by Pamela Yaye
Angela felt her eyes widen and her knees buckle. Not because she was surprised by the dig, but because Demetri Morretti—the reigning bad boy of Major League Baseball—was standing in front of her, live and in the flesh.
Her thoughts were running wild, but her gaze was glued to his handsome, chiseled face before her. Dark eyebrows framed his brown eyes, a thin mustache lined his thick lips, and his wide shoulders made him seem imposing, larger-than-life. The half Italian, half African-American star athlete was a force to be reckoned with on the baseball field. And even though he was casually dressed in workout clothes and had a very present five-o’clock shadow, he was still smokin’ hot. His skin was a warm caramel shade of brown and so smooth and flawless-looking, Angela suspected he had weekly facials. Demetri Morretti was a pretty boy if she’d ever seen one, but she didn’t think for a second that he was soft. Angela had read enough about the thirty-two-year-old superstar to know that he was a spoiled, ridiculously rich athlete who pushed around anyone who got in his way.
Recovering from the shock of seeing Demetri Morretti in her studio, Angela hit him with an icy glare. “Tapings aren’t open to the public,” she said tightly. “And since you’re not an employee of the station, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Morretti.”
“I will, as soon as you go on the air and issue an apology to me and my family.”
Angela almost laughed in his face but caught herself before a snicker escaped her mouth. No use antagonizing him. According to published reports, Demetri was impulsive, a hothead of the worst kind, and there was no telling what he’d do in the heat of the moment.
“My mother is very upset about the lies you told about me on your show, but I assured her you’d apologize once you realized the errors of your ways.”
“Apologize for what? Speaking the truth?” Angela rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She didn’t tell Demetri about the countless hours she’d spent reading articles and sports blogs about his background and twelve-year baseball career. The headlines about the gifted shortstop were damning and more salacious than a CIA prostitution scandal. There were reports of bar brawls, drunken Las Vegas parties and explosive run-ins with rival baseball fans. She’d found so much “dirt” on Demetri Morretti, and the other players featured in her story, she’d had enough material for a three-part series. And the viewers were eating it up. Her show had slayed the competition in the ratings last week, and everywhere she went people were talking about her Athletes Behaving Badly story. It was a hot topic, one that viewers couldn’t seem to get enough of.
“Don’t mess with me, Ms. Kelly, because when it’s all said and done, I will get my way.”
Angela’s toes curled in her five-inch black pumps. She couldn’t believe his nerve. Demetri was rotten to the core, a man of such extraordinary arrogance, Angela didn’t know why she was even talking to him. “You might be able to throw your weight around the clubhouse,” she began, meeting his hostile gaze, “but it’s not going to work here. I double-checked the facts and have taped interviews with eyewitnesses to back up my report.”
“Your report was full of lies. It was nothing more than a smear campaign done by a bitter, angry woman who got dissed and dismissed by her ex-boyfriend.”
Angela’s breath caught in her throat. Her face must have registered surprise, because a grin that could scare a mobster broke out across Demetri’s lips.
“Your ex plays for the L.A. Jaguars,” he continued. “And he was nice enough to share all of the dirty details of your relationship with him.”
Fear blanketed her skin. Licking her dry lips, Angela cast a nervous glance around the studio. She spotted her colleagues at the other end of the room, perusing the snack table, and sighed inwardly. Angela wasn’t proud of her past, and the last thing she wanted was for her colleagues to find out about all the wild and crazy things she’d done while living in L.A. It was hard enough being the only woman of color at the TV station, and she didn’t want to give the other broadcasters another reason to resent her. Not that they needed one. They thought she was too young to host Eye on Chicago, unqualified to work at the station and skating by on her looks. “Who I’ve dated is none of your business, and furthermore, my personal life has absolutely nothing to do with my Athletes Behaving Badly story.”
