Players

by Rachel Cross

  Tyrone hit pause, and Keila’s pretty, poised image froze on the screen. “Great. Keila appears to be one of the few women aged twenty-four to sixty-five who is not only immune to Jake’s charms, but vocal about it, too.”

  “That’s not true! I’m immune to his charms,” Cate spoke up. “Especially today, he’s in a really foul mood.”

  “Do we need to do damage control?” Tyrone asked.

  “No,” Cate said. “This is good stuff. It takes some of the sheen off of that golden boy image and helps people relate to him more. Jake’s like a regular Joe now, dismissed by a pretty girl.”

  Filip, who’d been sitting at Jake’s desk, laughed again, softly. He had been doing quite a lot of his quiet laughing this morning, enjoying himself just a little too much. Jake closed his eyes and swirled his tongue around his mouth before looking down at his watch.

  “Keila’s here, Jake,” Cate declared, reading his mind. “And I’m betting you want to wring her neck, but you should take it easy on her. She didn’t ask for this kind of attention, she was just setting the record straight.”

  Out of nowhere, the thought of what he really wanted to do to Keila came to mind: backing her up against the wall, and kissing her senseless tempted him. No chemistry? No connection? Forced to dance with him? That was setting the record straight? “You look dangerous, Jake, please calm down,” Filip said.

  • • •

  Keila had hitched a ride with Cate, who’d told her to wait outside so she could gauge Jake’s mood. Keila listened, relieved to learn that though Jake seemed to be in a bad mood, everyone else thought the video wouldn’t do any harm.

  Smoothing down the front of her grey pleated skirt and matching fitted jacket, Keila thought it would be all right to go inside now. Her sister had lent her one of her fierce career outfits and Keila felt empowered in it. She’d gone for a classy business woman look today, wearing her hair in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Knowing she looked put together and professional made her feel better prepared to deal with Jake.

  “Good morning!” Keila walked in and greeted everyone with excessive cheer. She pointed to the television screen. “Oh, good, you saw that. Isn’t it great this blogger really only wanted to know the truth? I just, um, didn’t think he was so popular!”

  “Do you know Tess from She Said, She Said?” Tyrone asked and Keila nodded. “Well, your friend Pete there is Tess’s son. She plugged his blog just once a few years back and it turned out he was a really interesting blogger, so it’s now the highest ranking blog about Chicago on every major search engine.”

  “Oh, well,” Keila didn’t know what to say so she was almost grateful to be interrupted by a snapping Jake.

  “Do you have to be anywhere else in the next four hours?”

  “Um, let’s see,” Keila considered, keeping her peppy, babbling act up. “I have practice with the string quartet near the Loop at 2:30 and I was going to meet my sister for lunch there at around 1:00, so I’d have to leave at . . . sure, I can stay. I’ll just postpone lunch with my sister.”

  “Good, then let’s make this our last meeting. I think we can have everything hammered out today if we work double time, don’t you?”

  “Yes! Definitely,” Keila agreed, trying not to gulp. Jake was pissed. His eyes had taken on that laser heat quality she’d seen last time she’d irritated him. And, boy, was it smoldering.

  That last thought made her mentally slap herself.

  “But you have a meeting with—” Cate turned to Jake.

  “Cancel it,” Jake interrupted.

  “But you never cancel—”

  “Cancel it.” Jake repeated, more firmly this time.

  “Don’t worry Jake, after today; you’ll probably never see me again.” Keila felt the need to reassure him.

  “Except for The Endowment for the Arts Ebony and Ivory Charity Dinner the Friday after next. Don’t forget; it’s part of your contract,” Tyrone reminded her.

  “Right. Except for that,” she tried not to sigh.

  “Forget it. You don’t have to go,” Jake said.

  “Actually, I do. The presence of every member of Second City Symphony is mandatory.”

  Tyrone and Cate left, and Jake held out a chair. “Have a seat,” he instructed; his lips tight, his expression glacial.

