Seduced by the Playboy

by Pamela Yaye

  Then why are you thinking about all the wicked things you’d like to do to her in bed? his inner voice jeered.

  “Demetri, if you want this event to be a success, you’ll have to be that fun, personable guy we all know and love.”

  “It’s hard to be in a jovial mood when perfect strangers are snapping pictures of me in the bathroom and the paparazzi is trailing me around town.”

  Nichola wore a sympathetic smile. “Just remember this event is for a good cause. Last year, we raised over a half a million dollars for the foundation, and this year I’m hoping to triple that number.”

  Her words made Demetri grin, filling him with pride. That was what it was all about. Making a difference in someone’s life. Being famous definitely had its good points, and now, thanks to his new multimillion-dollar contract, he could help even more children in need. “Thanks for overseeing everything,” he said, feeling bad for snapping at her earlier. “As usual, it sounds like you have everything under control.”

  “Now,” Todd said, “all we need are some celebrity faces to give the event star power!”

  “Speaking of star power, I received dozens of letters from local area schools this week.” Nichola took a stack of envelopes out of her purse and showed them to Demetri. “Are you interested in speaking at any of these functions?”

  Demetri thought for a moment. As far as he knew, he had nothing planned for the month. But if he went to the career-day events, there was a good chance someone would tip off the media, and he’d arrive to find a mob of fans and paparazzi. This was a main reason Demetri avoided public events. Because of his wealth, and the poor choices he’d made in the past, he was an easy target, and these days he couldn’t go anywhere without some young punk looking to start a fight. “Tell the organizers I can’t make it, but send each school a check.”

  “For the same amount as last year?”

  “Double it.”

  Lloyd’s jaw hit his flabby chest with a thud. “B-but, Demetri, that’s over two hundred thousand dollars to each school. A million dollars total.”

  “I know, Lloyd. I did the math.”

  “I’ll ensure your accountant sends out the checks today,” Nichola said, typing furiously on her iPad. “And I’ll make sure to tip my source at the Tribune about your very generous donation to five inner-city schools.”

  “No, don’t. It’s nobody’s business how much I give.” Demetri’s expression turned serious. He’d learned early on in his career it was better to leave some things private. He didn’t want anyone—especially his relatives—to hear how much he gave to charity. He could almost hear the outlandish things they would request if they knew. “Keep it quiet, Nichola. The less people who know the better.”

  “But it would be great press,” she argued. “And a touchy, feel-good story even someone like Angela Kelly would love!”

  At the mention of the newscaster’s name, he remembered their heated argument that morning at the studio. He told himself to stop thinking about Angela Kelly, to forget they’d ever met, but he couldn’t get her pretty brown eyes and her toned, curvy shape out of his mind.

  After leaving the television station, he’d returned to his car and turned on his cell phone. Instead of reading his newest text messages, he’d opened the internet and searched her name, clicking on the first link that popped up. He read Angela Kelly’s bio, then watched an hour’s worth of her most popular interviews. Most of them were with celebrities—actors, singers, professional athletes and supermodels. But Angela was so engaging, and witty, she looked like a star in her own right. There were dozens of pictures of her, at various events in and around town, and in each photograph she looked like a million bucks and had a different date.

  What’s up with that? Demetri quickly told himself he didn’t care. And he didn’t. His mother had always warned him against falling for pretty money-hungry types. And from the day he was drafted in the major leagues, gold diggers had been throwing themselves at him left, right and center. Feisty, headstrong women—like Angela Kelly—where by far the worst type.

  Tasting his wine, he hoped the savory drink eased his troubled mind. Demetri closed his eyes and saw Angela Kelly glaring at him. He gave his head a hard shake. He had to quit wondering how many guys she was dating and if she had a lover, because after today he had no intention of ever seeing her again—unless it was in civil court.

  Chapter 4

  Angela stormed inside her best friend’s kitchen, dumped her purse on the granite countertop and paced the length of the room, gesturing wildly with her hands. “I’m so angry I could scream!”

  “Well, please don’t,” Simone Young said, glancing into the living room. “The boys just fell asleep, and if you wake them, I’ll kill you.”

  Angela blew out a deep breath and counted to ten. On the drive over from the WJN-TV station, she’d relived every second of her argument with Demetri and the subsequent meeting with her boss. It didn’t matter which way Angela looked at it—she felt cheated. As if Salem had thrown her under the bus.

  “Now, what’s got you all riled up?” Simone closed the dishwasher and then leaned against it. Rubbing a hand over her baby bump, she cocked her head to the side and frowned. “Did that sleazy sportscaster proposition you again?”

  “No. Worse.”

  “I can’t imagine anything worse than being propositioned by a guy who drives a lemon and still lives at home with his mama!”

  A giggle tickled the back of Angela’s throat. Leave it to Simone to make her laugh in the midst of a crisis. That was why she’d driven across town in rush hour to see her. They’d been friends ever since meeting on the University of Chicago campus ten years ago, and Angela loved Simone like a sister. The busy wife and mother could make her forget her problems, even if just for a few minutes. And now more than ever, Angela needed her advice. “Hakeem’s not that bad. Just annoying. I can handle him.”