“You see, Ms. Kelly, I did a little digging of my own and discovered that you’ve dated a lot of professional athletes,” he said, stroking his jaw reflectively. “And from what I hear, several of them dogged you out bad. That’s why you did that story. To get back at the guys who dumped you and to stick it to anyone who plays pro sports.”
“That’s ludicrous.” Lifting her head, Angela arched her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. She wasn’t going to be Demetri Morretti’s punching bag. Not now. Not ever. “This conversation is over. Please leave.”
“I will, Madame Gold Digger, as soon as you—”
“Gold digger?” Angela repeated, splaying her hands on her hips.
“Did I stutter?”
“I don’t know any gold diggers who put themselves through school or who volunteer twenty hours a week at various local shelters, do you?”
Angela saw a bolt of surprise flicker across Demetri’s face, but bragging about her volunteer work made her feel small, as if she’d just insulted all of the families she worked with. But her unexpected confession clearly stunned the baseball star, and Angela was determined to use this leverage to her advantage. “I have nothing against you or any of the other athletes mentioned in my story,” she said, meaning every word. “I did the piece to warn young women about the perils of pursuing professional athletes and—”
“To stick it to your ex-lovers,” he tossed out, mirroring her rigid body stance.
Angela made her eyes thin. “Maybe instead of coming down here and harassing me, you should have gone to the clubhouse to practice.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I saw your last game before your shoulder injury. You jumped every pitch, your timing was way off, and your swing looked lifeless.”
Demetri flexed his jaw muscles. He was well aware of his batting slump, and the problems with his swing, but he didn’t need anyone—especially a newscaster—reminding him. “There’s nothing wrong with my game.”
“Oh, but there is. Ask your coach. Ask your teammates. Hell, ask the fans.”
“I didn’t come down here to get batting tips from a reporter with no conscience,” he said, folding his arms. “I came to issue a warning. Go on the air and apologize, or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Angela jeered, cutting him off. “Hurl a beer bottle at me like you did to that poor college kid in Newark? Or get one of your flunkies to rough me up?”
His nostrils flared, and the corners of his lips curled into a scowl. Demetri stepped forward, and when Angela jumped back, she bumped into one of the towering black light stands. A sharp pain stabbed her leg, but it was the menacing gleam in her adversary’s eyes that made her knees quiver.
“I’m not going to touch you, Ms. Kelly.” Demetri’s voice was calm, but his tone was colder than ice. “But if you don’t go on the air and apologize, I’ll sue you, your boss and this damn station.”
Chapter 2
Angela felt a cold chill snake down her back. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she discreetly dried her damp palms along the side of her fitted Chanel shorts. Since part one of her series aired two weeks ago, she’d received scores of hate mail. Several athletes had taken to Twitter to express their anger, but no one had shown up at the station threatening litigation—until now. It wasn’t the first time Angela had ruffled someone’s feathers, and usually she wouldn’t give a threat a second thought. But the way Demetri was staring at her, with his head cocked and his eyes narrowed, made her stomach coil into a suffocating knot.
“So, what’s it going to be?” Arms folded, he
tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. “Are you going to issue that apology, or are we going to have to hash this thing out in court?”
Angela swallowed hard. Demetri sounded serious, looked serious, too, but she didn’t believe him. Not for a second. He was too busy getting into bar fights, throwing wild parties at his Chicago mansion and drag racing in his Maybach to show up in court.
“You’re not going to win this, so you might as well give up now.”
“Get out,” she snapped, pointing at the studio door. “And don’t come back!”
“I’ll leave, as soon as I get that apology.”
Angela glowered but said nothing. What could she say? “Leave or I’ll call security”? The baseball star was trespassing, but the security guards weren’t going to throw a future hall-of-famer off the property.
“I don’t want to play hardball with you, Ms. Kelly, but you leave me no choice. Your report was biased and unfounded. Not to mention full of outright lies.”
When Demetri took another step forward, infringing upon her personal space, she imagined herself smacking the broad grin off his face. But instead of acting on her impulse, Angela faked a smile. It was time to try a different approach because arguing with Demetri Morretti was getting her nowhere. “I’ll give some thought to what you said, and someone from the station will contact you by the end of the week. Okay?”
