"What guys?" I growl, not liking the idea of Carrie having been with other guys, even if they were before we got together.
"The guys Carrie's parents are endlessly trying to set her up with," Clara supplies. "You know, the typical Wall Street type."
"I don't want some suit," Carrie protests, easing my jealousy—somewhat.
"They must've flipped when they saw you walk in, dude." Pedro leans back against the counter, ribbing me. "You're like their worst nightmare come true."
Carrie sticks up for me. "I wouldn't say that."
"Oh, I would," Pedro replies, chuckling.
"Your family values privacy above all else," Clara says, addressing her friend, "That's been drilled into your head since birth, Carrie." Then she turns to me. "And, Scott, you're not exactly the most private guy on the planet."
"Her mom didn't forbid me from seeing her," I state through clenched teeth, trying not to lose my temper.
"Yeah, but does Grandpa Arnold know about the two of you?" Clara persists.
"I'm not sure what my parents told him," Carrie says softly.
"Then I'd reach out to him if I were you, Carrie," Clara advises.
"I just don't know how he's going to react to all of this." Carrie shakes her head. "Grandpa's so unpredictable."
"Are you saying he wouldn't approve of us dating?" I ask her, really needing to know because Arnold's one of the few men on earth who scare the shit outta me, even in a wheelchair.
"That's the thing," Carrie sighs. "I don't know. I just don't want him to come down hard on you, Scott, for something I chose to do." She places her hand over her heart. "I chose to sleep with you in Panama."
"I knew it. I fuckin' knew it, man." Pedro laughs, shoving me out of the kitchen.
"I thought I was the one who seduced you, Care Bear," I call back to her when Pedro tackles me to the ground.
Clara and Carrie follow us out, and all it takes is one look from Clara for Pedro to stop what he's doing and offer me a hand up. Pedro retrieves the bags of ice that have fallen from his knees, grimacing when he sees that they've left a watermark on the carpet. He glances guiltily at his wife, who just shakes her head at him.
"We're just gonna have to prove to him that we're legit. That's all." I rest my hands on Carrie's shoulders, glad when I feel her relax against me.
"And how are you going to do that?" Clara asks.
"By showing him that I'm not going anywhere," I state, lowering my hands and clasping them in front of Carrie's stomach. My dick twitches when I don't feel the underwire of her bra against my thumbs. God, she really isn't wearing one.
But my thoughts are quickly diverted from her free-swinging tits when Pedro says, "Arnold probably already thinks you're just using his granddaughter to promote your hitting streak. What is with you and sharing photos, dude?"
"C'mon, man. I thought you were on my side," I groan, getting sick of having to defend myself to everyone all the time. I already got enough flak from Carrie's dad to last me a lifetime.
"I am, but didn't you and his aide—" Pedro quickly shuts up when Clara slaps him on the stomach.
Carrie stiffens in my arms. "You had sex with Roberta?"
"A long time ago," I assure her, running my fingers along the tiny bit of midriff showing where her sweatshirt ends and the rise of her jeans begins.
"Jesus, Scott," Carrie whispers, sinking against me.
"Like I said, you'd better talk to your grandfather, Carrie." Clara watches us, knitting her brow, and I realize she's not against me. She's just looking out for her friend.
I need Carrie to know I'm not an asshole, even if my old asshole-playbook moves keep resurfacing. She's changed me. I'm not that guy anymore.
Either way, it's time to talk about something else—anything else.
I look around, clearing my throat. "You guys feel like ordering pizza?"
But it's not until Carrie giggles that I breathe a little easier, hoping we're still okay. Man, being in a relationship is tough, but maybe it wouldn't be so hard if I could quit screwing up every five seconds. If I'm going to turn over a new leaf, I really need my past to stop coming back and biting me in the ass.
Chapter Twenty
Carrie
"Good morning, Roberta," I greet my grandfather's personal care aide as she buzzes me inside his Westchester mansion.
"Carrie, hi. I didn't know you were coming over." Her dark eyes scan me quizzically. "You're not on today's schedule."
