Changing the Play

by Julia Blake

  “You knew everything,” he continued. “It was like you were just waiting around for high school to end and then you’d barrel straight into adulthood without any fear. And you were pretty too. What was I supposed to do?”

  Slowly but surely, persistent Nick was dismantling the high wall she’d built as a barrier between her work and private lives. Now it was low enough that he could just peek over. It felt like she was standing there bare and vulnerable in front of him, almost shaking because, after a career in the tucked-away offices and at the back of the stage, having someone see her with such precision was fucking terrifying.

  “Now that you’re here again after fifteen years, I don’t want to miss my chance,” he said. “All I’m really asking is for you to go on a date with me. Just one. If you don’t want to go out again, I’ll respect that and leave you alone.”

  “Nick, I can’t.” If she let herself go out with Nick—even once—she might not want him to stay away. But how long could she keep saying no when every day more of her wanted to say yes?

  “Aren’t you the littlest bit curious to see if I’m right?” he asked. “Don’t you want to know what I have planned for us?”

  Yes, she was, but she wasn’t going to admit it. “I’ve lived in New York since I was a freshman in college. There’s not a lot I haven’t done.”

  He cocked his head. “Is that a challenge?”

  His rich voice slid over her, and she clamped her thighs together a little tighter. “No. Don’t take it like one.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Is this how you goad your many dates into going out with you?”

  He froze, and her heart kicked up a few beats. So that was the weak spot in Nick’s defenses. The balance in the room tilted back to her a little bit.

  His jaw worked for a moment before he finally said, “Rachel, there hasn’t been anyone in months, but especially not since I reconnected with this stubborn redheaded agent who makes me crazy.”

  She tried to stay nonchalant. “Crazy?”

  He moved faster than she thought possible. One moment, she was standing across from him, the next he had her backed up against the blunt edge of her desk, his lean, hard body pressing against hers and his slightly spicy scent enveloping her.

  “She wakes me up at unreasonable hours with demanding phone calls,” he murmured. His shallow breath heated her neck, setting her whole body alight.

  “Sounds like she’s a smart businesswoman,” she whispered, unable to help herself.

  “Smarter than I’ll ever be. Sometimes I worry she can talk circles around me.”

  “She’s probably a good negotiator,” she said.

  A wolfish smile crossed his lips. “She is, but sometimes I think I make her so mad, she gets flustered.”

  “Probably because you keep pissing her off.”

  He shifted to feather his lips over her earlobe. “I can’t help it. I can’t think straight around her.”

  “Better be careful, then,” she said, the nearness of him overwhelming her.

  “I don’t want to be careful. I want her too badly.”

  Want. The word ripped something free in her. She twisted and her lips were on his, her hands wrapped around his neck to drag him down to her height. The kiss was fire and passion and years of waiting. This wasn’t flirtation. This was anger and regret and need all swirling together.

  Her mouth opened shamelessly, and she pressed her body even closer. All at once his arms were around her waist. Her nipples tightened as they brushed against the impressive spread of his chest through her thin bra and silky shirt. With every touch, he was winding her tight, like a coiled spring. When finally he slipped his tongue between her lips, she moaned in relief.

  They matched each other kiss for kiss. She willed him on with a quick stroke of her tongue. He tasted clean, fresh, cold. A low growl reverberated in his chest when she scraped the soft flesh of his lower lip between her teeth. The slight rasp of his five o’clock shadow made her sex slicker, wetter just for him. She was losing her mind in the broad, strong arms of this man, and she liked it.

  Mercifully Nick pulled back before she could drag his jacket off and rip the buttons from his shirt.

  He shuddered a breath, clearly only just clinging to the edge of sanity. “We could do this, but you’re not a quick fuck on the floor, Rachel. I want more than that.”

  She shivered at the delectable gravel that laced Nick’s voice with the lightest hint of frustration. His hand slid up her arm and across her shoulder until he cupped the back of her neck. He dipped his head to press a kiss just to the right of her mouth—chaste yet undeniably erotic. She closed her eyes, losing control of her well-guarded emotions. She didn’t want to let him read the exquisite longing in her every move, every expression.

  He was persistent, and she didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to hold out against him. How much longer she wanted to. Because that was the real problem. Over the last few weeks, her resolve had started to crumble. She wanted to go out with him and she was running out of reasons to say no.

  Still, she used the last trick in her bag. “Didn’t we already talk about how you and me would be an ethical problem for your job?”

  His eyes lit up. “Is that a yes?”

  “Answer the question, Nick.”

  “Don’t ask me to kill the story, and we should be good. Let me worry about the rest.”

  He made it sound so easy. Maybe it could be. It was just dinner, after all.

  “If we get on the other side of the date and I say a second date isn’t happening, it isn’t happening,” she finally said, keeping those shields solidly in place.

  “So that’s a yes?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath. “That’s a yes.”

  He ran his hands down her arms to catch up his fingers in hers. “Next Tuesday?”

  She was certain there’d be a stack of endorsement pitches, press releases, and interview requests for her to deal with on Tuesday. There always were, but they could wait just this once.

