"Next meeting," he agreed. "You always did know how to lead this group," Uncle Yank said, chuckling.
"That's my job." Annabelle forced a laugh but his words sobered her as the past came back all too clearly, Little did Uncle Yank know, she'd had to take on the role of leader and peacekeeper.
As the oldest sibling when their parents died, the fear of being separated from her sisters lived in Annabelle's heart. She was the only one who'd heard the social worker's threat to the lawyer. If Uncle Yank, the bachelor, balked at taking the girls or if he screwed up in any way, they'd end up in foster care. Nobody would have wanted to adopt kids their age, especially all three of them. Keeping the family together had become Annabelle's obsession. So any time Sophie and Micki argued, those words came back to haunt Annabelle.
"So, on to discussing the potential new client?" Lola asked.
Annabelle was grateful for the subject change. "Who?" she asked.
Sophie and Micki exchanged looks, a sure sign they already knew.
"Brandon Vaughn," Micki said, practically jumping out of her seat to be the first to tell.
"The Heisman winner and Dallas's franchise player until he blew out his knee," Sophie said, proud of her ability to spout from memory.
"A Hall of Famer and Uncle Yank's prize client until the guy bailed on him after his injury," Lola continued to enlighten them.
As if Annabelle could forget. She'd been away at school at the time of his departure. But that hadn't been the end of Brandon Vaughn.
"We were introduced at a charity event a few years ago," Annabelle murmured aloud. His blue eyes were mesmerizing and when he'd looked at her, it was as if no other woman existed. Not even the bimbo on his arm.
He'd also carried a cocky air, the one that informed her I know you want me, baby, and every other woman in the room does, too. Unfortunately he was the exact kind of man that drew Annabelle the most. She admired his kind of sexy self-confidence. Too bad it was always her undoing.
As were his looks. Silky black hair, chiseled features and he filled out his tuxedo like no man she'd seen before or since. She remembered thinking it was a good thing he was no longer involved with her uncle or she'd be in big trouble. Just the very thought of him caused swells of anticipation and lust to flow through Annabelle's veins like honey. And oh how she loved the silken smooth taste of honey, she thought.
Annabelle swallowed hard. "What does Vaughn want after all this time?"
Her uncle let out a low, threatening growl. "It'd better be to kiss my ass. The only reason I'm even seeing him is that Lola here insisted I take the appointment." He jerked his pencil Lola's way.
"Rumor has it his ex-wife was calling the shots in the old days." As usual, Micki offered the voice of reason and understanding, defending the ball player no matter what.
"I've met the man," Annabelle said. His rugged features and come-hither grin were now firmly in her mind again. "And somehow I can't imagine any woman pulling him around by his ba-er, jock strap," she said, catching sight of Uncle Yank's scowl and moderating her choice of words accordingly. "He's a jock through and through."
Sophie nodded. "Which makes him good for one thing only."
"Amen," Annabelle said, knowing exactly what her sister meant. She'd been drawn to Vaughn back then, and considering the sexual drought she'd been in for the last six months-eight if she counted the dwindling days of Randy Dalton's interest-Annabelle found herself longing for that one particular thing Brandon Vaughn had to offer.
"How soon did you two say you could wrap up your current clients?" she asked her sisters, hopefully. She had no desire to take on Uncle Yank's newest client alone.
Sophie and Micki eyed each other knowingly, a conspiratorial glimmer in each of their eyes. "We didn't," they said at the same time.
Annabelle had seen that glimmer when they were kids. She'd seen it again at the mention of Vaughn's name. It wasn't often those two grouped together, but when they did, Annabelle was usually the target.
"Neither of us is free now. And we won't be for a while." This from Sophie.
"A long while," Micki added.
Annabelle rolled her eyes. It figured. For once, and at her expense, the bickering duo decided to agree.
CHAPTER TWO
BRANDON VAUGHN HATED EATING crow. He hated admitting defeat even more. So as he stood outside The Hot Zone offices for his meeting with Yank Morgan, he was in a stinking foul mood, even if seeing the old man was exactly what he needed to set right both the past and his future.
