Hot Shot

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  He blinked his eyes. Picked up his suit coat. Screw her. He didn't need Susannah. He didn't need anybody. The world of ideas stretched before him, and that was enough.

  He ran the collar of his suit coat through his fingers. Then he lifted his eyes to Yank's. "Victors is your game, isn't it?"

  Yank nodded slowly. "It was the last game I invented. Right before you made me leave Atari."

  "Why didn't you ever tell us?"

  "You all kept going on about it. I was embarrassed. I meant to tell you, but then I waited too long, and it got awkward."

  Sam could have cried foul, but Yank was the greatest engineer he'd ever met, and he deserved respect. "It's a good game, Yank," he said huskily. "A real good game."

  He turned to walk out the door.

  And collided with Mitchell Blaine.

  Mitch exploded into the office. His face was flushed, his blue dress shirt stuck to his chest with sweat. His light blue eyes held a savage, awful gleam none of them had ever seen before. "What in the goddamn everlasting hell is going on here?" he roared.

  Paige's feet seemed to move of their own volition as she raced toward him and threw her small body into his arms. Safe, solid Mitch. He was as good as a daddy. The only force of stability in a world filled with familiar people gone crazy. She had telephoned him right away, as soon as she had realized they were actually going to play this crazy game. But he hadn't gotten here in time.

  "You're too late," she said. "It's over."

  Mitch circled Paige's shoulders and hugged her against him. His arm was strong and protective, like her father's should have been when she was a child. She wanted to cuddle up against him and let him keep the wolves away.

  "Somebody'd better start talking fast," he hissed, hugging her close. "Right now. Susannah, tell me what happened."

  She shrugged with all the nonchalance of SysVal's unshakable corporate president-the valiant female warrior who had taken on everything and everybody who had threatened her company. But as she watched her sister cuddled into Mitch's big arms, her bottom lip began to quiver. "Yank won me."

  Mitch's eyes shot to Yank. He pierced him with an icy gaze as deadly as any of Victors' missiles. "What does that mean?"

  "It's very simple, Mitch," Yank said. "Sam refused to accept the fact that Susannah no longer wanted him in her life, so he and I had a contest. Whoever won got to take her to bed. I won."

  Somewhere in Mitch's solid thirty-eight-year-old body, the reflexes of an Ohio State wide receiver still existed. With a muffled roar, he released Paige, shot over the corner of the desk, and charged straight for Yank Yankowski.

  Yank went down immediately.

  Paige screamed, Susannah yelled, both women raced across the small office and threw themselves on Mitch, one of them pulling at his legs, the other at his arms.

  "Get off!" Paige screamed, straddling his hips. "Get off, you'll kill him!"

  Susannah grabbed a handful of blue Oxford-cloth dress shirt (light starch only) and pulled. "Stop, Mitch. No! Don't do this!"

  Sam stood by the doorway and watched the four of them grappling on the floor. God, he was going to miss this place.

  Susannah lost one of her high heels. Paige knocked a Rolodex to the floor and the cards went skidding everywhere. The glowing screen of the Victors game flickered above them.

  Mitch shook off the women, pulled Yank to his feet, and slammed him against a dividing partition. The partition promptly collapsed, sending the men crashing into the next office.

  Sam watched it all, took in the expressions on their faces, and finally understood how these people fit together. This was the vision that had escaped him, the one he had been too preoccupied to see. He shook his head at his own stupidity.

  "Let him go, Mitch!" Susannah cried. She had a death grip on one of Mitch's arms. But something distracted her, a small movement in the periphery of her vision. She twisted her head and caught sight of Sam just as he was turning to leave the office.

  He gazed back at her. She sucked in her breath as she saw the resignation in his eyes, and realized that he had finally let her go. "So long, babe," he said. "See you around."

  For the briefest of moments, their eyes locked, and then she nodded her head in a final gesture of farewell toward her first true love. Good-bye, Sam Gamble. Godspeed.

  His mouth curled in that old cocky grin, the grin of the motorcycle pirate who had stolen her away from her wedding and reshaped her destiny. Then he turned his back on all of them and set out to conquer another brave new world.

