High Heat (Hard Hitters #1)

by Linda Morris

  He rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I can be faithful, you know.”

  “Really?” Her heart caught in her throat. “What happened to ‘like father, like son’? I thought you believed you were genetically incapable of being faithful or something.”

  “I said I wouldn’t get married. I didn’t say I cheat. I’ve never cheated on a woman in a relationship, actually.”

  She frowned. “Have you had a committed relationship?”

  “Yes, I’ve had a committed relationship,” he said, parroting her tone. “And when I did, I was exclusive.”

  “If you don’t cheat, why can’t you keep a relationship going? Like with Christina?” She tried not to sound jealous and failed.

  His lips quirked. “Christina? Oh, come on. That wasn’t a relationship. It was a PR stunt on her part, and temporary insanity on mine. What can I say? I was bored by being out of baseball. I have had other, non-crazy relationships. They just didn’t wind up on TMZ.”

  “Like who, for instance?”

  “Well, Annabella Selinko, for one.”

  “The lingerie model?”

  “Yeah. She was nice, but she wanted to get married, and I didn’t.”

  “Oh.” Did she want to get married? Someday, maybe, yes. She’d tried hard not to think about the future when it came to Tom and her, but the future was coming knocking. Hoping for a long-term commitment, or marriage even, had always seemed like a bad idea, unless she didn’t mind risking her heart being cracked into a million pieces.

  But she’d also once seen him as a philandering man-whore who couldn’t keep his pants zipped, and apparently she was wrong about that.

  What else might she have wrong about Tom?

  “I’ll think about it, Cord. I can’t make any promises.”

  “Can we still carry on a torrid affair while you think it over?” He pulled her close, his warm hands sliding her shirt up against the bare skin of her belly, setting her blood alight.

  She should say no. This was about self-preservation. About cutting her losses and going on, but when his hands moved on her like that, she couldn’t think straight.

  “Absolutely.”

  She hadn’t made any headway on his safety. Maybe she didn’t need to. Maybe she was being a worrywart.

  Maybe it would be all right, she told herself as his lips took hers in a soft kiss, the kind that effortlessly torqued up her desire. He’d thrown for years before he’d torn his ligament. He could probably throw for years more without tearing it again. Everything would be all right if she could have faith. She held on to the thought like a talisman all night, taking it out every so often and worrying it, taking comfort, until his touch and his heat drove her beyond awareness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sarah jumped when her office door flew open. “Hi, Paul. What’s up?”

  “In Dad’s office. Now.”

  Her brows rose. “Something wrong?”

  He held up his smartphone. “You bet. Dad saw this.” She rose and took the phone. It appeared to be a baseball blog, and it featured a picture snapped at the winery the other night, of her and Tom holding hands, looking at each other in a way that left no doubt they were a couple.

  “What?” Oh, the guy in the Purdue hat. He must have uploaded it to the web or something. “That busybody. Wait.” An unwelcome suspicion pushed to the surface. “Dad never looks at the Internet. How did he see this picture? Did you show him?”

  “Please. I don’t know how he found out, but he did, and now you’re in for it.”

  “Wonderful,” she muttered. No doubt an ugly scene was coming, but at least her brother hadn’t betrayed her. She knew he didn’t approve of her actions, but she would have hated to find out he’d ratted her out to Dad. “Just great.”

  “What do you expect when you’re carrying on like this in public?”

  “Carrying on?” she said. Paul set off down the hall in a fast stride, and she hurried to keep pace with him. “Paul, we were on a picnic. Come on! Whose side are you on?”

  He halted so fast she nearly crashed into his back. He spun to face her, his eyes hard. “I’ll tell you whose side I’m on. I’m on the side of what’s best for this team and what’s best for my little sister. In this case, those things coincide. You should not be getting involved with Tom. He’s going to use you. I never thought you were the kind to jump into bed with a guy for a roll in the sack.”