"Mr. Morgan will see you now." Lola, the same assistant Yank had had since the old days, gestured toward the closed office door.
Her assessing brown-eyed gaze followed him as he rose from his seat. "You look good, Brandon." She was one of the few people other than his parents to call him by his first name.
"Not that you couldn't stand to get some more sleep, judging from those dark circles under your eyes, but you're still a handsome devil," she said with a warm smile and a wink.
Obviously she didn't hold a grudge over his leaving all those years ago, but Vaughn doubted Yank felt the same.
"You're looking mighty fine yourself, honey" In fact, though likely somewhere in her mid- to late-fifties, Lola didn't look a day over forty. "I hope the old man's treating you right?"
Lola shrugged. "He hasn't changed a bit."
Vaughn accepted her cryptic answer. He'd learned if he didn't pry into other people's lives, they tended to leave his secrets alone.
But obviously Yank still didn't see the prize that was right in front of him, and as Vaughn passed Lola's desk, he couldn't help but pause. "Maybe if you loosened things up around here, Yank would do the same." He tugged playfully on the collar of her blouse.
"You may have a point." Lola's eyes narrowed, as she mulled over his words. "The girls have been telling me the same thing."
The girls. Wrong damn word, Vaughn thought. Yank's nieces were all women. Three beautiful women, but he'd only be willing to work with two of them. Micki knew her way around a locker room like any guy, and Sophia was an expert with numbers and PR. Both enjoyed stellar reputations in the business. So did Annabelle, but he had his reasons for not wanting to work with Yank's oldest niece.
The blond-haired, blue-eyed, sexpot was hoc stuff. She made headlines as often as he had and her tendency to appear more like a groupie than a professional made her bad business in Vaughn's mind. As was getting involved with Yank's niece. And if he worked alongside her, he'd be tempted to do just that.
He'd met Annabelle once before when she'd been on the arm of her client of the moment. Their eyes had met, held and the hit had been harder than any he'd taken in the field. He'd known then just as he did now, Annabelle Jordan meant trouble.
Without warning the intercom buzzed. Lola pressed the button and Yank roared, "Well, is that son of a bitch coming in or is he gonna make me wait until I'm old and gray?"
"You're already gray," Lola shot back, then glanced at Vaughn and spoke, lowering her voice. "No need to tell him he's already a crotchety old coot" she said laughing. "I guess he's ready to see you, Brandon."
Vaughn treated Lola to one of his cocky grins. Nobody had ever seen him sweat and he refused to start now. Even if he'd rather deal with the physical agony of destroying his knee again than face the old man.
Vaughn strode inside. Yank Morgan looked as imposing as Vaughn remembered him, with just a few extra gray hairs sprinkling his wild hair and thick beard.
"Hey, Pop," Vaughn said, using the nickname he'd adopted for Yank.
The other man scowled. "Pop's reserved for family and friends. Not lowlife, back-stabbing-"
Vaughn rolled his eyes. Plenty of players left their agents and moved on. It was a fact of the business. "I don't blame you for being pissed, but lowlife snake? You can do better than that," he said, pushing Yank's buttons on purpose. At least this way the old guy would get it all out of his system and they could move forward.
"How about damn stupid,
dumb-ass jock who let a woman lead him around by his-"
"That'll do," Vaughn muttered. The cold, hard truth still hurt. "Now are you going to forgive me or do I turn around and walk out the door for good?"
As Vaughn waited, his heart pounded hard in his chest while the deafening silence gave him too much time for unwanted memories to return. He'd missed the older man and suddenly even his professional reasons for returning to Yank's agency weren't as important as the man's forgiveness.
From the first day they'd met, Yank had provided all the praise and pride Vaughn's own parents had withheld.
Vaughn's Heisman Trophy, two Superbowl rings, and Hall of Fame induction meant nothing to Theodore Vaughn. In his embarrassed father's mind, Vaughn was still the pathetic son who'd only graduated high school then college because his teachers had looked the other way in deference to the school's athletic program. And his mother had stood by her man, to hell with her child. All Estelle's efforts went into the superficial. Creating the perfect-looking home, becoming the perfect-looking wife, and cementing the perception of…well, perfection.