  The loudspeaker began to play "Twist and Shout."

  "Fight, dammit!" Mitch ordered. He sounded mean, but he was having difficulty summoning the will to smash in the face of an opponent who was proving to be so pathetically inept. "Fight me, you son of a bitch!"

  But Yank was mystified when it came to physical violence. Although he found he rather liked the idea of finally being in a fight after all these years, he didn't really like fighting. There was no time to think anything through. No time to ponder or plan.

  In actuality, Mitch was having more trouble with the women than he was having with Yank. The Faulconer sisters hung onto him like burrs. No sooner had he shaken off one than the other came back again. Paige had him by the neck, Susannah was pulling on his middle. His knee was starting to hurt, and he had banged up his elbow when the partition collapsed. What in the hell was he doing? He was thirty-eight years old, father of two, a member of the United Way Board of Directors. What in the sweet hell did he think he was doing?

  He let go of Yank and loosened Paige's grip from around his neck. When Susannah realized he had stopped the fight, she relaxed the arm that had been clamped around his waist.

  Yank was blinking his eyes. Mitch glared at him. "You're not taking Susannah to bed."

  "No." Yank blinked. "No, I don't think that would be a good idea at all."

  There was a long silence. Mitch stared at Yank. Then at Susannah. All the tension left his body like air from an overinflated balloon.

  Yank continued to blink. "I'm sorry, but I seem to have lost my contact lens."

  Then they were all down on the floor, relieved to have an excuse to pull themselves back together while they crawled around to find Yank's lens. Paige located it, still intact, under one of the Rolodex cards. Mitch straightened his necktie and rubbed his sore elbow. Susannah looked for her shoe.

  "It's difficult…" Yank said, after he had inserted his lens and inspected a scraped knuckle. "It's difficult to see exactly how we might extract ourselves from this. Sam and I had a deal. I'm not proud of the fact that I didn't behave in an entirely honorable fashion. I should have told him I'd invented Victors, of course. But in any case, two wrongs don't make a right. Sam and I had a deal, and I have a certain obligation."

  Now Susannah was the one who wanted to smack him. She stalked toward Yank, wobbling because she still hadn't found her shoe. "Yank, will you let it rest? It's over. The contest was meaningless."

  To her astonishment, Mitch began to yell at her. "Shut up, Susannah! You may be dynamite when it comes to running a corporation, but you're hopeless when it comes to organizing your love life. I've let all this go on far too long. For six weeks I've been walking around with my tail tucked between my legs waiting for you to stop looking like you're going to break in half. Well, I've had enough!"

  "Don't you dare talk to me like that!"

  "I'll talk to you any way I like. Right now, I'm in charge." He spun toward Yank. "Let's make a side deal."

  "A side deal? Yes. Yes, I think that's a good idea."

  Paige's heart began an arhythmic thumping against her ribs.

  "How do you want to go about it?" Mitch asked, all business now that he was once again in control. "Your deal, your call."

  Yank was thoughtful. "Perhaps you could make me a monetary offer for her. That should make it official."

  Mitch had cut his teeth on making deals, and he knew how to go for a quick kill. "I'll give you five dollars."
r />   "Five dollars!" Susannah lurched toward them. "Did you say five dollars?"

  "That would be fine," Yank replied. "If you don't mind, I'd prefer cash. I lose checks."

  Mitch reached for his wallet and flipped it open. "I only have a couple of twenties. Do you have change?"

  Yank pulled out his own wallet and inspected its contents. "I'm sorry. I only seem to have a twenty myself. Paige?"

  Paige nearly lost her balance as she scrambled for her purse. But her hands were trembling so much she couldn't find anything. In desperation, she emptied the contents out on the desk, sending lipsticks rolling and chewing gum flying. Frantically, she snatched up her wallet and pulled open the dollar-bill compartment, breathing so fast she was dizzy. "No, no, I don't," she sobbed. "Oh, God. I've only got a fifty. What good in the world is a fifty?" And then she turned to Mitch and screamed, "For God's sake, give him the twenty!"

