Game For Love: Love Games (Kindle Worlds)

by Mara Jacobs

  Back at the hotel, Declan put the flash drive on the desk so he wouldn’t have to root around for it when the courier came. He went over to his suitcase to find the three flash drives he’d brought with him. The ones he’d made with Marlee. He pulled out four of the flash drive cartridges. That was weird. He could have sworn he’d only packed three. He’d only made three. He carried them all to the desk so he could sort them out. Three were clearly labeled “Wednesday,” “Thursday,” and “Friday,” writing with the Sharpie he’d done right there in the studio. He picked up the fourth drive. There was no writing, but there was a large red X.

  No way. Marlee had that drive.

  He picked up the cartridge and turned it over, unable to believe it was the drive that Marlee had taken. There was a piece of tape on the other side, like something had been attached to it. He rummaged deeper into his bag and felt a small piece of paper. A note. From Marlee.

  Declan’s palms suddenly became wet and he wished he had a towel snapped to his pants like he did during games so he could wipe his hands dry. He pulled out the folded paper and opened it up.

  Declan,

  I’m so sorry for the way I behaved last night. And I so enjoyed our incredible week. It’s unfortunate that our last night together was spent apart, but I can’t thank you enough for the best week of my life.

  I wanted to give you my copy of the tape so you would have both. It’s just my way of saying how much I trust you. And also, I thought I’d want to watch it over and over, but now I realize that it would be too painful for me, so I want you to have it.

  Marlee

  P.S. I would never had made a tape with Justin Jones—I didn’t trust him like I do you.

  Declan walked over to the bed, the note still in his hand, the drive placed on the desk next to the one from Rowdy. She signed it just plain “Marlee.” Not “love, Marlee.” Or “yours, Marlee.”

  Unbelievable. She’d given him the tape. She’d trusted him enough to give him both tapes. He let out a soft chuckle that turned into a gut-busting laugh as he thought of all the repercussions of her actions. And exactly what he’d done that Sunday morning in her room while she was making coffee.

  There was a soft knock on the door and Declan went to answer it, still holding the note and laughing. It was the courier coming for the tape. Beckoning the kid in, Declan went to the dresser to get his wallet for some money to tip the kid. After all, his future was in this scrawny, pimply faced kid’s hands.

  “The flash drive’s on the desk, there, kid. The one with the goofy markings.”

  Declan tipped him handsomely, sent him on his way after obliging the kid with an autograph, then went to the bed to sit down and grab his phone.

  He had to call her. It was too funny, and she’d see that. The tape would be a good opener, then they could laugh about how juvenile they’d been their last day. He’d ask her forgiveness about even bringing up Justin Jones. Then Declan would press her to see him again. He’d even fly on Saturday to wherever she was.

  If he remembered correctly, she was just getting to Duke today, her first lecture tomorrow, then just over to North Carolina for a Friday lecture.

  Declan put the phone down. He’d call her tomorrow night, after her first lecture. He’d have met with a couple of the networks by then and that would give him something to talk to her about in case she was being icy. Either way, Declan would melt her down somehow, until she agreed to see him again.

  They were not over. There was still a shot.

  Feeling born again, Declan threw on his jacket and headed out of the room, in search of some food. He didn’t even see the drive with Rowdy’s custom label on it sitting on the desk as he walked by.

  Marlee unpacked her bags in her hotel room in Chapel Hill. She stayed in the same room for several days while she made the stops of Duke and North Carolina, their campuses being so close. She was happy to see that her suits had made the flight without too much wrinkling. Hanging them up now would ensure that her navy one would be ready for her first lecture tomorrow night.

  She’d been pleased with her meeting with the secretary of education in DC, and felt she had an ally. Now, if she knocked it out of the park (she couldn’t believe she was using a baseball analogy!) at each of these universities, she could report back that the groundwork was in place for a sweeping initiative.

