Players

by Rachel Cross

  “No, thanks. I’ve had four cups already. Any more caffeine and I’ll be too jittery to hold my pen steady.”

  She hesitated, wanting to ask if everything was all right but not sure if her asking would make him think she was being too presumptuous somehow. Then he disappeared into his office and closed the door behind him, and the moment was gone.

  Coward, she thought to herself.

  A short while later she knocked cautiously on his door to deliver a piece of mail to him.

  “Come in.”

  She opened the door to see him seated behind his desk and staring out the window. “Sorry,” she said. “This was just messengered over, though, so . . . ”

  He nodded toward his desk, and she let the letter fall onto it. Then he went back to staring out the window.

  Just say it, she told herself. Ask him already. “Is everything all right?” she blurted out finally.

  There. She had said it, and miracle of miracles, he didn’t look shocked or offended. Was basic conversation this hard for everyone, she wondered, or just for her?

  “Oh, sure,” he said with a slight sigh and a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s just . . . Do you have any family, Shannon?”

  “Me?” she asked, surprised. “I . . . well, parents. A couple of cousins maybe that I haven’t seen in years.”

  “Parents still living?”

  She knew his were not. “Yes.”

  “That’s nice,” he said faintly. “No brothers or sisters, though.”

  “No.”

  “Mmm,” was all he said, and he went back to staring out the window.

  Now what? she wondered. Ask him again? Turn around and leave? She froze like a wild animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. How could any woman be this inept around a man?

  Drew saved her by speaking again. “This youth center . . . ”

  “Yes?” she said hopefully.

  He turned to look at her and frowned. “Do you think . . . ” He trailed off, his fingers rifling idly through the papers she had spotted earlier on his desk.

  “Yes?” she repeated.

  But he seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. “Never mind. I shouldn’t be keeping you from your work like this. Don’t mind me.”

  Feeling a little disappointed, Shannon turned to go.

  “Oh, Shannon?”

  She turned back, hope sparking anew. Would he confide in her after all? Thank her for her concern? Be touched that she cared enough to ask after him?

  “Could you do me a favor?”

  “Of course. What is it?” Comfort you? Hold your hand? Have your baby, maybe?

  Drew looked a little sheepish. “I have a dinner date tonight, but I forgot to make reservations. Could you call Le Joli and ask for a table for two? Seven o’clock. Something with a view, preferably.”

  A pang shot through her, but Shannon kept her expression carefully neutral. “Sure. Anything else?”

  “No, that’s it, thanks. Good old Shannon. You’re a lifesaver.” And he treated her to one more charming smile as she closed the door behind her on her way out.

  Good old Shannon.

  Pulling up the restaurant’s number on her computer as she sat down, Shannon wrote herself a note to call them when they opened for lunch. There was nothing surprising about Drew’s request. She had done the same thing for him many times before. It just hurt a little more each time she did it.

  Good old Shannon wouldn’t fit in at a fine French restaurant, she thought with a glance down at her clothes and a slight hitch in her throat. She cleared it quickly. Good old Shannon was not the type of girl a man thought of when he thought of a romantic dinner for two. Good old Shannon wasn’t really the type of girl a man thought about at all.

  Maybe with the right clothes, a little makeup . . .

  Her mother’s voice popped into her head, her words an echo from some childhood memory. You can put a pig in satin and pearls, baby, but it won’t change the fact that a pig is still a pig.

  Now where had that come from? she wondered, frowning as she struggled to remember. Her mother had never been insensitive enough to actually imply Shannon bore any kind of resemblance to a pig. Her memory cleared. No, it was back in high school when Shannon had started talking about maybe going to college after all. Her bewildered parents hadn’t seen much point to it. They certainly hadn’t understood why she bothered to put herself through night school. Come to think of it, there were a lot of things they didn’t understand.

  Which could be one reason why she didn’t call Florida very often.