  He waited for her to sit before immediately picking up where they’d left off the week before. “I’ve been thinking it through, and I decided to meet you halfway. We can lower the instrument fee further to make it more of a symbolic fee.” He slid a sheet of paper with amounts for each instrument to her.

  Keila looked at him, surprised, before looking down at the sheet. “Jake, this is great. I also thought it through, and I realized you were right about people appreciating things more when they have to work for them. These symbolic fees make sense, and they’re low enough that a teacher or concerned adult can cover them if a child has an apathetic guardian. ”

  Jake put his pen down and stared at her. “You thought it through, you agreed, and you’re telling me I was partially right?”

  “Yes,” she replied, puzzled.

  Finally, he looked away, leaving her a little breathless because they were sitting a little too close this time, in the two chairs at the curved end of the conference table. Signs of virility had always made her nervous and they were now surrounding her. Spicy scent, the hairs on his arms, his low voice . . .

  • • •

  Prepared for battle, Jake completely forgot what they were supposed to tackle next. He looked down at his papers, but couldn’t seem to read. Damn Keila for saying there was no chemistry between them. And damn the hot librarian look she was sporting today.

  Her hair was up, revealing a smooth, elegant neck. He tried hard to ignore the wisps of hair that were slipping onto her face and caressing her neck, while vampire instincts he never would’ve guessed he had beckoned him to take action.

  Maybe he could ask her to let her hair loose, for her own good? But a slow motion mental video of her letting her hair down and shaking it about her soon had him shooting the idea down.

  “Jake, are you okay?” Keila asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure you don’t have a fever or something? You look a little flushed.” Her eyes and mouth expressed concern.

  “The room’s a little hot,” he lied, pushing some papers her way.

  They finally got down to business and had a surprisingly productive first hour. But productivity soon went downhill when Keila leaned a little too close, rereading a few details on a piece of paper closer to him, and the scent of her skin invaded Jake’s personal space, making him stare at her and think of warm, summer days, walking along the shore. The thoughts irritated him. “Why do you smell like coconuts and sunscreen? It’s fall.”

  “My body lotion is coconut scented and I always use sunscreen; even in winter.”

  “Well, it’s distracting.”

  “Well, I’ve never gotten any complaints.”

  “I wasn’t complaining. It was just an observation,” he said, pushing his chair back. He was supposed to be thinking about music education, not picturing Keila in a bikini at the beach.

  Keila pursed her lips and looked back down at the information in front of her. “I’m glad the program will include voice lessons,” she then remarked distractedly as she continued to read. “It’s my favorite instrument and I’m sure some really talented young singers will be discovered.”

  “What’s your favorite instrument?” he asked, confused.

  “The human voice. I mean, I cherish the violin, of course, but no instrument comes close to expressing such a range of raw emotions as the human voice. Don’t you think?”

  “I’ve never really thought about it.”

  “Don’t you ever feel overwhelmed with one particular feeling?” she asked, and he didn’t answer. He couldn’t, really. Why would he want to open himself up to her like that? “Well, I do, sometimes,” she continued. “And nothin
g comes close to making me feel understood than the right words and the right voice.”

  “Do you feel everything so deeply?” he couldn’t help asking.

  “Only the things that matter. What about you? How deeply do you feel the things that matter to you?”

  Jake didn’t answer. He just looked at her, and, for some reason, she didn’t look away this time. She just studied him. And her expression was so warm and open, that even though he felt at odds with her over her little speech to the blogger, her presence still made him feel high.

  The moment stretched and an unusual energy began to flow, alive and connected between them. When it got to be too much, she looked away first, obviously uneasy. “I hate that, no matter how hard I try, I can’t figure you out.”

  “You feel absolutely no connection to me whatsoever,” Jake cited part of her video speech, raising an eyebrow, “Yet you try hard to figure me out?”

  “I think about many people and I try to figure out lots of things,” Keila said, and she cleared her throat.