  “I’m all for keeping the peace at work, but I would have spoken to HR about his unwanted advances months ago.”

  “And have everyone at the station turn against me? No, thanks. The lead anchor hates me, so the few friends I have, I’d like to keep.”

  “Do you want a cup of ginger tea?”

  “Yeah, but put some vodka in mine.”

  Simone opened the cupboard, took out two ceramic mugs and waddled over to the kettle. “I swear, Angela, sometimes you’re just too much.”

  “What? I need some alcohol to steady my nerves. I’ve had the day from hell!”

  “Girl, please. You work at a TV station and tape your show in a warm, cozy studio.” Simone handed Angela a mug, then sat down at the table in front of her laptop and social-work case files. “Come down to my agency, and I’ll show you what a bad day really looks like.” Sliding her hands around her mug, Simone raised it to her mouth and took a sip. “I’m trying not to let anything stress me out,” she confessed, gazing down at her belly, “but it’s hard being pregnant, taking care of my family and doing my job effectively.”

  “God, I am such a bad friend! I came barging in here and didn’t even ask how your doctor’s appointment went this morning.” Angela took the seat across from Simone and squeezed her hand. “How are the babies doing?”

  Her grin lit up the kitchen. “They’re good. Gaining weight and kicking me like crazy!”

  Angela listened to Simone recount every detail of her ultrasound appointment and, for a split second, wondered what it would be like to be pregnant. Back when she was a naive nineteen-year-old, madly in love with her college sweetheart, she’d had dreams of getting married and raising a family. But after countless arguments about her career, he’d dumped her via email and moved on to greener pastures. Younger, thinner pastures, Angela thought, recalling the day she’d bumped into her ex and his new girlfriend at the mall. Her ex had foolishly thought he could control every aspec
t of her life, and although it stung to see him with someone else, Angela knew she was better off without him.

  The whole male species, actually.

  Since moving back to Chicago six months ago, Angela had been playing the field and loving every minute of it. She never went out with the same guy twice, and although she’d earned a reputation of being a heartbreaker, she had no intention of ever settling down. She’d leave getting married, having babies and watching cartoons to her love-struck girlfriends.

  “So what’s going on with you?” Simone asked. “What’s got you all worked up?”

  “Demetri Morretti showed up at the station today and demanded that I go on the air and apologize to him,” Angela said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in one long gush. “Can you believe it? I mean, really, who does he think he is?”

  “Well, you did call him a spoiled, immature athlete on national television...”

  “None of this would have happened if the security guards had been doing their job,” she continued. “They should be fired.”

  “It was bound to happen, Angela. You couldn’t avoid Demetri Morretti forever.”

  “I knew some of the players were upset, but I never expected Demetri to show up at the station. I almost fell over when I saw him, and when he started in on me, I lost it.” Angela shook her head at the memory of their heated confrontation. “It was horrible, Simone. We were yelling and arguing and dissing each other.”

  “I know. I saw and I heard.”

  “You saw and you heard what?”

  “Your showdown with Demetri. The video was posted online about an hour ago.”

  “Online?” she repeated, shaking her head. “As in on the internet?”

  “Yup. Sexy Chicago Newscaster Goes Off on Baseball Superstar, and since it’s gone viral, it’s received thousands of hits.” Simone slid the laptop in front of Angela, clicked on the appropriate link and said, “See for yourself.”

  Angela gasped when she saw her image on the screen. “H-h-how come Demetri looks all calm, cool and collected and I look like a raving lunatic?” she stammered, unable to believe her eyes. In the heat of the moment, Angela felt as if Demetri was attacking her, but that hadn’t been the case at all. He was chill, at ease, and his tone was so soft, she could barely hear what he was saying. Unfortunately, she heard her curt, clipped tone loud and clear.

  “I’m going to be the laughingstock of late-night television!” she wailed.

  Simone put her hands on Angela’s shoulder. “Girl, it’s not that bad.”

  “You’re right. It’s worse.”

  “Look on the bright side—”

  “There isn’t one.”

  “Yes, there is.” Simone tapped the computer screen. “You’re working the hell out of your new Chanel shorts suit, and all those sessions with your personal trainer are definitely paying off because your booty looks good!”

  “You’re not helping, Simone.”

  “And as usual, you’re being overly dramatic.”

  “No, I’m not.” Angela cringed when she heard the note of despair in her voice, but she couldn’t help the way she was feeling. Being secretly recorded unnerved her, but having the video posted online, for the whole world to see, made Angela want to curl into a ball in the middle of the kitchen floor. “I want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and this whole episode with Demetri is only going to set me back.”

  “Or it could catapult you to stardom, and you could end up with your own reality show!”

  Angela gave her best friend a blank stare.

  “What? Throwing a tantrum on camera has worked for dozens of other stars. I don’t see why it can’t work for you.”

  “Why would someone waste their time uploading this stupid video on YouTube?”

  “Probably just for kicks. People post all sorts of wacky things online these days.”

  Angela winced and then dropped her face in her hands.

  “Sorry, girl. That’s not what I meant.”