  But for just a moment, sitting there, aching over Drew’s obliviousness to her, Shannon found herself wishing her mother were a little closer than Florida. Well, she would wish that if her mother were a little more like June Cleaver and a little less like Peg Bundy—or at least a little more like Clarissa.

  “Clarissa?” she called out through her open door.

  “Yes?” the other woman’s voice floated back to her.

  “Want to adopt me?”

  “Sure thing, honey.”

  Shannon smiled faintly and forced her attention away from Drew and onto her work. This was hardly a productive line of thinking. Time to get back to zoning issues.

  She made very little headway amid phone calls and emails that kept interrupting her, but she did her best to shut out both the distraction in her heart and the chatter between Clarissa and the occasional visitor. Her eyes were glued to her computer screen, so she couldn’t help but let out a startled gasp when a pair of large masculine hands came down on her desktop, one on either side of her computer.

  She looked up to see just who had invaded her personal space so abruptly.

  “Hello,” said a dark-haired, dark-eyed personification of sin. “Remember me? I believe you hung up on me earlier.”

  Chapter Two

  The first thought that went through Shannon’s head was, dear Lord, I hope he doesn’t have a gun.

  The next was to wonder how anyone could possibly look that good outside of the pages of a magazine.

  And the third one was to wonder why he looked vaguely familiar to her. With features Michelangelo might have chiseled and a mouth to die for, he could have easily been a movie star or a model. Maybe she really had seen him in a magazine somewhere. The only trace of a flaw in his face would be the dark shadows beneath his eyes, lending him a vaguely troubled look that worked quite well for him.

  Those eyes darkened further. “Interesting choice in phone etiquette for a secretary—”

  “Personal assistant,” Shannon corrected him coolly, struggling both to regain her composure and to place just where exactly she had seen this man before.

  He leaned closer to get eye to eye with her, a move she was sure was calculated. “Sweetheart, you can slap whatever label on it you like. I really don’t care. What I do care about is getting in to see your boss, right now.”

  Magnificent or not, he did not get to come in here and try to bully his way past her. “And as I explained to you on the phone earlier,” Shannon said, slowly and purposefully standing up so that he couldn’t tower quite so much over her, “Mr. Kingston is a very busy man with a very busy schedule. You can’t just walk in without an appointment.”

  “Hard to make an appointment when you’re left talking to a dial tone, isn’t it?”

  Her face grew a little warmer, and she knew her cheeks were turning unbecomingly pink again. Wonderful. “If you’re going to behave like a childish brat,” she said primly, “don’t be surprised if people treat you like one.”

  “Oh, you are a charmer, aren’t you?”

  She ignored that. “I’m sorry, but I believe you’ve wasted your time and mine in coming down here. Mr. Kingston has a meeting starting shortly and can’t take the time to see anyone else just now.”

  The man straightened. “He can make time for his brother.”

  “His brother?” The fog surrounding her memory finally cleared as things clicked into place. Yes
, she vaguely remembered Drew having a brother in school. Marcus? Micah? No, wait . . . “You’re . . . Michael.”

  Michael. A few years older than Drew—and therefore Shannon. He was a senior when they were freshmen, and he only existed on the peripheral of Shannon’s life since Drew was the center of her universe then, and he and his brother ran in very different circles.

  “Heard of me, have you? I’m surprised Drew would think me worth mentioning.” There was a slight edge to his voice. She couldn’t tell if it was bitterness or sarcasm.

  Drew hadn’t mentioned his brother to Shannon, not even once. But she felt reluctant to explain how she knew of him, almost as if by doing so it would relegate her back to the same wallflower status that belonged to her in high school. Because while she might vaguely remember him, he clearly had no idea who she was.

  Michael Kingston. Even if you never spoke to him in school, you knew who he was. To say he had a reputation would be putting it mildly. No respect for authority, unruly and unpredictable. She thought he might have even been kicked out of school at some point. But he was wildly popular. Every girl wanted him, and many got to have him—for a little while. A player was what Shannon would have called him. Sex-on-a-stick was what many others said instead. And giggled.