  Jake soon got them back on track, if only to make them both feel comfortable again. Little by little, he drew her back to the subject at hand.

  Then once again, toward the end of their meeting, just when they’d gotten to a place of amity, they hit another snag. Jake was almost glad for it, because he didn’t welcome the feelings Keila was awakening.

  “I don’t think their progress should be evaluated until they reach at least fifth grade. We should instead go on attendance.” Keila leaned in, determination in her voice.

  “We need to evaluate progress at every grade level because we can’t continue to allocate funds to students who aren’t showing interest,” Jake said, his tone firm.

  “If they’re showing up, they’re showing interest,” Keila replied, her eyes flashing.

  “No. If they’re getting better it means they’re practicing, and that means they’re showing interest.”

  “No. Some students take longer to develop their fine motor skills, and they may be practicing, but just not mature enough to show signs of improvement.” She had begun to obsessively click her pen in an obvious attempt to hold on to her temper.

  “They have to show signs of improvement to remain in the program.” Jake gathered his things in one quick sweep and stood up.

  She pushed her chair back, “I don’t appreciate this Darwinist view of little kids, Jake, where only the strongest survive,” she accused.

  “You’re spinning the meaning of what I said, Keila, and while I appreciate the intentions of your overly idealistic heart, I don’t agree with you.” Jake turned his back to her and walked toward his desk, hearing her promptly get up and walk after him. He turned and leaned against his desk, crossing his arms to calmly and quietly face another one of her fits. He would not be making the mistake of calling her over-emotional this time around.

  “At least—”

  “At least you have a heart. Right. Very original,” he interrupted.

  She looked up at him, trying hard not to show she was fuming, but failing miserably. “You want to talk unoriginal, Jake? Then let’s talk about your tie. Your ugly, boring, full-blown conservative tie,” she looked up at him, her eyes shooting sparks. “Let’s talk about how, if you loosened it just a little, a tiny burst of oxygen might get through to your brain and you could come up with a few better ideas.” She flicked his tie with the tips of her fingers.

  He unconsciously took hold of her hand just as she was withdrawing it from his tie, about to say he wasn’t going to give in to her demands this time. But the moment he felt her warm, soft hand in his own and her eyes flew up to meet his; he forgot what he was going to say. In one instant, anger was replaced by awareness. Her eyes moved down to his lips and then quickly back to his eyes. It took every smidgen of willpower in Jake’s possession not to slam his mouth down on hers and get rid of all the tension once and for all.

  Conscious that Tyrone had come to stand at the door, Jake let go of Keila’s hand just as she stepped away.

  “You told me to interrupt you at twelve-thirty . . . is it hot in here, or is it me?” Tyrone asked, watching them and running a finger around his shirt collar.

  “It’s you,” they answered in unison.

  Keila looked down, visibly swallowed, and then looked up at him again, her eyes pleading. “Please promise you’ll really think it through before you make a final decision.”

  It took a moment for Jake to remember what she was talking about. “Right,” he finally agreed, sighing. “I’ll think it through. It’s the only thing left to do before we’re done here.”

  • • •

  Keila barely nodded at his tired words. They were done here. And she was relieved, truly she was. Nothing had ever made her as uneasy as Jake pinning her with those amazing eyes, breathing hard, and looking as if he were going to drag her back to his cave. Because she wasn’t quite sure why he wanted to drag her back to his cave, and she wasn’t so sure he’d have to drag her. She’d never felt anything like the mesmeric pull she felt toward him and her body was beginning to demand to know what came next.

  Walking back to the conference table, she tried to make sense of her lustful thoughts. Her intuitive womanly instincts felt positive their attraction was mutual, but her wary, logical brain knew it was probably her misplaced vanity coloring things. After all, nobody ever wanted to believe they were alone in their feelings. She could easily be reading attraction to her into Jake’s exasperation and annoyance with her.