  Susannah had to make some attempt to reassert her dignity. In a voice as chill as the polar ice cap, she said, "If this is an auction, I'll put in twenty and buy myself back."

  "It's not an auction," Yank said firmly. "That would be demeaning."

  Paige started to choke. Yank tapped her gently on the back.

  Mitch passed over the twenty. "I want my change back."

  Yank nodded and drew Paige toward him. For a moment he closed his eyes as his bruised jaw came to rest on the top of her head.

  Paige settled against his chest. And then she stiffened as she remembered everything he had put her through.

  Yank had been fighting over Susannah. Three men had been fighting over her sister. Not one, but three! Didn't anyone remember that she was the pretty one? Didn't anyone remember that she was the one men went crazy over?

  Yank remembered. He stared down at her, this beautiful blond creature he had fallen so desperately in love with. She was every girl who had passed him by, every girl who had laughed at his awkwardness and then ignored his existence. All his life he had stood on the sidelines and watched women like Paige Faulconer walk right past without even seeing him. But now that was over.

  Who could ever have imagined that someone like Paige could have fallen in love with someone like him? And he knew she loved him. He had felt the way their souls matched up right from the beginning, that night on the beach in Naxos. But he had wanted the two of them to last forever, and so he had given her time and all the room she needed to adjust, even though from that very first evening he had wanted to bind her to him so tightly she could never get away.

  And tonight he had frightened her to death. What he had done for Susannah had hurt her badly. She was in a huff. He could see that, all right. Now he had to make it up.

  "Susannah, I won't be in to work for several days," he said. "Paige and I need some time alone together."

  Paige curled her lip and flashed her eyes just like a prom queen who had been forced to dance with the ugliest boy in the class. "I wouldn't go anywhere with you if you were the last man on earth. You're a nerd! A complete and total nerd!"

  Yank took his time to consider his options. He had a scientist's passion for the truth. Tricking Sam had made him miserable, even though he had done it for the best of reasons. He had offended his own moral sensibilities once tonight. He certainly couldn't offend them twice.

  Could he?

  "Very well, Paige," he said. "Susannah, would it be possible for you to drive me to the doctor's office? My arm is a bit sore. I'm certain it's not broken, however-"

  Oh, Lord, he could hardly breathe as Paige cradled his arm and cooed over him and made him feel as if he were a bronzed California surfer god with sculptured muscles, a white zinc nose, and a brain too small to ever cause the slightest bit of trouble.

  Susannah watched the two of them leave. They were wrapped together as if they'd been born that way. Silence hung thick and heavy in the office. Mitch stood by the doorway, one hand resting loosely on the hip of his navy-blue trousers, the other at his side.

  Susannah was so nervous she could hardly think. For months she had been on a wild roller-coaster ride as she realized that she loved Mitch and tried to lock her feelings away because she thought he loved her sister. Now she wanted him to take her in his arms and speak all those tender phrases she yearned to hear. But he wasn't saying a word.

  She filled up the silence with chatter. "There's not one thing wrong with Yank's arm. He's manipulating her. I swear, Yank's getting stranger all the time. And my sister…" Her voice faded. Didn't Mitch care for her? She told herself that he had to care, or he wouldn't have gone so crazy with Yank.

  She studied a point on the wall just past his shoulder. "I thought you and Paige…"

  Mitch didn't say anything. He just stood there and looked at her.

  His look was definitely possessive. She remembered the five dollars, and she could feel her cheeks growing hot. Did he really think he'd bought her from Yank?

  She lowered herself to the floor and made a great business out of looking for her shoe. Anything to avoid looking at Mitch. She peered under the desk, under the credenza, over by the doorway. Mitch's shoes were there. Unlike hers, they were on his feet. Polished black wing tips peeking out from between neatly creased navy-blue slacks.

  The silence was growing more oppressive. Her cheeks still felt hot. She jumped as her shoe dropped in front of her.