  Even though each stop was only for one or two nights, Marlee always completely unpacked her bags, putting things in the hotel drawers. It made it feel just a little more like home. And on this trip, Marlee needed that. Home had a warmer, more heartfelt longing attached to it now. Home made her think of Declan.

  The ache in her heart as she thought of Declan had almost become familiar to her. There was no cure, though Häagen-Dazs seemed to help. Until she realized that the ice cream made her think of Declan too. Maybe she should try chocolate.

  With her bags unpacked, she turned to her satchel where she had her notes for the lecture and the flash drive that held her PowerPoint and the video she opened with. She hadn’t needed them when she’d met with the secretary. She took them out and placed them on the table of her room, then went to put the satchel away, but was surprised by its bulk. Something was still in there. She looked inside and saw a blinding blast of yellow. Puzzled, she reached in to take it out. As soon as her hand touched the soft wool, her stomach clenched and her throat tightened.

  It was Declan’s scarf. He had given her his scarf.

  The scent of Declan seemed to emanate from the fabric, and it pulled at Marlee. It smelled of Declan and of Marlee and of Boston and of her home. Her senses began to shift.

  She pulled it fully out of the bag and went to wrap it around her but was stopped. The scarf was wrapped around something. She unwound the fabric, gently, as if what lay beneath was something fragile and breakable, just like Marlee’s nerves at the moment.

  As it became obvious that the object was a thumb drive, Marlee’s breath caught. No, it couldn’t be. She’d given their tape to Declan.

  She’d decided that Sunday morning that she would need closure. Much as she delighted in the idea of being able to view Declan and herself whenever she wanted, she knew that it would only torture her. Her heart breaking now was bad enough; she didn’t need to relive it whenever she became melancholy and decided to gaze upon the man she loved.

  And ultimately, she trusted Declan not to post the video anywhere public. She’d never truly trusted Justin enough to even make a tape with him, let alone give him sole ownership of the file.

  There was a note attached to the drive and she smiled at, once again, the similarities between herself and Declan. They had even used paper from the same tablet, the one on her desk at home.

  Marlee,

  I’m so sorry I ruined our last tonight together by bringing up your relationship with Justin. It was none of my business, and it was obvious he caused you a lot of pain. I can only hope that you don’t look back on our week together and have those memories bring you any pain.

  I also see what his cheating did to your trust, and what a gift it was that you made a copy of our tape for me. I would never betray that trust, but so you are never left doubting me—or us—I am giving it back to you, though it kills me to do so.

  So, here is the tape, you now have both to do with as you like.

  It was incredible, Marlee, I hope you know that.

  Declan

  Marlee didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and her body betrayed her by doing both. In some twisted O. Henry “Gift of the Magi” freaky way, she and Declan had exchanged tapes.

  God, she loved that man. God, she missed him.

  She read the note again, looking for any hidden meanings, but didn’t find any.

  God, could she ever just turn off her thoughts off, not have to think everything to death? That had been her problem all along, hadn’t it? Thinking too much, remembering Justin’s betrayal, and not just trusting her feelings. Trusting that she loved Declan.

  That Declan
would never betray her.

  Suddenly exhausted, she threw the drive back into her satchel and got out of her clothes. She let them fall to the floor and didn’t make a move to hang them up. She set the alarm and climbed into bed, clutching Declan’s note and wearing nothing but his scarf.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “What kind of perverted game are you playing with me, boy?” The burly man in a very expensive suit growled at Declan as an assistant led him into the man’s office.

  Not exactly the greeting Declan was expecting. This was the head of a network sports division? Declan had his hand outstretched to shake but quickly pulled it back. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, what kind of sick game are you playing here?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  The assistant, sensing an oncoming storm, turned and fled, closing the door and leaving Declan all alone with the executive. The office was palatial, with a majestic view of the city. It was also huge, and Declan was glad of that as it gave him some room to maneuver until he could figure out what had made Henry Albright so incensed.