  The air went out of her lungs as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She took a deep breath to restore balance. “First of all, if I wanted to jump into bed with some random guy, it would be none of your damn business. You had plenty of hookups in college, okay?”

  “Lower your voice!” He shot a glance back to her assistant’s desk, where Tracy sat trying hard to look both busy and hard of hearing.

  “Whatever. If I wanted to hook up with every guy I knew, it would be none of your business, but that’s not what’s going on here anyway. I care about him, Paul. I do.”

  Paul didn’t blink, didn’t look away. “Then that’s even worse.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Are you out there, Sarah?” her dad summoned from within his office.

  Paul didn’t answer her question, instead jerking his head at the door. “Come on. Time to face the music, hon. I hope the dance was fun.”

  Inside her father’s office, Sarah sat in the chair before his desk, letting Paul close the door behind them.

  She fought the urge to swallow. That gulp would give her away to her father’s eyes, scanning for any weakness. Show no cracks.

  “So is it true?” Her dad leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Is it true you’ve gotten mixed up with this character?”

  She crossed her legs. Maybe a professional pose would make her feel less like a schoolgirl facing her dad with a bad report card. “I wouldn’t describe it like that, but yes, we’re dating.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Dating. Yes. That’s a nice euphemism for it. Tom Cord doesn’t date girls.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I think you know what it means. Guys like him use women for one thing, and one thing only. I suppose you’ve been fool enough to give it to him. A little entertainment on the side while he’s here in town for a few weeks. Like that tramp he dated, what’s-her-name, from the reality show.” Her father’s face reddened, and he rose to pace behind his desk, and then turned to face her. “I never thought my daughter would be in the same league as trash like that!”

  Hurt stole her breath. “Trash.” Her father had called her “trash,” basically. She’d known he’d be upset, but this was so much worse, so much more personal an attack than she’d expected. She swallowed, determined not to let the emotion building in her throat come out in her voice. “Dad, it isn’t like that.”

  “It’s exactly like that. Dammit, I knew this is what you working on the team would lead to!”

  “Dad, you’re out of line.” Her brother’s voice was quiet but firm.

  “And you!” Her father pivoted to point a finger at Paul. “You were the one who talked me into hiring her in the front office! You assured me she could handle it.”

  “She can handle it. Her job performance has not been compromised by this.” She shot a grateful look at Paul. Whether he agreed with her or not, he always had her back against their dad. For that, she was grateful.

  “No, just her reputation, and mine by extension! Carole tells me this picture is on every sports blog and website known to man. Tom Cord, shacking up with the owner’s daughter! It makes you look like a tramp, and makes a laughingstock out of me!”

  A knock sounded at the door. “Not now!” her dad yelled.

  Some very brave person knocked again. “I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency.” Tracy’s soft voice came through the door.

  Walter Dudley swore under his breath. “What is it?”

  She eased the door open, shooting Sarah an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but I thought you’d
want to know. ESPN is running a preview of the interview that Christina Caputo gave. The whole thing will air this weekend. It’s not good.”

  “Turn on the TV.”

  Tracy clicked on the flat-screen mounted on the wall. Christina’s bloated, tear-tracked face filled the screen. “Your life seemed to hit a turning point when you dated baseball superstar Tom Cord,” an interviewer said.

  “It did,” she sobbed, dabbing at her cheeks with a rumpled tissue. “I had been in control up until then, never doing drugs. I hardly ever drank. Tom changed all that. He introduced me to a hard-partying scene.” Clad in a black outfit with her hair scraped back into a demure ponytail, she looked a thousand miles away from the arm-candy who’d flashed the paparazzi. Of course she did. Sarah crossed her arms. She had to hand it to her. Obviously Christina had good PR people. It was the kind of contrite media appearance Sarah would have booked if a Thrashers player had been busted for a DUI.

  The knowledge didn’t make it any easier to watch the woman’s shameless manipulation.