Yank had not only represented Vaughn's interests in the first Dallas deal, but had cared about him, too. He'd straightened Vaughn's ass out in all the ways that counted. And he'd been repaid with Vaughn's betrayal.
"I heard you kicked your wife to the curb," Yank said, finally breaking the oppressive silence by mentioning the woman who'd caused the trouble.
"Yeah." Laura was a lesson Vaughn had learned the hard way. Before her, he'd kept all women at a distance, sticking to quickie sex and leaving right after. He never believed a woman would accept him, flaws and all.
Then came Laura, a high school teacher who'd convinced him to trust her, but after his injury, he'd quickly discovered she wasn't the soft-spoken woman he'd thought understood him. She'd changed into a money-hungry, self-indulgent, control freak and Vaughn had never seen it happen. He'd been too caught up in the game, because the game was all he'd had to define himself.
So while Vaughn was laid up in the hospital with a concussion and a potentially career-ending hit to the knee, Laura had made a deal with Spencer Atkins, Associates, Yank's PR rival. She'd talked Vaughn into leaving Yank at a time when he was out of his mind with painkillers and fear. She'd claimed she'd had his best interests at heart and so he'd stood by the deal she'd made in a stupid attempt to believe he had both a marriage and a career. In reality the two had already ended.
"Laura got the bars I opened in D.C., N.Y and Dallas and I got my freedom," Vaughn said with no small amount of satisfaction.
"How do I know you've learned your lesson?" Yank asked. But the rough timbre of his voice told Vaughn he was softening toward him.
"Would I be here groveling if I hadn't?"
A smile lifted Yank's mouth. "So tell me what you're doing here."
Vaughn knew that was as much of an I forgive you as he was likely to get from Yank Morgan.
He'd take it. And now they'd gotten to the heart of the matter. "I'm this close to opening a lodge in Greenlawn, my old hometown upstate."
Yank leaned closer, squinting. "And why the hell would you want to do that?"
He understood Yank's question. With all the recent aggravation, Vaughn often needed to remind himself of why it was important for this venture to succeed. "It's going to be a winter retreat for affluent adults and a school/summer camp for special kids." Kids whose education fell short, who slipped through the cracks, and who couldn't read as well as others.
A silent moment of understanding passed between them. Because Yank knew Vaughn's secret, the weakness he never showed or shared, he had no doubt the other man would understand Vaughn's reasons for the lodge without him having to go into detail.
Sure enough, Yank nodded slowly. "So what's the problem then?"
"The shit started hitting the fan."
Yank raised an eyebrow and leaned back laughing. "I assume you don't mean that literally?"
"I'm renovating an old hotel. Problems started with incomplete deliveries, then some missed orders altogether. Finally a few of the construction crews failed to show on time. In each case they claimed I'd called to reschedule."
"Did you?" Yank asked.
"Hell no! We're already behind. I'd announced a Thanksgiving opening and the way things are going we'll be lucky to have guests by Christmas."
Yank grimaced. "Any chance your assistant or secretary made the changes?"
"Not if they wanted to live," he said with certainty. Besides he'd already grilled the entire staff over the possibility. "Nobody rescheduled. Just like nobody who works for me started the rumor that there're termites in the building when there isn't a bug to be found."
He slammed his hand on the desk, his frustration returning. "I need good publicity and quick, or I stand to lose my entire investment. If I don't get paying guests in time for this winter, I'll lose the funding for next summer."
Then the kids would miss out. Not just on fun but on the opportunity to work with qualified teachers who'd help them with their educational problems in time for the school year.
Yank rubbed his hands together in thought. "You need Annabelle."
"Sophie," Vaughn said at the same time, thinking of the jock-hating sister.
Yank laughed, his eyes glowing with pride now that the subject had turned to the nieces he adored.
"Hey, I saw what Sophie did to turn Contreras's PGA amusement park from a kiddie snack shack into a high-class establishment," Vaughn said, pressing his case.