  They’d never met before, but had spoken on the phone when Henry wanted to personally express his interest in having Declan join his team. He had been very jovial on the phone, very ingratiating. Not at all like the man now in front of him—red in the face with rage, all seemingly aimed at Declan.

  “Mr. Albright. Henry. I’m sorry, I really don’t have any idea what your talking about.”

  “That goddamn tape of yours that’s what I’m talking about.” He had risen from his chair and was standing behind his desk, pointing an accusatory finger at Declan.

  Declan was at a loss. What on the tape had made Henry lose it this way? Could he really be that bad that this guy was furious that Declan was wasting his precious time? Wouldn’t his agent, Alan, or Rowdy have let him know if that was the case so he wouldn’t be put in any embarrassing situations? Like this one.

  This guy may be a tough critic, but Declan’s audition tape wasn’t that bad. It must be something else.

  Declan eased his way toward the desk, not wanting to make any sudden moves, and lowered himself into one of the chairs that faced Henry. “Henry, sit down and tell me what this is all about. I’m not making any sense of this.”

  “I’ll have you know my ten-year-old grandson watched that tape. Or the first thirty seconds of it until I could find the remote and shut the filth off.” Henry sat, calming just a fraction, but his face was still beet red.

  “What filth? You thought my audition tape was filth?” As Declan said it, he got just a hint of a tremor in his gut. The kind he felt when he’d thrown a touchdown pass but saw a ref throw a flag. It was the waiting to find out what was wrong than made him feel this way. He had an inkling of what might have made Henry label his audition tape filth, but he needed to wait to see what the ruling was.

  “If that was an audition tape, then what the hell kind of job were you auditioning for? Gigolo?”

  The tremor descended into full-fledged ache in his gut as Declan, now sure what had happened, but hoping for a miracle, continued, “Henry, what exactly was on that DVD?”

  Henry looked at Declan, his temper calming as he realized that maybe Declan was truly unaware of what had happened. He took the DVD from his desk drawer and threw it at Declan. “See for yourself.” He motioned to the wall that held an elaborate entertainment center.

  Declan got out of his chair, and, like the walk of a man on death row, made his way to the DVD player. He put in the disc and turned on the TV, but he knew what would be on the screen before he hit the button. He was right. It was he and Marlee, making love on the desk.

  If it hadn’t been for the surrounding circumstances, Declan would have pulled up a chair and watched his beautiful Marlee, but he rapidly hit the stop button and ejected the DVD. He carried it back to the chair and sat down. He could barely raise his head to make eye contact, but he did. “Henry, I don’t know what to say. Obviously there’s been a horrible mistake.”

  “Then you didn’t purposely send me that tape?”

  “Hell no.”

  Henry seemed to relax at that. “I hoped not. We’ve never met, Declan, but I’d like to think I’m a good judge of character and I was quite shocked when I received this and thought this was your idea of a joke.”

  “No, no. It was no joke. The courier took the wrong flash drive from my hotel room yesterday.” The two men sat in silence, neither one knowing what to say. “Henry, you said your grandson saw this?”

  “Yes. He and his parents were having dinner at my house last night. I had taken the DVD home to watch it there so I could be prepared when we met this morning. Aaron—that’s my grandson—he’s a big fan of yours so I let him watch it with me. Needless to say, we were both rather upset.”

  Declan hung his head, “Henry, I’m so sorry. It was never my intention for anyone to see this tape. Ever.”

  “I believe you, Declan, but next time you’re going to tape yourself with some floozy, you better be more careful with the end result.”

  Even though he knew he had no grounds for outrage, Declan felt his temper rise. “She’s no floozy, Henry. She’s the woman I love.”

  “Be that as it may, we have no room for a man whose, shall we say, indiscretions could so easily fall into the hands of tabloid journalists. I’m sorry, Declan, but we’re going to pass.”

  “Of course, Henry, I understand.” Declan started to walk toward the door, the DVD in his hand, still in a state of shock.