"It's kind of a surprise visit, actually." I take my sunglasses off and perch them on top of my head. "Is he in the sunroom?"
I bypass Roberta, not in the mood to make small talk with her now that I know she's slept with Scott. Something about her has always rubbed me the wrong way, and now, I know why. She's always had a bit of a chip on her shoulder when it comes to me, and now, I can honestly say that the feeling's mutual.
From the very beginning, she struck me as the gold-digging type, taking an overeager interest in my grandfather's business affairs, staying as up to date on the team as he does. It creeps me out. She's not his secretary. She shouldn't be interested in all of that stuff. I don't know why my grandfather trusts her so much. I really hope he didn't develop some kind of morbid crush on her, because Roberta will twist him around her little finger until she gets what she's after—money, marriage, God knows what. I want to believe that he's too smart to fall for her act, but he's a man, and they're known to do some pretty stupid things on occasion.
"Yep. I just finished feeding him breakfast because he has a conference call with Terry in a half hour." Roberta gives me a fake smile while bending over to pick up a basket filled with soiled laundry. "But I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."
"I hope you're right. I know how he likes to stick to his routine." I glance around at the memorabilia lining the walls.
My eye is drawn to Scott's number-fifteen jersey. It's a picture of when he jumped on top of Chase after the Kings won the World Series a few years back. He looks happy, jubilant, and now, it feels like I'm here to take that all away from him if this doesn't go well.
"Family always comes first for your grandfather," Roberta remarks, coming up behind me. "You know that."
But I don't like the feeling of her looking at Scott over my shoulder. He's mine even if I can't come right out and say it to her face. I don't want to have to compete with yet another one of his ex-flings, especially a hustler like Roberta who's living under my grandfather's roof.
"Listen, Roberta. If you wanna pop out for a minute, feel free." I brush my hands down the front of my skirt, trying to get a grip on my emotions. "I know you don't get much downtime for yourself during the day."
"I just might take you up on that," Roberta replies, depositing her load and reaching for her phone in the kangaroo pocket of her scrubs. "It's so nice out. It's a good morning to take a stroll down by the pond and visit the swans."
"Watch out for that old black one," I respond with a gleam in my eye. "He's a meanie. He used to chase me all over the place when I was a kid."
"Will do. Oh, by the way, I've been enjoying your clubhouse reports," Roberta says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I have to watch them because Mr. Heimlich never misses a game."
Oh, I just love hearing how she's forced to watch me because she's being paid to. "Umm…thanks." I roll my eyes, turning to walk away when she pops her gum loudly.
"Word of advice? Watch yourself around Scott Harper." Just hearing Roberta say his name causes me to stop. "That boy's a snake in the grass."
"What did you say?" I whirl around, ready to get into it with her, even though I swore before I came here that I wouldn't stoop to her level and fight with her over Scott.
"Oh yeah. He's a smooth talker, that one. He'll tell you whatever you wanna hear just to get in your pants."
My cheeks redden, and my blood pressure rises. "But he's—" I start to protest.
But Roberta raises her hand, interrupting me. "No buts about it."
I ju
t out my hip, ready to take her down, but instead she lets me have it.
"Sure, he's as good-looking as sin, but that's the problem. Whenever I'm watching the games with your grandfather and I see him at the plate, I can't help but mutter about what a fool I was to fall for his sweet words because they meant nothing."
Wow. She actually admitted that she slept with Scott, clearly not afraid of losing her job. She thinks she's untouchable, and that's troubling—very troubling.
Roberta just shakes her head, not even caring that I'm glaring at her. "Of course, I don't say it loud enough for your grandfather to hear, but it makes my blood boil having to watch him on TV night after night. I don't know how you can stand to pose for those pictures with him, but I guess anything to help the team, right?"
I draw my lips together, giving her a tight, little smile. "Something like that."
"He's disgusting, posing naked with all those women. Just who does he think he is?" Roberta crosses her arms in front of her chest, and I know that, somehow, she knows that I've slept with him too. "What woman in her right mind would wanna be with him now?"