  In fact, the odds were very good that Shannon was the only girl at McKinley High who hadn’t carried some kind of torch for him. If rumors could be believed, that might have included one or two of the teachers, too. But her awareness of him hadn’t extended much farther than his relationship to Drew.

  “What?” he asked her irritably all of a sudden, and Shannon realized she had been staring blankly at him. Or maybe through him.

  She hesitated uncertainly. “I don’t think Drew—er, Mr. Kingston is expecting you. He would have said something.”

  “No, I’m sure this will be the surprise of the decade. But never mind that. Let’s get this family reunion started.” Michael stepped around Shannon’s desk and would have no doubt reached for the doorknob to Drew’s office, but Shannon scrambled up and intercepted him. He did a double take, clearly startled to find her between him and the door.

  “I don’t care if you’re his long-lost fairy godmother. You can’t just barge in because you feel like it.” Pompous jerk, she added mentally.

  She had a feeling he was thinking a few unflattering things about her as well. His eyes narrowed. “Move.”

  “No.”

  He frowned at her, his frustration showing on his face. “Don’t think I won’t pick you up and move you myself.”

  “Don’t think I won’t kick you where it will really hurt.”

  Her words made him blink. “You little—”

  Before he could finish whatever he was about to say, the door to Drew’s office opened and the younger of the two brothers stepped out. “That’s enough, Michael.”

  Shannon’s heart did a flip-flop inside her chest as Drew put his hand on her arm to gently move her aside, and she had a feeling she was blushing again. If she was, Drew didn’t seem to notice. Story of her life.

  “If you’ve got something to say, you can say it to me, not to Shannon,” Drew told his brother tersely.

  “I’ve been trying to,” Michael returned, the edge back in his voice as he spared a brief and aggravated glance toward Shannon. She frowned back. “Easier said than done.”

  “What do you want, Michael?”

  “What do I want? I want you to quit screening your damn calls, for starters, and pick up the phone when I call you. I want you to remember that our parents had two sons, not just one.” He pulled a crumpled newspaper clipping from his pocket and held it up in front of Drew’s face. “And I want to know where you get off pulling a stunt like this!”

  Unable to help herself, Shannon strained to see the headline. She couldn’t make it out, but she did recognize the building in the black-and-white photograph that accompanied it. Kingston Manor, the old family home and the future housing of the Kingston Youth Center.

  “Kept it out of the bigger newspapers so far, haven’t you? I’ll bet you didn’t think I would find out,” Michael continued, his anger growing. “At least not until it was too late to do anything about it. Am I right?”

  For the first time, Drew looked a little uncomfortable, maybe even slightly embarrassed. “This doesn’t concern you, Michael.”

  “The hell it doesn’t! It was my home once, too.”

  “That was a long time ago.” Drew’s voice grew cooler.

  A shadow crossed Michael’s face. “Oh, I get it. I walked out, so—”

  “Ran out is more like it.”

  In the midst of the heated exchange, Shannon glanced toward the outer hall to see Clarissa watching, her mouth open in surprise. The blonde mouthed the words what’s going on? Shannon gave her head one furtive and bewildered shake.

  “So, what . . . I’m not a Kingston anymore? And here I thought family was supposed to be everything to you. Or maybe that’s only when you’re campaigning.”

  “Don’t pretend to care about family now. It’s too little too late.”

  Michael thrust the article at him. “Drew, this is a mistake—”

  Drew snatched the article from his brother’s hand and crumpled it up. “That’s not your call to make.”

  A new voice interrupted them. “Excuse me—”

  Everyone turned to see a beefy man in a security guard uniform standing in the hallway.

  He cleared his throat pointedly and adjusted the belt from which hung a substantial-looking nightstick. “Is there a problem here, Mr. Kingston?”