  “Declan?”

  “Yes?” He turned to face Henry and was surprised to see a look of compassion on the older man’s face.

  “That DVD was only in my possession, and you have it back, but I’m assuming you sent the tape to the other networks as well…” He let the thought reach Declan.

  “Oh my God.” Declan ran to the door with the speed of the league’s fastest running back while also reaching in his pocket for his phone.

  He had called Alan on his cell as he’d left Henry Albright’s office and, without going into too much detail, had Alan call all the execs he was to meet with and cancel. He needed to get those DVDs back personally, no trusting couriers or underlings for this, and he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on selling himself to executives until he did.

  Alan tried to talk him out of canceling. “You don’t cancel on these people, Declan. We’ve had these meetings set up for months. These next few weeks is when they’re shoring up their personnel for next season, you need to be seen now.”

  “Alan, it’s not going to happen. I have to get those tapes back, and then I have to go see Marlee.”

  “Again with this Marlee person. Would you just get her out of your system so we can concentrate on business?”

  “That’s not going to happen either. Just make the calls, Alan, and I’ll call you when I’ve got the tapes back.”

  After three days of nonstop running all over New York City and Connecticut, Declan had all the DVDs back in his possession. He he’d gone to each network after he left Henry Albright, trying to track the things down. He’d been lucky. Two of the network honchos hadn’t even viewed it yet. They were still in the sealed courier pouch.

  It was now Sunday afternoon and Declan was back in his hotel room in New York with all the DVDs. He destroyed them all but his original one, the one on the flash drive with the red X. He logically knew he should destroy that one too, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  He had to talk to Marlee, and what he had to say needed to be said face to face. He had all the DVDs back, but he had no idea if there were any copies out there floating around. The DVD in Connecticut had taken several days to get his hands on—any tech or coffee boy could have made a copy of it and could be sending it off to some tabloid at this moment. Or posted it anywhere online.

  He’d done a quick search to see if maybe anybody had posted it, but thankfully nothing turned up.

  He needed to tell Marlee that it was a possibility. Re
mote, yes, but a possibility nonetheless. He would never forgive himself if Marlee saw footage of herself and Declan on TV or the internet before Declan could talk to her. She would think he did it with the tape she’d given him. With the note that said she trusted him.

  He called her phone several times but she didn’t pick up. He didn’t want to leave a voicemail, but after the fourth try he finally did. Not about to tell her over the phone that there was a possibility their sex tape might end up online, Declan just asked her to call him as soon as she could.

  Not knowing if she’d call him back, or if she’d even listen to his voicemail, he pulled out the copy he had made of Marlee’s itinerary. She would be arriving in Gainesville tonight, with a lecture at the University of Florida tomorrow night. He called the hotel that was listed on her itinerary and was surprised to find that the reservation for Marlee Reeves had been canceled. Odd.

  He called the hotel in Chapel Hill where she had stayed until this morning. They said she had checked out on Friday. That was even more odd. She was lecturing at North Carolina on Friday night and then had Saturday off which she was spending in Chapel Hill before flying to Gainesville on Sunday. Why would she check out of her hotel Friday morning?

  Declan looked through Marlee’s itinerary. On the back were names and phone numbers of the contacts she worked with at each university. He called the North Carolina number. It was for a man named Thornton Grant, and apparently he was high up in the Communications Department.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, I’m trying to reach a Thornton Grant.”

  “This is Thornton Grant.”

  “Mr. Grant, I’m trying to reach Professor Marlee Reeves. She had you down as a contact for —”

  “I have no contact whatsoever with Ms. Reeves from this point on.” His voice had an uppity quality to it that put Declan on alert.

  “But did you see Ms. Reeves on Friday? Did you see her when she lectured at your university?”

  “Ms. Reeves did not lecture here on Friday. We, at the University of North Carolina, have very high moral standards attached with those that we invite to speak at our university, and Ms. Reeves is not among those who qualify.”