"Wow. Would you look at the time." I stare right at her, not even bothering to look at the clock, daring her to say another word. "I'd better get in there. It was good seeing you again," I lie through my teeth.
"You too, Carrie," Roberta gushes, falling all over me. "Nobody makes Mr. Heimlich react the way you do. We both know how he doesn't like to be kept in the dark about anything. He always finds out what's going on sooner or later."
Is this bitch threatening me?
I watch her as she goes out the door I just came in, so sure that I'm not going to have Grandpa fire her ass. She thinks that, if I say anything, she'll have no regrets taking me down with her. But she doesn't know that that's why I'm here this morning—to fill Grandpa in before a skank like her can cause any more damage.
I walk through the house, heading to Grandpa's inner sanctum. It's as immaculate as ever, but there's a slight trace of disinfectant lingering in the air, and I try not to think about how Roberta is responsible for cleaning up his bodily functions. I wish we didn't have to hire some outsider to take care of him, that he hadn't had such a tirade when Alex tried to help him after his stroke. He's a prideful man, and he didn't want his granddaughter changing his dirty bedding and spooning some pureed mixture into his mouth three times a day even if she is going to school to become a physical therapist. He'd rather have someone like Roberta, someone who doesn't sass him back and tell him when he's being an ogre.
I both fear and respect my grandfather, but he doesn't look so ferocious now, as I knock on the door to his office and make my way inside.
"Grandpa? How are you doing this morning?" I ask cheerfully, moving briskly toward his wheelchair.
But he doesn't respond. He just stares at me.
I clear my throat, seeing a lot of paperwork strewn about. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
He closes his eyes, sighing loudly.
I look past him and through the window at the manicured grounds of his sprawling estate. "It's gorgeous out, isn't it?" I step into the sunlight streaming through, letting it warm my arms. "Spring has finally arrived."
He grunts like I'm already boring him with my conversation.
I square my shoulders and turn to face him. "You're probably wondering why I'm here."
He surprises me by speaking slowly. "I…know…why."
"You do?" I raise my eyebrows at him.
He jerks his chin toward the desk, narrowing his eyes at me.
I step forward to peer down at the papers littering the blotter, and my heart stops when I see a copy of Scott's contract sitting right on top.
I spin around. "Grandpa, it's not what you think."
His eyebrows come together menacingly.
"Please give me a chance to explain." I move toward him, kneeling before his wheelchair and taking his hand in mine, trying not to concentrate on how cold his skin feels to the touch. "Grandpa, I didn't plan on any of this happening. You know I'd never get involved with one of your players intentionally."
I stare down at the Persian rug beneath my feet. I need to be honest with him if there's any chance of saving Scott's job. "I swore I'd never give any of them the time of day, because usually, in the past, they'd make snide comments about my weight or act like I was invisible. The Kings were the last men on earth I'd ever consider dating."
I pause, to collect myself, willing my eyes to look up at him. "But then I got this job, and I started hanging around them on a daily basis, and things changed. They actually notice me now. More than notice, and it feels good—really good. Because, for the first time, they don't see me as your overweight granddaughter—they just see me."
His eyes look at me with such sadness that he doesn't have to say how disappointed he is in me. I can see it. I'm Arnold Heimlich's granddaughter. I don't need any of his stupid ballplayers to validate me. I'm supposed to be above all of that even if I'm just a girl like all the rest who fill the stadium night after night, swooning over the seriously hot guys in tight, pinstriped pants.
I flush despite myself. I need to get serious. Scott's whole career could depend on it.
"Grandpa, I know what you must think of Scott Harper. He's the kind of guy you tolerate on your team but you don't necessarily like. I felt the same way until I got to know him." I give him a wry grin, but he remains expressionless, the bones of his hand protruding against my palm.