  “But that’s exactly how I look. Wacky,” she admitted, swallowing a sob. “I bet Demetri posted the video to get back at me, to make me look like a fool.”

  “You think so?”

  Angela gave it more thought and considered exactly what had transpired between them that afternoon. “I don’t know. He had no way of knowing what would happen, but I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s surly and bitter, and this sort of thing is right up his alley.”

  “So, what happened after your boss ordered you into her office?”

  Angela told Simone an abbreviated version of her terse ten-minute meeting with Salem. She admitted being so wound up after her argument with Demetri, she couldn’t concentrate on what her boss was saying. But she did vividly remember Salem inviting the baseballer on her show. “I can’t believe Salem invited him to appear on my show!”

  “I don’t understand why you’re mad. Having Demetri Morretti on your show will send your ratings through the roof!” Simone said, throwing her hands up in the air. “For some reason, people love to hate that guy, and since he hasn’t done a sit-down interview in years, viewers will tune in. I don’t even like baseball, but I’d definitely watch!”

  “I’d rather have a mime on my show than Demetri Morretti.”

  “No one said you had to play nice, Angela. Do the interview your way,” she advised. “Put him in the hot seat. Ask tough questions. That’s what viewers want to see. Good, hard interviews with today’s hottest stars.”

  Nodding her head slowly, she considered her best friend’s advice. Angela knew if she grilled Demetri Morretti on air, her boss and everyone in the production team would be licking their chops. “Simone, you’re brilliant!”

  “I know. That’s what I keep telling my husband, but he doesn’t believe me!”

  The women laughed.

  “I better get started on dinner.” Standing, Simone gathered her case files and dumped them into her briefcase. “Marcus will be home soon, and I still haven’t seasoned the chicken.”

  Angela watched her girlfriend, moving anxiously around the kitchen, and was glad she didn’t have to rush home to cook dinner for a man. If I ever get married, my husband will cook for me, she decided.

  “You didn’t touch your tea,” Simone said. “Do you want me to reheat it?”

  “Sure, and don’t forget the vodka this time!”

  Simone raised her eyebrows.

  “What? I’m stressed-out,” Angela argued, feeling the need to defend herself. “I want Eye on Chicago to do well so I can move on to bigger and better things, but I hate the thought of having Demetri Morretti on my show. The guy’s creepy.”

  “Yeah, creepy fine,” Simone quipped, ambling over to the microwave. She put the mug inside and hit Start. “I read in Forbes magazine that his new mansion is so big, he needs a helicopter to get him from one end to the other!”

  Angela’s eyes strayed back to the computer. For some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about Demetri. He had a dreamy look and such a compelling presence, he could give a perfectly healthy woman asthma. Long after he’d stalked out of her studio, Angela was still thinking about how good he smelled, how broad his shoulders were and how sexy he looked in his workout gear.

  “The guy is so frickin’ hot, actresses and pop stars are constantly fighting over him!”

  Scowling, Angela took the mug Simone offered her and cradled it in her hands. “I don’t see why. He’s a pain in the ass. And rude, too.”

  “Girl, don’t hate. Demetri Morretti is the hottest thing in sports right now and for good reason. He’s guest starred on a slew of TV shows, hosted Saturday Night Live, and he’s been on the cover of dozens of magazines, as well.”

  Angela raised an eyebrow and studied her best friend closely. “For someone who doesn’t like baseball, you sure know a
lot about the guy.”

  “It’s not my fault. My husband’s a sports addict, and he thinks Demetri’s mad cool,” Simone explained, opening the fridge and grabbing a bag of mixed vegetables. “They’ve worked out together a few times at Samson’s and really hit it off.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Girl, please, with all I’ve got going on I can barely remember what day of the week it is, let alone who Marcus trains on a daily basis.”

  “The fifteenth can’t come fast enough,” Angela said, slumping down into her chair. “I’m really looking forward to us hanging out and cutting loose. It’s long overdue.”

  Simone glanced up from the marble cutting board. “We have plans for Friday?”

  “Ah, yeah. We’re going to the grand opening of Dolce Vita, remember?” Angela shot her friend a funny look. “I’m covering the event for the station, but I should be done and ready to party by eight—nine at the latest.”

  “Sorry, girl, but I can’t go. Marcus has the weekend off, and he’s taking me away for a few days,” she explained, a girlie smile exploding onto her face.

  “What are you going to do with the boys?” Angela asked. “Cart them off to your mother-in-law’s house again?”

  “You know it!”

  The friends laughed.

  “I never dreamed Gladys and I would be close, but ever since I got pregnant, she’s gone out of her way to help me,” Simone confessed. “She never follows the boys’ schedule, but she’ll babysit at a moment’s notice and always encourages me to take time out for myself.”

  Angela concealed a grin. “I’m glad you and Gladys worked out your differences, because you’re really going to need her help when you get pregnant with baby number five and six!”

  “No way. After I have these girls, I’m done. It’s your turn to be barefoot and pregnant.”

  “I’m not having children, remember?”

  “Why not?” Wrinkling her nose, her lips pursed, she placed a hand on her hip. “You’re great with my boys and the kids at the shelter love you. Even the teenagers. And everyone knows, teenagers hate everybody!”