by T. E. Woods
Though she admired their friendship, Ingrid knew L.B. was a lazy and stupid agent. A dangerous combination in the moneyed world of the NBA. She didn’t know if it was his arrogance or his paranoia that kept him away from any number of experts waiting to advise him. LionEl wanted the money and L.B. got it for him. But his refusal to get a pro to negotiate the contracts left LionEl vulnerable. His talent was enough to let L.B. bargain for top-drawer annual salaries. But he didn’t know about back-end payments, injury guarantees, or franchise-purchased insurance policies. As a result, LionEl’s contract with the Washington Wings was only good for the fourteen million per year they paid him. If for any reason the contract was broken or expired, LionEl was on his own. And his contract expired at the end of this season. L.B.’s taste for custom-tailored clothing, limited-edition automobiles, and houses in three states left him living large paycheck to large paycheck. If LionEl didn’t play to the level that demanded a pricey contract extension or if there wasn’t a bidding war in free agency, both LionEl and L.B. would be left to haggle for whatever teams might be willing to pay for a point guard with the clock ticking on his knees and shoulders.
Barry Gardener was a significant threat to LionEl’s playing time and a monumental bargaining chip for Ingrid. She watched L.B. struggle with that reality.
L.B. broke his stare and turned to Wilkerson. “I want your guarantee LionEl starts against the Lakers. I want him out there at least thirty minutes.”
Wilkerson took a seat. “I make the decision who starts and how long they play. Those choices are mine alone.”
L.B. Johnson’s chins wobbled as he chuckled. “Yours alone?” He crossed his heavy legs and slapped his knee. “The entire viewing audience saw you get a call. You hung up and put Gardener in. Now, what I want to know is who was on the other end of that line.” He focused on Ingrid. “Was it you, Miss CEO?”
Ingrid glanced away and hoped her irritation didn’t show.
“It was Reinhart,” Wilkerson whispered.
L.B. drew in a deep breath. He interlaced his fingers, but not before Ingrid noticed his hands shake. “Well, then,” he said. “At least now I know who’s to blame for this mess.”
Chapter Sixteen
Reinhart Vogel liked the crowd of shoppers he saw when he made his way through Rainy Day’s flagship store. He smiled humbly each time he was complimented on the Wings’ entry into the playoffs. “We’ve got a great team,” he assured well-wishers. “I just stay out of the way and sign paychecks.”
Near the rear of the store he stopped at the sight of a small, gray-haired woman standing at an unattended checkout counter, craning her neck in search of a salesclerk. Reinhart stepped up behind her.
The sparrow of a woman held up a small package. “Know anything about socks? My grandson’s off to climb some mountain like the crazy person he is. Said something about wicking.” She eyed Reinhart’s six-foot-three-inch frame. “You look like the kind of fella who could get me some answers. Am I right?”
He clicked his heels and bowed. “I am, indeed, madam. One moment, please.” He stepped behind the counter, reached for the phone, and pressed zero-zero. “Michelle, put me through to the president, would you, please?” He winked at the tiny woman before he spoke again. This time his tone wasn’t as solicitous. “Pierce, I’m at station nine. The loveliest lady is with me, eager to spend some of her money. Sadly, there’s no one available.” Reinhart hung up and leaned down. “My guess is you’ll have more help than you’ll ever need very soon.” He watched four clerks scurrying in their direction. Reinhart leveled a warning eye at each of them. He bowed and tapped the package the lady held. “Those will work on day hikes. If he’s climbing Rainier, he’ll need something heavier.” He turned to the clerk nearest him. “Make sure she gets a dozen of our best, will you, Ray?” He extended his hand to the customer. “Please accept the socks as apology for wasting your time.”
Reinhart left the happy woman to the bevy of clerks, climbed the stairs to corporate headquarters, and marched straight to the corner office. He found the president of Rainy Day talking with an attractive young woman.
“Bird!” Pierce rose from his chair and came around his desk. “Sorry for the screw-up downstairs.”