I take a deep breath and plunge on. "In the beginning, I was the one using him, if you can believe it. I was just after him to give my ego a boost. You know that I interviewed for this job under an alias because you didn't want me to have it. Then when I actually got it, I let it go to my head. I wanted to make a statement that I had arrived, that I was so irresistible, even Scott Harper wanted to sleep with me."
Grandpa tosses his head back and forth, looking distressed.
I pat his hand and lean forward. "Okay…okay… Way too much information. I'm sorry." I bite my lip, kicking myself for blurting that out.
He's a man who demands honesty, but that was too honest, even for him. But when I get nervous, I ramble on and on, and since he can't respond that well, I feel like I'm talking to myself, like I can confess anything to him. I don't know. Maybe it's better if he finds out from me and not Roberta or someone else with an ax to grind.
I brace myself against the arm of his wheelchair. "Grandpa, this is awkward enough without making it more awkward." I swallow hard and look up at him. "But please don't do anything to Scott. I need you to promise me that you won't. Not because of what I did. I know Dad is probably already making a case for you to get rid of him, but you'll only be hurting the team if you do. No one's as good a hitter as Scott, and you know it. Please don't let your personal feelings get in the way of the Kings getting back to the World Series, because I know Scott can carry the team there—on his back if he has to."
He finally meets my eyes, "You're no"—he pauses—"professional." He smacks his lips, straining to get it all out. "You're not cut out…for working with my…players." He takes a deep intake of air. "I'm this close…to firing you too." He glares at me, reduced to stuttering. "G-g-g-g-g…go."
I stand up, resting my hand on his shoulder. "But, Grandpa, please—"
"GO!" he shouts before slumping back against his chair, exhausted by the effort.
Alarmed, I back away, holding up my hands. "All right, all right. I'll leave. I don't want you getting all upset because of me."
He takes a few shaky breaths, giving me a brokenhearted look like I betrayed him or something, but I forge on. I need to defend myself, defend Scott.
"But, Grandpa, you were young once, too. Think back. Don't you remember what it was like? You can't control who you fall for. It just happens. Scott Harper is probably the last guy you'd ever choose for me, and up until a few weeks ago, I would've said the same thing. But no one makes me feel the way he does, Grandpa. He's not perfect, but he's try
ing, and that's all we can ever ask of someone, right?"
"Humph." He sulks, lowering his chin onto his chest.
"Grandpa, please take what I said into consideration. I'm begging you—don't do anything rash." I wring my hands in front of me. "I came here today because I wanted you to hear my side of the story. Scott's not a bad man, Grandpa. If you only knew how much being a King means to him."
"Mr. Heimlich, Terry's on the line for you."
I jump as Roberta enters the room behind me. I should have closed the door to cover my flank. She was probably listening the entire time. Maybe she even called Terry and told him that I was here in order to interrupt this little family powwow we have going on.
"I love you, Grandpa. I know you'll do the right thing." I blink back tears, calling out to him before Roberta can slip his headset over his ears in order to patch Terry through.
After connecting the call, she grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the room with her, shutting the door. "Carrie, I don't believe you! You came all the way here to tell your grandfather that you're sleeping with Scott Harper? Have you lost your mind?"
"Roberta, he's changed. Scott's not the guy he used to be." I try to stem the tears that are falling down my cheeks, realizing that Terry's most likely, at this very moment, relaying a plan about how to knock Scott off the team.
"Sure, he's singing a different tune now that he's banging the owner's granddaughter," Roberta remarks snidely. "He knows he has to watch his step."
I glare at her. "But that's not why he's—"
"Wake up, Carrie," she snaps. "Of course it is. You've got him shaking in his cleats. He knows he has to toe the line now. So that's why he's doing it. It's not because he has feelings for you or wants to be your boyfriend. The boy doesn't know what the word monogamous means."
I throw my shoulders back, standing up straight in my Jimmy Choos. "He's learning."
"So you think," she snipes back.
"Roberta, I don't want to get catty about this," I mutter even though it's already too late for that. "But you don't know him like I do. I've seen the real him, and he's a really great guy."
Perfect Game Page 17