  “I can do eight,” she said.

  “I’ll pick you up from your place.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. One date and then she’d be able to tell him no. He’d promised, and Nick stood by his promises.

  “We should be getting back to the studio,” she said, trying to find her footing once again.

  “I don’t think we’ll get much more today.”

  She inclined her head. It’d be awkward to continue the interview after she’d shut it down midway through.

  He left a couple of feet between the two of them as they walked back, finally giving her some much-needed space. It was a good thing too. Her skin still tingled where he’d kissed her, and she blushed at the memory of it. If only her seventeen-year-old self could see her now.

  Chapter 11

  Tuesday at eight thirty. No problem,” Nick said into his phone two days later as he swiped his ID and walked into the newsroom.

  “Just promise me you’re not going to tell anyone about this,” said Joe Tesotti on the other end, his accent old-school Bensonhurst. “I don’t want everyone calling in favors.”

  “This is a special occasion,” Nick said as he nodded to Erica, who stood outside an edit bay.

  “I hope she’s worth it.”

  “She is. You’ll like her when you meet her,” he said, having no doubts that the feeling would be mutual. Rachel was going to love Joe. He was a real throwback to when the Dodgers called Brooklyn home.

  Joe grunted. “We’ll see.”

  “I owe you one,” he said.

  “That’ll be a change. See you next Tuesday.”

  Nick hung up as Erica fell into stride with him. “Planning something special?”

  He tucked his phone into his pocket. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
<
br />   Erica laughed. “Sure. I definitely believe that. So where are you taking her? Isn’t L’Artusi your usual spot? Or have you moved on to Narcissa?”

  “Why do you know so much about my dating life, Rodriguez?” he asked. “Harboring a secret crush all these years?”

  Erica rolled her eyes. “You should be so lucky. Men are creatures of habit.”

  He scowled, but before he could say anything, Mindy strode up.

  “Hey, Erica. Ready for that sit-down?” Mindy asked.

  “Sure, I’m just heading that way,” said Erica. “Guess what? Nick’s got a date.”

  Mindy raised an eyebrow. “What else is new?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, feeling more than a little defensive under the scrutiny of the two colleagues he admired the most.

  Mindy shrugged. “You date a lot. Everyone knows that.”

  “I think he likes this one,” said Erica.

  “Then you better not screw it up,” said Mindy.

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” That’s what he kept telling himself.

  “I’ve got some questions sketched out,” said Mindy to Erica. “I want to go over them before we get started.”

  The two women walked off toward one of the smaller sets in the studio, leaving Nick alone at his cubicle. He booted his computer up but frowned at the screen. He should be going through footage from Kevin’s interview, but instead his thoughts were fixed on Rachel.

  It shouldn’t have made him so happy to hear her agree to a date, but it had. It meant he had a chance. That was all he wanted—one shot to show just how good they might be.

  RACHEL WAS officially freaking out. She’d finally admitted it to herself when she realized she’d picked up her phone to call Nick and cancel at least a dozen times by Tuesday morning. But that would mean admitting why.

  Rachel Pollard, the woman who was imitated by no coach, general manager, or owner in the business, was frightened of her high school crush. Or rather, what he did to her. Nick seemed to have the uncanny ability to dig down and tap some uncomfortable, emotional place deep inside of her. Lust was one thing, but Nick peeled back the layers to expose her.

  That’s why, in the monthly check-in meeting with all of Image’s agents, she sat glaring at her phone. Alessandro from the West Coast office was going on about his latest prospect—a one-and-done college basketball star who Rachel thought would wash out after one season in the NBA.

  She was just about to put her phone away when a text illuminated the screen. It was from Emma who sat across from her:

  You look like you’re trying to kill that phone with your eyes.

  Her mouth twisted as she chewed the inside of her lip. If she told Emma about her date with Nick, she risked subjecting them all to a very unprofessional squeal of delight or gasp of horror—it was fifty/fifty odds which one. If she ignored her friend, Emma would just keep texting until the meeting was over.

  Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before firing off a response:

  I have a date with Nick Ruben tonight. Convince me to cancel.

  She could tell the exact moment Emma got the text because her friend made a faint choking noise.

  Rachel’s phone vibrated:

  What are you wearing?

  Rachel gave a soft laugh of defeat. Of course Emma wasn’t going to talk her out of this date. Her friends had been subtly pushing for information about Nick for the last week. And not so subtly when they went to an athletic apparel line launch on Saturday night. One gin and tonic each, and both Emma and Louise were grilling her about her past connection to Nick.

  She sent a message back:

  I have no idea.

  Immediate response:

  Wear green. Green means go.

  Before she could stop herself, a loud laugh bubbled up and broke into Alessandro’s report on the conference call. Everyone around the large, polished wood table whipped around to stare at her. Slowly she put the phone facedown.

  “Rachel, anything you’d like to share with us?” Rob asked.

  She drew her shoulders back to sit straight up and smiled with warmth she didn’t actually feel. “I’d be happy to update everyone if Alessandro has wrapped.”

