ass,” he said as the final montage ran, all to Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell blaring out Ain’t No Mountain High Enough. She wasn’t the only subject of the program. Other women who’d made it in soccer or basketball, golf or tennis were interviewed and their stories told. But as with any good focus feature, it began and ended with her.
“Oh, shit no,” she moaned when she realized the ending would be her pulling a red-card worthy tackle of her boss—and supposed fiancée—J.D. Baxter himself.
“I made them end with that,” he whispered.
“Great. Nice. Now I look like some kind of a—”
“Pro soccer player? Yes, I thought so too.”
The final image was of her, soccer ball under one arm, her hair tugged into an impressive array of pigtails, her long white socks as filthy as her jersey, her grin wide and minus one tooth. “Mama,” she whispered, leaning forward to pat her mother’s shoulder.
The credits ran. The room was silent for a couple of beats. Until it burst into loud cheers and applause. LeeAnn ran over and pulled her to her feet for a hug. She got separated from J.D. in the aftermath of congratulations, kudos, and bets on how many Emmys this one would win.
By the time the room was clearing—since tomorrow was a fresh workday for everyone—she discovered herself on the opposite side of the temporary dance floor, staring right at Jon David Baxter. The music was still playing, old-school R&B. She pushed herself away from the wall where she’d been leaning. Almost ten hours in the pointy, sexy work shoes were taking their toll. But when Aretha blared from the speakers, she knew what she had to do.
Crooking her finger, she lured him onto the wooden floor and they danced as if not one soul was watching—never mind over half the production team of a major, successful, award winning sports television station. They sang R-E-S-P-E-C-T to each other and laughed when a camera started following them around.
As if reading her mind, the DJ said, “And one last slow dance for the lovers in t
he house.” Then the sweet strands of Etta James singing At Last filled her head.
J.D. pulled her close and they swayed through the song, stopping for a long, lingering kiss until that got interrupted by applause and catcalls. She stepped away from him, hand over her lips, and spotted James smiling, clapping, and nodding at her. At least until J.D. waved to him, a hopeful look on his face. James shut down then, crossing his arms and scowling his best naughty-student scowl.
“I’m gonna have to work on him,” J.D. admitted. “Let’s get out of here. I’d like to continue this celebration in private.” He bit her ear. “Meet you at the elevator in thirty? I need to talk with Mike first.”
She nodded, still speechless at the surreal nature of this whole night. The fact that he had to talk with the guy in charge of his security team about something, now, tonight, barely registered. She caught a bunch of wistful stares from various female employees, both young and old as she made her way around the room, thanking everyone, until she got to her family, standing near the bar.
“Honey, that was … I just…”
“I know, Mama.” She hugged her parents. “I’m sorry I was so rotten. I promise, I’ll be better now.”
“That young man,” she said. “He takes good care of you.” It was a statement. And not something her mother would usually say. That carried more weight than J.D. would ever know, Kayla realized, as she hugged each of her brothers and made promises about catching up, dinners, holidays, the works. James was the only one who was local, and he was over in Ann Arbor. The other two were in Indianapolis and Chicago with their families.
But having them all there, together, with her on this day had touched her more than she’d ever be able to tell them. And of course, it was one more thing she could thank J.D. for. He’d arranged for them to be there, as a surprise to her. As that realization had stolen over her during the course of the night, it had warmed her from the inside out—almost more than his goofball contract crap.