  “See?” her father roared. “See what he did to her? You want to be next?”

  “Oh, please,” Sarah scoffed. “He doesn’t do drugs. He doesn’t even drink much anymore either. She’s full of it.”

  “He wrecked my life,” the blotchy-faced girl on the TV sobbed, “and then he walked away. That’s what he does. He walks away.”

  Sarah swallowed, not looking at her father. The rest of the interview might be pure BS, but that part struck a little too close to home to dismiss.

  That was what Tom did. He walked away, every time. Actions spoke louder than words, and his actions told her everything she needed to know about how he’d treat her six or eight months down the road, when the novelty had worn off their relationship.

  “I’ve seen enough. Tracy, turn it off,” her father said. Tracy complied and left the room, shooting her an apologetic glance as she left. Sarah gave her a nod and a smile. None of this was her assistant’s fault. Her dad would have seen the interview sooner or later. Best to get it out of the way.

  “What a disaster. How could you involve yourself with someone who dated that? Does it make you happy to be in the same league with that hussy?”

  His words cut through her haze of pain, laying bare pure fury. “How dare you?” She scarcely recognized the strangled sound of her voice. She rose and leaned over his desk. “I have done a damn good job ever since I’ve come to work in marketing. I’ve earned every promotion, every raise I’ve ever gotten, and then some. I’ve worked my ass off, and gotten fewer promotions than I would have otherwise, all because you were afraid of actually giving me a real job in baseball.”

  “Obviously I was right to be concerned!”

  “You weren’t! Who I sleep with is none of your business!” She jabbed a finger in Paul’s direction. “You think he’s some untouched virgin? I never hear you complaining about the girls he’s dated.”

  “He’s not dating the players, thank God.” Her father rolled his eyes as if nothing one of his children might do could surprise him.

  “You can rest easy on that score,” Paul said. No one laughed.

  “I want your word that this entanglement will end immediately,” Walter said.

  “No.”

  “No?” His eyebrows rose. “You’re giving me no explanation other than that, just no?” His voice rose. “Are you aware I’m not just your father, but I’m also your boss?”

  “Of course.” Her mouth twisted. “If you were just my boss, instead of my father, you wouldn’t be nearly this hateful.”

  “I’m not being hateful. I’m running this team. A team that has falling sales and more than a couple of financial challenges. This is the last thing we need.”

  “The last I heard, Paul was team president.” It was a weak defense and she knew it. Paul might have the title, but her dad was still the boss. No one disputed that. Still, she needed someone to throw her a lifeline, and Paul was the only one who could. “What do you think, Paul?”

  He didn’t blink. “I don’t share Dad’s vitriol toward the situation, but you knew from the beginning that I’ve been concerned about your getting involved with him.”

  “You’ve known about this?” Her father swiveled in his seat to glare at Paul, who ignored him.

  “It’s not good for the team, and it’s not good for you. It’s a distraction, Sarah.”

  “Let me get this straight. Tom can show up on Deadspin for dating a reality star who flashes half the Western world every time she gets out of a limo, and that’s fine, but if he embarks on a relationship with me, that’s a distraction? Please. What a double standard.”

  “Tom has an irreplaceable skill that requires me to put up with his stupid behavior,” said her father. “He wins ball games. You, on the other hand, do not.”

  “No, I don’t have anything to do with winning ball games,” she said, feeling strangely calm. “You’ve seen to that.”

  “I won’t enter into that debate again. I think this incident has proven the wisdom of my policy. I’m fining you five thousand dollars, and Tom too, for violation of the team’s non-fraternization policy. Given the difference in your financial situations, I’m aware that this penalty falls considerably harder on you than it does on Tom, which is as it should be. If you ride on the team bus again, or enter onto the field of play or the clubhouse when athletes are present, you will be fired.”

  “That’s crazy!” She threw her hands up. “How am I supposed to do my job if I can’t interact with them?”