“This isn’t going to become a habit, is it, Pierce? I built this company on unparalleled customer service. Don’t make me regret turning the reins over to you.”
“I’m confused.” The woman in the chair stood and turned her smile to Reinhart. “You always told me you built this company on superior product.”
Reinhart bent down to kiss the cheek of the five-foot-three-inch redhead. “When it comes to you, Felicia, it’s always superior product.” He commanded the attention of her green eyes for two heartbeats. “What brings you to Rainy Day?”
“Felicia and I were discussing the marketing campaign for her line at the Chicago store,” Pierce said.
“Going whole hog, as I recall.” Reinhart unbuttoned his suit coat and took a seat. “Kind of a store within a store, that right?”
Felicia Fatone lifted her arms over her head and stretched 112 pounds of taut muscle. “That’s right. Nine hundred square feet of fitness DVDs, exercise equipment, and workout gear. All designed by me. There’ll be a Jumbotron playing a continuous loop of my exercise routines with my custom music mixes blasting out motivation.”
Reinhart scowled. “Rainy Day started as an online site. No frills. Same as our stores. Leave the glitz to the people who need to disguise cut-rate merchandise.”
Felicia poked Reinhart’s leg with her slippered foot. “ ‘Fit with Felicia’ grossed seven million dollars for Rainy Day last year, big guy. Think how much more we’ll sell if we spice things up a bit.”
Reinhart shifted his leg out of her reach.
“Chicago’s the big leagues, Bird,” Pierce said. “Retail customers in Washington and Oregon are used to our bare-bones style. But we’re the new kid on the block in Chicago.”
“And Michigan Avenue’s a mighty expensive block.” Reinhart hated wasting money on packaging.
“That’s why we need to enter the market with authority.” Pierce handed a stack of messages to Reinhart. “Calls from people all over the country. Folks are excited as hell about us making the playoffs. Everyone knows the Wings are connected to Rainy Day through you. We couldn’t buy the kind of publicity this is generating. We should see record-breaking numbers when we open in October.”
Reinhart grunted. “It was quite a game. You should have been there.”
Pierce moved to sit behind his desk. He pointed to the flat screen on the opposite wall. “I had it on the whole time. What a performance the new kid had, huh? You and Mom looked like you were enjoying yourself. Dancing in the suite for the entire world to see.”
Reinhart glanced over as Felicia gathered her hair into a ponytail.
“It sells tickets,” he said. “Any chance you could have dinner with your mother tonight?”
“Again? We’re closing the quarter with four stores.” Pierce shook his head. “I don’t see how I can do it.”
“Find a way.” Reinhart stood and tipped a salute to Felicia before heading for the door. “What I got going tonight is more important than anything on your calendar.”
Six hours later Reinhart untangled the sheets and pulled himself into a sitting position. He smiled and let his fingers prowl across the naked back of the woman lying next to him. He pulled his hand up her spine and wrapped her red hair around his fingers.
“God, I love your ass.” He traced the tight curve of muscle with his eyes. “Like a perfect peach. Each cheek just a handful.”
Felicia Fatone crawled up the king-sized bed and joined him against the headboard. She tucked the sheets around her and rested her head against his arm. “Everything about you is a handful, big guy.” She tilted slightly to kiss his chest. “You were kind of tough on Pierce today, don’t you think?”
Reinhart smoothed a hand over his bald head. He hated talking shop in bed. “H
e’s a big boy.”
“Did you mean what you said about my space in the Chicago store?” Felicia played her foot along his calf.
“Nine hundred square feet is a lot of Michigan Avenue real estate. You think you can perform in the Midwest?”
Felicia threw the sheet aside and swung her body to straddle his. She tossed her head and let her hair fly free. She knew that drove him crazy. Her green eyes shifted to a sexy tease as she leaned forward to lick his lips.
“Do you have complaints about my performance, Mr. Vogel?” She reached down and encouraged his erection. “Midwest or otherwise?”
Reinhart pulled her hips toward him. “If this is what you were selling, I’d lease you the entire Sears Tower.” He kissed her as his hands cupped the perfect peaches he’d admired earlier. He loved how playful she was. So uninhibited and joyful in her screwing.