  As she finished placing every sheet into its correct folder in her briefcase, she asked herself what she would even do if Jake did want her. The answer was a quick nothing; because she was too smart and too much of a goody two-shoes for anything else. She zipped her case shut.

  “My next meeting is up near the Gold Coast; I can give you a ride to the Loop,” Jake’s sedate voice cut through her thoughts, and his whole demeanor was now so formal and detached, she was now certain her instincts were wrong and her logical brain was right. So why the offer of a ride if he’d been annoyed with her just a moment before? And what was it with him and rides? Was it a control thing?

  But she remembered his whispered admission on Friday night, that he just couldn’t stand the idea of her lugging her stuff onto trains all over town. It made her wonder if that was what people called rich guilt.

  Exasperated and confused, Keila sighed, as purposefully and audibly as possible, before turning to face him. “I don’t need for you to give me a ride. I’m sorry that you just can’t stand the thought of me hauling my stuff onto buses and trains, but I guess you’ll just have to live with your pity.”

  “Pity?” Jake repeated; his throat muscles visibly working.

  “I can give you a ride, Keila,” Tyrone cut in. “I’m actually headed to City Hall and I’d enjoy your company.”

  “Thank you, Tyrone, I accept your non-pitiful, purely coincidental offer to keep you company,” Keila replied.

  “You’ll accept a ride from Tyrone, but you won’t accept a ride from me,” Jake stated matter of fact, his arms now crossed.

  “Tyrone and I have bonded,” she said. “He brought me food the night of your fundraiser and the other day he apologized for being a jerk instead of just letting it slide.”

  “Actually, both times it was—” Tyrone began, but a look from Jake cut him off.

  “It was his pleasure,” Jake said and turned away.

  As Tyrone and Keila walked to his car, Keila struggled with gusts of unrelenting wind. Her skirt kept billowing up and she pinned the front of it with her violin case. To her utter embarrassment, a sudden blast sent the back of her skirt flying up to her waist. She almost dropped her violin case trying to pull her skirt back down to cover her unfortunate choice of satiny hot pink bikini panties.

  “Don’t you dare look,” she warned Tyrone, who’d noticed her struggle and was trying not laugh. She placed both her violin case and brief case on the sidewalk and quickly reached behind her. Just as she
grabbed her skirt, a loud honk told her she was too late. Her face felt aflame and she could swear smoke was coming out of her ears when she turned to glare at the honking driver.

  It was Jake and he was looking at her from above his sunglasses, sporting a half-demon, half-appreciative, all-male smile. She’d seen this bedeviled side of him a few times now, and, adding insult to injury, she was as intrigued as she was furious. Tyrone laughed harder and Keila turned, picked up her things with as dignified a posture as possible, and marched forward, cheeks blazing; thoughts murderous.

  A good twenty minutes of silence later, Keila sat in Tyrone’s Toyota Camry, admiring his profile. Turning away, she realized Tyrone was also the type of male she usually avoided because he to seemed too virile for his own good. But for some reason, he didn’t make her uncomfortable, the way Jake Kelly did. Tyrone didn’t give her the tingles and his presence didn’t have her feeling edgy and nerve-racked.

  As if sensing the subject of her thoughts, Tyrone said, “I know you and Jake are rubbing each other the wrong way for reasons both of you are intent on ignoring, but I want you to know that he isn’t the type to pity people.”

  “I’m not ignoring anything, I just don’t get him, that’s all,” Keila sighed. “One minute he acts like he can’t wait to get away from me and then he turns around and wants to do something nice that involves spending even more time with me. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Clueless,” Tyrone sighed under his breath.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Listen, Keila, I know Jake and he . . . admires you. And not just the assets he got a good look at today,” he added with a wicked gleam before becoming serious. “He sees how you go about your day, crisscrossing clear across Chicago, never complaining, never expecting anything from anyone, just being genuinely grateful for the opportunities you have and giving them your absolute all.”

  Keila didn’t know what to think. She just wanted Friday night to come and go so she would never have to see Jake Kelly again.