  “Use the phone or email. Set up meetings in your office if you want to, but no more hanging around the clubhouse with a bunch of guys in towels.”

  She’d never done that! She’d always gone out of her way to give the guys their privacy, which was a joke, because most of them didn’t care about it.

  “I suppose I can’t hire a private detective to follow you around to make sure you’ve ended this disastrous affair, but if I hear word of the two of you being spotted together in public again, in a non-work-related situation, or if another photo like this winds up online, I will fire you.”

  “So that’s it.” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. In a way, it shouldn’t surprise her, but in another, her father’s coldness totally blew her away.

  “That’s it.” Her father braced his hands on his desk. “You need to decide what is more important to you. Being the plaything of a man who can’t keep his pants zipped, or your place on this team and in this family. Your legacy as a Dudley depends on this decision. Let me know when you’ve made up your mind.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  On Tom’s porch, Sarah sniffed and wiped away a tear. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure. What’s wrong?” This did not look good. It was only five o’clock. Sarah never got off work so early on game day. He’d need to shower up and head over to the stadium soon, even though he wasn’t starting today.

  He welcomed her in out of the heat. Drenched in sweat, he wiped his forehead with the hem of his shirt. God, he needed a drink, but it would have to wait. “Just got back from a run. What’s up?”

  She stood in the foyer, arms crossed, her shoulders hunched, looking worn out. “My dad saw the pictures of us at the vineyard.”

  “And?”

  “He had a fit. He gave me orders to stop seeing you on pain of getting fired, and he’s fining us each five thousand dollars.”

  “What? He can’t do that!” A fine for holding a woman’s hand? Good thing her dad didn’t know everything they’d been up to. Even Tom didn’t have enough money to pay that fine.

  “He can, apparently. The team has a non-fraternization policy I didn’t even know about. It never came up before.”

  The caveman inside him took pride that she’d never even considered dating a player before. “He thinks he can tell us what to do? Where the hell does he get off? I’ll pay your fine, by the way.”

  “No, you won’t. It’s my fine and I’ll take care of it.”

>   “Come on, Sarah. I don’t know what he’s paying you, but I know it’s not that much. Let me take care of it.”

  “Sorry, but it’s my mistake and my responsibility.”

  “Mistake?” The word stopped his fury cold. “What do you mean, mistake?”

  “I mean, getting involved with you. Tom, hear me out.” She lifted a hand as he opened his mouth. “I care about you. I do. But saying we can hang out for a while, driving back and forth from Chicago. I don’t know. You’re asking me to defy my father, give up my job and my place in this town and on the team, and for what?”

  “For you, Sarah. For the right to make your decisions, choose your own life. It’s the same reason I think you should look around at other clubs.”

  “Don’t you see? There’s still no future in it. What happens with us if I get a job with a club in, say, Oregon? Or anywhere else? You’re saying you’d maintain a long-distance relationship with me?”

  “Maybe.” The word shocked him as much as it clearly did Sarah. He couldn’t do a permanent commitment. True, he hadn’t cheated on any woman he’d dated, but that had been different. Temporary. Being faithful was easy when you both knew that either one of you could end it at any moment.

  He’d never thought seriously about anything more. The specter of his dad’s destructive philandering and the agony it had left in its wake never left him. How many nights had he spent in bed as a child, listening to his mom cry and curse over his father or, later, some other man just like him?

  He’d always known he wasn’t cut out for family life. He wouldn’t do the same thing to another woman. Which meant he’d never be a father. That gave him an unexpected pang. Working with the kids in the pitching clinic Sarah had set up had been fun. In the back of his mind, he’d wondered if he might have a son that he could teach to pitch someday. Hell, he’d teach a daughter to pitch too, if she wanted to learn. He was no Walter Dudley.

  Nothing he said seemed to matter to Sarah, though.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “A ‘maybe’ isn’t enough. You said we’d have fun, and we did. I guess it’s time for the fun to end.”