Demetri clapped his hands. “Well done, Ms. Kelly. Nicely played. For a second there, I actually believed you were a rational human being.”
“Well, at least I’m not a—”
Angela felt a hand on her shoulder and broke off speaking. She turned to her right, and groaned inwardly when she saw her producer, standing beside her, wearing a concerned expression. And worse, everyone in the studio, from the voluptuous makeup artist to the bearded engineer, was now staring at her, with wide eyes and open mouths. How much had her colleagues heard? And why were all of the men in the studio shooting evil daggers at her?
“Welcome to WJN-TV, Mr. Morretti. I’m Salem Velasquez, one of the head producers.”
Wearing a tight smile, he nodded and shook the hand she offered.
“If you have a few moments, I’d love to speak to you in private.”
“Great. The quicker we resolve this issue the better.”
“Please follow me. My office is right this way.” Salem motioned to the studio door, and Demetri fell in step beside her.
Angela stayed put. She didn’t want any part of this meeting, and she had better things to do than listen to Demetri Morretti whine about her report. Anxious to return to her office, she turned around and stalked off in the opposite direction. She needed to vent, and her best friend, Simone, was the perfect person to talk to.
“Angela!”
Angela stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart was hammering in her chest. The sharpness of Salem’s tone and the booming sound of her voice made Angela break out in a nervous sweat.
Glancing over her shoulder confirmed her worst fears. Now her boss and the surly baseball star were glaring at her. The air in the studio was suffocating, so thick with tension, Angela felt as if she was going to faint. And the way Demetri was staring at her—all serious and intense—made her skin prickle with goose bumps.
“You will be joining us.”
“Oh, of course,” Angela lied, nodding her head. “I was just going to...to...to...”
“Whatever it is can wait. Get in my office. Now.”
I’d rather ride a unicycle naked down the Magnificent Mile, she thought, dragging herself across the studio and past her gawking coworkers.
* * *
“Please, Mr. Morretti, have a seat,” Salem said, gesturing to one of the padded chairs in front of her large oak desk. “Make yourself comfortable.”
The small, cramped office was overrun with bookshelves, knickknacks, and the scent of cinnamon was so heavy in the air, Angela’s stomach grumbled. It had been hours since she had breakfast, but the thought of eating made her feel queasy. So did the way her boss was smiling at Demetri Morretti. He was the enemy, a man bent on destroying her, and if Salem didn’t toughen up and quit making eyes at him, they’d both be out of a job.
“Thanks, but I’d rather stand.”
“Very well.” Salem sat down in her leather swivel chair and clasped her hands together. “I understand that you’re upset about Ms. Kelly’s Athletes Behaving Badly piece, but I stand behind the story and what was reported. All of our stories are vigorously researched, and we pride ourselves on double-checking every fact and every report.”
“No one from your station contacted me or my team.”
“I assure you, Mr. Morretti, my assistant phoned your publicist for a statement.”
He crossed his arms. “I would like you to provide the name of the person who called and the time and date the call was placed.”
Nodding, Salem picked up her pen and made a note on one of the open file folders on her desk. “That’s not a problem. I can forward the information to you later today.”
Angela raised her eyebrows but didn’t speak. She stood at the back of the room, beside the door, and watched the exchange between Salem and Demetri with growing interest. Maybe her boss was going to come through for her after all. Salem’s eyes were glued to Demetri’s lips, but she sounded confident and looked in control.
“There are two sides to every story, but your report only focused on one side. The side filled with lies. As a result, my character and integrity have been compromised.”