  “Not anymore, Lucas. This gentleman was just leaving. Maybe you could help him find his way out of the building, though?”

  “Drew, we have to talk about this!” There was something else besides anger beneath Michael’s words, something so faint that Shannon wondered if she might have imagined it. Desperation, maybe? She didn’t think Drew noticed it.

  “We’re done talking,” Drew returned coldly. “We were done a long time ago. Now, please, Lucas?”

  The security guard nodded. “Absolutely, sir. Right this way, please.” He reached for Michael’s arm.

  Michael shook him off. “Don’t put your hands on me.”

  Lucas curled one hand around the handle of his nightstick.

  For a moment Shannon thought Michael was going to hit either Drew or Lucas, but a tiny gasp from Clarissa seemed to remind him where he was and just who was around him. The fist he was starting to form slowly relaxed.

  “I’ll find my own way out.” With a final glance at his brother, Michael turned and stormed out of the room. Lucas followed him out.

  Drew turned to Shannon and shook his head with a rueful sigh. “I’m sorry, Shannon. You shouldn’t have had to deal with any of that. Are you all right?”

  She nodded, self-conscious again as he focused his attention on her.

  “It’s not that Michael’s dangerous or anything, not really. He’s just impulsive. Says what he wants, does what he wants, without giving much thought to the consequences. You know what I mean?”

  Another nod. Could she not think of two words to say to him?

  “Again, I’m sorry.” He turned as if to go back into his office.

  Shannon finally found her voice. “Are you okay?”

  He paused and then ran a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly mussed but still boyishly charming. “Oh, sure. Just caught me off guard, that’s all. He’s been trying to call me at home recently, but I never dreamed he’d actually come back to town. Seeing him out of the blue like that . . . ”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Years. Not since our parents’ funeral. We didn’t exactly get along then, either.”

  “Sorry,” she offered awkwardly but sincerely.

  He waved it off. “It is what it is. Michael’s always been one for trouble, and I suspect he always will be.”

  “Do you think he’ll come back here?”

  Drew frowned, but not at Shan
non. “Not here, he won’t. I’ll speak to the security staff about him. Hopefully he’ll get the hint and leave town quickly.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “It’s what he’s best at.” Then he glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’d better get to that meeting. Let’s just try and forget this morning’s unpleasantness, shall we?” Retrieving a handful of papers from his desk, he smiled at Shannon a little too brightly and disappeared down the hall.

  As soon as he was gone, Clarissa hurried over to Shannon. “What on earth was that all about?”

  “Something about the youth center, apparently.” Shannon sat down behind her computer again determined to follow Drew’s advice and forget about Michael Kingston’s visit. Easier said than done. Her pulse was going faster than it usually did.

  “I didn’t even know Drew had a brother.”

  “He says they’re not close.” She thought back to high school. “I’m not sure they ever have been.”

  The older woman raised her eyebrows. “Wait a minute. Did you used to know him or something?”

  “Who, Michael?” Shannon shrugged, disinterested. She brought up a new file on her computer, only half-involved in the conversation. “I knew of him, that’s all. Back in school.”

  Clarissa sat on the edge of the desk. “Spill it! I love a little gossip. What was he like?”

  Shannon hesitated. They were treading on dangerous ground here. Talk about Michael could very easily lead to talk about Drew. If she wasn’t careful, she might let something slip about her feelings for him. “I don’t know. Probably not so different from the way he is now. Tall, dark, and entitled.”

  “Oooo, but he is easy on the eyes, isn’t he?”

  “Clarissa!”

  “What? I’m married, not dead. And I’d have to be dead not to notice a man like that.” She fanned herself with her hand. “My goodness! And a bad boy to boot. Every woman’s kryptonite.”

  Not every woman’s, Shannon thought. Some preferred nice, polite politician types.

  “I’ll bet girls chased after him like kids after an ice cream truck.” She lowered her voice slyly. “So did he let them catch him?”