Like Ingrid used to be.
He gently massaged the nape of her neck. “I hope Pierce’s comment about the victory dance didn’t sting too much.”
“Do I look hurt?” She kissed him deeply. “I know where your heart is.”
He nuzzled her ear. “Yes, you do. It’s right here with you.”
She leaned her head back, allowing him full access to her throat as she pressed her hips against him. “It must have looked nice for the cameras.” Felicia pulled herself up on her knees, positioning her breasts in front of his face. “Just think how pretty the picture would be if it was you and me in the owner’s box.”
He settled her back down onto his lap. “Our time will come.” He raised his hand to caress her shoulder. She shrugged it aside.
“I’ve been hearing that for three years, Reinhart. Coming on four.” Her voice was soft but certain. “The time has come.”
He hated when she pushed him. He looked around the penthouse and calculated the cost of their love nest. The Seattle skyline twinkled in the black night and boats on Elliott Bay drifted thirty stories below. Rainy Day had grown Fit with Felicia into a major player on the exercise scene. His distribution and marketing channels had made her a rich woman. Hadn’t he given her enough?
He wrestled himself free, swung his legs off the bed, and reached for his clothes.
“You’re leaving?” she asked. “You promised you’d spend the night. I’m going to make apple pancakes in the morning.”
He stepped into his trousers. “I planned to, Felicia. But you make it impossible with your demands. I can’t have you not trusting me.”
She sprung off the bed like the athlete she was and ran around the bed to face him. “Trust you? How many years am I going to have to listen to your promises about leaving Ingrid? I’m going to be thirty years old in two months. I’ve got to think about my future.”
Reinhart knew where this speech was headed. He slid into his shirt. “Your future is fine. You’re financially secure and if the Chicago thing works out you’ll have more money than even you can spend. As relates to turning thirty, I’ll get you something sparkly enough to take the pain out of it.”
He steeled himself for the crying that always came at this point in the stale argument. He was surprised when it didn’t. Felicia stood naked, hands on her hips, and smiled.
She tilted her head to the side. “I’m pregnant.”
Reinhart stood stock-still. A pulsing deep in his brain ground its way to his ears and hammered steel on steel. His stomach tightened and his throat closed. A chill enveloped him as the hairs on the back of his neck stood.
Felicia wiggled and grinned. “I know we weren’t planning it.” She spun around on one perfectly toned leg. “Oh, big guy! I’m so happy.” She gave him a dazzling smile. “I’ve already mapped out a series of pregnancy fitness videos.” She waited a moment. “Well, don’t just stand there, darling. Say something.”
Reinhart Vogel reached for his suit jacket. He pulled his watch and wallet off the nightstand and tucked them into his pocket. He stepped into his Italian loafers, left his socks on the carpet, and headed toward the door.
Felicia chased after him. “You have nothing to say?”
He turned, his face carved from ice. “Get rid of it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lydia turned the corner onto Anthes Avenue and saw two boys blocking a little girl’s attempt to cross the street.
“Where you goin’, Crazy Maizie?” The taller boy walked backward, frustrating any evasion the girl tried to make. “Sure not home to your mom.”
“Yeah,” the shorter boy echoed. “How bad you gotta be to get your own mom to run away?” He looked to his buddy for approval.
Maizie stood still, squeezing her library books. Lydia ran forward a few steps, grabbed each boy by the collar of their jackets, and twisted tight.
“Leave.” Lydia pulled the boys closer to her. “I’ll deal with these two.”
Maizie’s eyes went wide at the sight of Lydia holding her two tormentors.
“Go now,” Lydia insisted.
Maizie hesitated, kicked pebbles at the two boys, then ran. Lydia waited until the girl was out of sight to drag the squirming bullies down the block and park them on a wooden bench. She held the now-silent hooligans in place with a firm grip on their arms.
“Where do we go next, boys?” Her tone produced wide-eyed stares. “Shall I take you into the woods and tie you to a tree until the animals gut you? Or do you just want me to take you down to the beach for a drowning?”