What integrity? Angela thought, clamping her lips together to trap a curse inside. You’re a hothead who can’t control his temper! She thought back over every second of her argument with Demetri. And when she got to the point where her boss showed up, Angela decided that was the most humiliating moment of her life. She’d been reprimanded in front of her crew, then ordered into her boss’s office to speak to the enemy. Even more troubling, Salem was being nice to him. A little too nice. Her body was angled toward him, and she hadn’t stopped smiling since they entered the office. If Angela didn’t know better, she’d think Salem had a crush on Demetri, because the only time she’d ever seen her boss this happy was when she received her annual Christmas bonus.
“If your assistant had contacted me, I would have been here.”
“Really?” A quizzical look covered Salem’s face. “But it’s been widely reported in the media that you don’t do interviews.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
Angela wanted to gag. Demetri was lying and making it look easy. He hadn’t done an on-camera interview in years, and according to reports, his publicist had to preapprove the questions. The baseball star was a recluse, a man who liked to be alone, who kept to himself. Except when he was getting into bar fights or humiliating waiters and service staff.
Angela looked him over, slowly. Demetri Morretti was a man of great presence, with more natural charisma than an A-list actor. That was probably why people overlooked his bad behavior and made excuses for him. But Angela wasn’t one of his crazed fans or easily seduced by ridiculously rich athletes. She decided right then and there that she wasn’t going to let Demetri Morretti disrespect her again.
“You seem like a very nice lady, Mrs. Velasquez,” Demetri began smoothly, favoring her with a smile that warmed his entire face, “and I don’t want to sue you, but if Ms. Kelly doesn’t apologize publicly for slandering my name, I will.”
Silence filled the air and stretched on for several long minutes.
“I have an idea.” Salem’s voice was filled with excitement and she practically bounced up and down on her chair. “Why don’t you come on Eye on Chicago and do an exclusive sit-down interview with Ms. Kelly this month?”
No, no, no! Angela wanted to scream out in protest, but shot evil daggers at Demetri instead. He was
bad news, someone she had to stay far, far away from. He was a rich, cocksure athlete who thought he could push her around, and she had absolutely no desire to have him on her show. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not ever.
“No, thank you. I’m not interested.”
“What if we gave you the questions beforehand? You and your team could even add a few of your own. We never do that, but I’m willing to make an exception for you, Mr. Morretti.”
“No way!” Angela hollered, the words bursting out of her mouth. “He shouldn’t get preferential treatment just because he’s a—”
Salem’s eyes thinned. In an instant, Angela’s jaw locked and her tongue seized up.
“I don’t trust reporters.” Demetri cast a glance at the back of the room. “Not even the ones who look sweet and innocent. They’re the worst kind.”
Angela ignored the dig. Sticks and stones, Morretti. Sticks and stones. There was nothing the surly baseball player could say to hurt her. Life was good. Great. For the first time ever, her show was on top of the ratings, and next weekend she was covering the grand opening of Dolce Vita.
The posh three-story lounge was the first of its kind in Chicago, and Angela had been looking forward to the event for weeks. Because of her busy schedule, Angela hadn’t hung out with her girlfriends in weeks. And since they would be in attendance at the star-studded launch, she was excited about catching up with them and eating some award-winning Italian food.
“If you’ll both excuse me,” Angela said, gripping the door handle. “I really have to go.”
Salem shook her head, and Angela dropped the door handle as if it were a roasted stone. Her boss spoke to Demetri in a soft, soothing voice, but her eyes were glued to Angela. “I want to hear your side of the story, and I bet America does, too.”
“I know I don’t,” Angela grumbled. Her colleagues would probably jump at the chance to interview Demetri Morretti but the thought of interviewing him, under the bright studio lights, made Angela feel queasy. The camera captured everything—every pause, every nervous glance, every awkward movement—and she feared her nerves would get the best of her and she’d drown on live TV. Add to that the fact that she had to worry about keeping Demetri and his ego in check. Angela didn’t like him, didn’t trust him and had a feeling he was up to no good. He’d embarrassed her once in front of her crew, and there was no doubt in her mind he’d do it again. What if he outsmarts me on my show? she thought, swallowing hard. What if he makes me look like a fool on national television?