  Just as she picked it up, two strong hands pulled her to her feet. Mitch looked quite stern, perhaps a bit dangerous. "Your divorce isn't final yet. As soon as it is, you and I have an appointment in the bedroom."

  At first she thought he said boardroom. You and I have an appointment in the boardroom. She was so shaken that she heard him wrong. And by the time she realized what he had actually said, he was on his way out of the office.

  She gritted her teeth. Oh, no. It wasn't going to be all business. No way. If Mr. Stuffed Shirt thought it was going to be all business, he'd better think again. She flung her shoe at the door.

  His reflexes were quick, and she hadn't been trying to hit him anyway, so the shoe missed him by a yard. That didn't seem to appease him, however.

  He turned back to her, crossed his arms over his chest and said with a deadly quiet, "You've got thirty seconds, Susannah."

  "For what?"

  "To stop acting like a feather-headed female and decide what you want."

  "I-I don't know what you mean."

  "Twenty-five seconds."

  "Stop bullying me."

  "Eighteen."

  "You're a real jerk, do you know that?"

  "Fifteen."

  "Why does it have to be me?"

  "Twelve."

  "Why can't you say it?"

  "Ten."

  "All right. I'll say it!"

  "Five."

  "I love you, you jerk!"

  "Damn right, you do. And don't you forget it."

  He still looked as mad as hell, but something warm and wonderful was opening inside of Susannah. She wanted to slide into his arms and stay there forever. What was it about Mitchell Blaine's arms that made a woman want to lose herself in them? Moving forward, she placed her open palms on his chest. She could feel his heart racing just as hard as hers. She shut her eyes and lifted her mouth toward his.

  He groaned, caught her wrists and set her firmly away from him. "Not yet," he said hoarsely. "I bought you, and I'm in charge."

  Her eyes snapped open. "You're kidding."

  He gave her that narrow-eyed look he turned on competitors when he was bargaining for position. "Legally, you're still a married woman. And I'm not going to touch you until your divorce is final, because once I get started with you, I don't intend to stop."

  She repressed a delicious shiver of anticipation, and then frowned. "It's going to be another month, Mitch. That's a long time."

  "Use it well."

  "Me?"

  He gave her his best steely-eyed glare, but she saw these funny little lights dancing in those light blue irises. "You might as well know right now, Susannah, th
at I expect value for my money."

  The sound that slipped through her lips was a garbled combination of laughter and outrage. She decided two could play his game. Recovering quickly, she sauntered back over to him and slipped her fingers underneath his necktie knot. "I know exactly what I've got to offer. You're the unproven commodity."

  "Now that is exactly the sort of disrespect we're going to have to work hard to correct." His voice was as solemn as a judge's, but she wasn't fooled for a minute. "I want to see a change of attitude, Susannah. At least a semblance of subservience."

  "Subservience?"

  "I'm the man. You're the woman. As far as I'm concerned, that says it all. It had better be that way after we're married, too."

  "Did you say married?"

  "I'm considering it."

  "You're considering it? Of all the arrogant-"

  "First you pass the bedroom interview, Hot Shot. Then we'll talk about a contract."

  As she sputtered for breath, his sober face shattered into the biggest grin she had ever seen. Before she could say another word, he walked away.

  But she wasn't done with him. She rushed over to the doorway only to discover that he was already halfway down the hall. "Stop right there, Mitchell Blaine," she called out. "Do you love me?"

  "Of course," he replied, without losing a step. "I'm surprised you even need to ask."

  Then, as she watched, he took three long strides forward, leaped off the ground, and faked a perfect jump shot at the ceiling.

  His shirttail didn't even come untucked.

  Chapter 34

  Yank and Paige left for Reno without bothering to change their clothes or pack a suitcase. Somehow, Paige had never imagined herself getting married in a silk blouse and pair of gray slacks, but no force on earth could have persuaded either of them to wait a day longer. The ceremony took place not long after midnight in a tacky little chapel with one of Elvis's guitars on display in a glass case. Yank had stared at the guitar for a long time and then said it reminded him of a woman he loved.