The taller one spoke first. “You better let me go. My dad’s not going to like it if you hurt us.”
“Yeah,” the shorter one chimed in. “My dad neither.”
Lydia stared until the defiance in their eyes vanished. “Doesn’t matter to me what your dads don’t like.” She kept her voice calm. “Won’t matter to you, after I’m done.” She let the threat sink in. “I suppose your moms will be sad. Maybe not. Maybe they’ll be glad to be rid of a snot-nosed little bully who gets his fun teasing little girls.”
Both boys hung their heads.
“What’s your name?” Lydia asked the taller one.
“Tommy.” His voice was meek. “Tommy Howard. We didn’t hurt anything.”
Lydia ignored his assessment. “And you?”
“I’m Adam Voelker.” The boy shuffled dirty sneakers against the grass. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean anything. She’s weird, that’s all. Everybody knows that.” His freckles danced when he wrinkled his nose. “Please don’t hurt us, okay?”
Lydia relaxed her grip. “You go to school with her?”
“We’re in fifth grade,” Tommy said. “She’s in second. At least she’s supposed to be. She never comes.”
“Yeah,” Adam added. “My mom says she’s probably gonna flunk. Or maybe have to go to summer school. My mom says she’s not a good fluence.”
“Influence,” Tommy corrected. “Don’t be stupid.”
Lydia’s stomach churned at the hateful lessons being taught these two innocent pupils.
“Please don’t hurt us,” Adam begged. “We won’t do it again.”
Lydia shook her head slowly and whispered as though to herself. “Maybe I could just take them to the police. Let them put them in prison.”
Tommy’s eyes flew wide open. “Oh, lady, no! My dad would skin me alive if I end up in jail.”
Tears spilled down Adam’s chubby cheeks. “Please, lady. Don’t do it. Don’t do it, lady. Just let us go. We won’t bother her again. I promise!”
“Me too.” Tommy’s thin voice climbed an octave. “I promise, too!”
Lydia held the boys quiet with her stare. “I have to do something. You’ve insulted her ladyship. It must be avenged.”
Tommy and Adam exchanged baffled glances.
“Her what?” Tommy asked.
Lydia looked over her shoulder. There was no one on the small village side street at three in the afternoon. She sighed. “I’ve said too much already.” She let the mystery build for several heartbeats. “Once this gets out, you boys will have to be dealt with in the most s
erious way.”
“We won’t let anything out.” Adam’s face reddened. “Please don’t deal with us in the most serious way.”
Lydia tilted her head toward a large rhododendron beginning to bloom next to the old city hall. “Can you boys keep a secret?”
Both boys nodded a furious staccato.
Lydia looked both ways up and down the street. “Over by the bush. And you have to swear yourself to secrecy.”
She released her now-light hold and they scurried to the spot she’d indicated. Lydia followed, carrying out the charade of making sure the area was secure before kneeling beside them. “No one can know this. It’s your only hope to avoid punishment. Do you understand?”
Both boys nodded so furiously Lydia worried about neck damage.
“Perhaps it’s better to just admit what you’ve done and let the courts decide.” She alternated concerned glances between the two boys. “But you’re so young. I’ve seen how judges deal with insults to her ladyship. It kills me to think of you with broken bones and cut-out tongues.” She pursed her lips and hung her head. “Or worse.”
“Don’t let the courts decide!” Tommy’s eyes were filled with tears. “We won’t do it again. We’ll keep your secret.”
Lydia drew in a long breath. “Who do you think you were teasing a few minutes ago?”
“Maizie Dunfield,” Adam sobbed. “Everybody calls her Crazy Maizie. Not just us.”
Lydia nodded. “Her ladyship is a person of great poise and character. I am not surprised she tolerates such insults. But now I’ve heard it and it must be dealt with. Unless …”
“Unless what?” Tommy demanded. “And why do you keep calling Crazy Mai—I mean Maizie—why do you keep calling her a ladyship?”