"Sophie was darn good for Contreras but only because she doesn't consider golfers athletes. She wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole and besides she's busy making sure my biggest moneymaker and pain in the ass behaves going into his next contract negotiation."
At Yank's declaration, Vaughn knew Sophie wasn't an option. "I'll take Micki, then. The folks in town will like her."
No small consideration. Whichever sister took this job would have to spend time in his small hometown of Greenlawn. Get to know the people. Be in close contact with Vaughn. And Annabelle was too much, too everything, to do his lodge or his reputation any good. At this point, his success was tied to both.
"Besides from what I've read this is right up her alley. She knows how to turn a bad situation into a golden one."
"Yessiree, Micki can handle any jock. You've got my niece's numbers " Yank said. "Only problem is Micki's already busy doing just that. The only one who's free to take care of your problems is Annabelle."
Vaughn broke into a heated sweat.
"Annabelle's a real people person," Yank continued, his voice not leaving room for argument. "She's smart, she's savvy, and she can handle herself in a big city or a small town. She thrives on crisis management and can turn any bad play into a touchdown." Arms folded across his wide chest, Yank looked him in the eye, then went for the kill. "You trust me, don't you? That's why you came back, isn't it?"
All the guilt and betrayal Vaughn had lived with for years came flooding back. He owed Yank Morgan for treating him with respect and caring. If working with and placing his trust in Annabelle was the way to repay him, then Vaughn had no choice.
"Okay," he said, decision made, even if his stomach was now in knots. "Annabelle's the one for the job."
Without warning, Yank's office door swung open wide. As if summoned, Annabelle breezed inside and Vaughn's gut churned with sudden, burning need. She hadn't changed. She was a blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty who had really grown into her looks. Her features were patrician but her attitude and swagger were all New York chic.
Without sparing him a glance, she placed an obviously designer bag, not that Vaughn knew which designer, onto her uncle's desk. "You'll never guess what I've got in here."
She glanced up then, and stopped short, meeting Vaughn's gaze. Her porcelain-like skin flushed a damned attractive shade of pink and he was glad he affected her, too.
Her gaze darted to Yank. "Lola wasn't at her desk so I just let myself in."
"Not a problem. We were just talking about you. You're just in time to meet your newest client. Vaughn, meet Annie," Yank said.
The childhood nickname didn't suit the elegant woman, but did provide him with an intimate glance into her personal life, and the heat pulsing through him increased.
As she stepped back to appraise him, Vaughn watched closely, deciding he'd take his cues from her.
"Everyone in the business knows Brandon Vaughn," she said, obviously playing to his ego. "But I think I told you we've been introduced before."
If she was flustered, she no longer showed it. Instead she stepped toward him. "Nice to see you again." She extended her hand in greeting.
He gripped her soft palm in return. What should have been a brief, businesslike handshake was electrified by a sizzling connection instead. He might have sucked in school but he knew chemistry and theirs was just as strong as it had been at their first meeting.
"Nice to know I still have a reputation to speak of." He forced a laugh.
"So we're working together," she said, her voice a touch hoarser than before.
"Your uncle thinks we'll make a good team."
"I'm sure you were mistaken," she said, her eyes suddenly twinkling with challenge. "Uncle Yank knows I work solo. Any client I take on has got to agree to play by my rules and follow my cue. Otherwise I can't promise results."
"I'm sure we'll find some middle ground," he assured her, not glancing at Yank who merely watched from the sidelines, leaving Vaughn to deal with his last choice of Yank's nieces. "So what's in the bag?" he asked.
She unzipped the top and pulled out a mutt that was nothing short of a ball of frazzled fluff. The white dog looked like an oversize cotton ball but for the patch of black hair over one eye.
"What the hell is that?" Yank leaned forward for a closer look, squinting as he examined the dog.
"According to the shelter, he's a coton de tulear."
"A what?" Brandon asked.
"A coton," Annabelle explained. "Like a bichon frise," she said, as if that made any more sense.
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