  “The floor’s all yours,” crackled Alessandro’s voice over the speakerphone.

  “Wonderful,” she said. “I’m happy to report that we’ve successfully signed Haikeem Broun. We anticipate a big NBA draft this year.”

  The table erupted in applause at hearing confirmation that one of the most sought-after University of Kentucky sophomores had signed with the agency. Rachel dipped her chin a little and tried not to think of how the victory would be so much sweeter if she ran the company and not Rob.

  THIRTY SHORT minutes before her date was supposed to start, a rainbow of “not right” dresses covered Rachel’s bed. She stared at them, wondering how a woman with a walk-in closet could have nothing to wear.

  Nick wouldn’t notice if she chose a cobalt-blue Karen Millen over a fire-engine-red Tahari, but she would know.

  “Back to the drawing board,” she muttered.

  Rachel carried a handful of clothes to her closet and shoved them back onto the rail. Then she started flicking through cocktail dresses again, the sharp snick of hangers snapping together punctuating her search.

  “Okay,” she bargained with herself. “You’ve shaved your legs, but you’re not sleeping with him.”

  It sounded ridiculous when she said it out loud, but she had to create some boundaries. Any boundaries.

  Her hand settled on a long-forgotten dress tucked away in the back of her closet. It was an emerald silk sheath. The deep Vs in the front and back showed off just enough skin.

  Green means go.

  Trying to push Emma’s probably misguided advice out of her mind, Rachel shucked off her short robe and wriggled into the dress. It was definitely slim, but she felt good in it.

  Now all she needed was shoes.

  She pulled out her favorite pair of sky-high, muted-gold pumps. Unlike the dress, she vividly recalled the day she’d bought these shoes. The sinfully expensive stilettos had been her reward for adding a big-name Yankees reliever to her client list. That was the day she’d realized that opening her own firm wasn’t some far-off goal. It was attainable, if a few years away. She’d gone home from the shoe store, the box in a bag slung over her arm, and started putting together a business plan.

  Rachel surveyed her bedroom. Half a dozen dresses still lay scattered on her bed, the hangers discarded in a little pile on the floor. It was a mess, and she’d leave it that way. A sloppy bedroom was extra insurance against taking Nick home.

  She was just putting her purse together when her phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Pollard, Mr. Ruben’s here to see you.” The suspicion in her doorman’s voice was easy to hear. All of her dates caught Ernie’s scrutiny.

  “Thanks, Ernie. Send him up.”

  Her pulse kicked up a few notches. This was actually happening. Nick Ruben was taking her on a date. A reporter was taking her on a date. She didn’t know which seemed less probable.

  The doorbell cut through the silence in her apartment, and her heels clicked against the hardwood floor as she made her way to the door. She gripped the handle, breathed in deep, and opened it.

  No amount of preparation could have readied her for Date Night Nick. He was walking, talking sex in a suit—slightly mussed and served up just for her.

  I’m so screwed.

  Nick wetted his lips. “Hi.”

  “You’re right on time.”

  He chuckled. “An occupational hazard. I’m always on deadline and watching the clock.”

  Her hand slid down the door frame as she stepped aside. “I’m being rude. Come in.”

  Just as in her o
ffice, Nick didn’t even try to hide his curiosity about her apartment, glancing over the simple, modern furniture, the paintings on the walls, and the large vase of lilies sitting on the dining room table.

  “The flowers found their way home,” he said, nodding toward them.

  “They did,” she said.

  “Every time I drive by your mom’s place when I’m home, I see them and think of you.”

  “I didn’t even know you knew where I lived,” she said.

  “I saw you walking home after school a couple times. You were hard to miss.”

  She hadn’t felt that way, but she was beginning to think that maybe she’d been wrong all this time. About a lot of things.

  “I like your place,” he said, switching the subject on her.

  “Thanks. I’ll just go grab my purse, and we can get out of here.”

  She hardly saw him move, but suddenly one hand was around her waist, pulling her to him. The other slid up to her neck until his fingers tangled in her hair, tugging ever so slightly. Then his lips were on hers.

  Rachel melted under his mouth. There was something dangerous about the way he slid his tongue over her lower lip before dipping into her mouth. She groaned and gripped the hard muscles of his arms through his suit jacket. Her body was electric—undeniably turned on by Nick.

  His hands were everywhere—palms tracing the line of her waist and molding over her breasts before sliding down to cup her ass. They stumbled blindly through the living room, their frantic kisses fueled by the quick burn of desire.

  When her legs hit the soft edge of the couch, Rachel pulled him down on top of her by the lapels of his jacket. A tiny, rational part of her hovered above the messy swirl of lust in her brain, yelling at her for doing this. Getting horizontal on the couch within the first five minutes of the night was definitely not part of the plan.

  Good thing that she didn’t seem capable of listening to common sense.

  With Nick firmly on top of her, she circled her legs around his waist. Her head fell back. This. She wanted this and so much more. She rocked her hips up, silently begging him to go on.