Seduced by the Playboy

by Pamela Yaye

  “Are you kidding me?” Angela gave a bitter laugh. “Why would I post a video that made me look crazier than the Joker?”

  His scowl fell away when he chuckled. It was the first time Angela had ever seen or heard Demetri laugh, and she liked the sound. Immensely. Angela caught herself and quit giggling. He was the enemy, a man bent on destroying her, not someone she could trust. She’d never been a play-it-safe kind of girl, but whenever Demetri was around, her guard went up.

  “Let’s call a truce,” he suggested, offering his right hand. “You stop bashing me on your show, and I’ll promise not to come back to your studio. Deal?”

  Angela paused. She was ready to bury the hatchet, but when she remembered his Facebook post—the one that said Talentless newscasters who sleep their way to the top shouldn’t throw stones—she came to her senses. Her gut instincts told her Demetri was behind the post. Had to be. He was the one who hated her, not his stupid flunkies. “Sorry,” she said, wearing an innocent face. “I don’t make deals with the devil.”

  Then Angela spun around and stalked into the ladies’ changing room.

  Chapter 6

  Angela stepped inside her two-bedroom town house, immediately seeing the enormous framed photograph hanging in the foyer, and smiled to herself. It didn’t matter how long her day was—one look at the picture of her and her friends sipping cocktails on a Fiji beach, and her frustrations melted away.

  Dumping her keys on the front table, she dropped her work bag on the floor and kicked off her leather pumps. Entering her living room and seeing her chic home furnishings filled Angela with pride. My swanky bachelorette pad deserves a spread in Home Decor magazine, she thought, collapsing onto her cozy red velvet couch. Her house was inundated with bright colors, unique artifacts she’d scored from her travels abroad and cute, cozy furniture. Purchasing her first home, in a neighborhood she loved, was one of Angela’s greatest accomplishments. On warm, sunny days she loved to sit on the porch and chat with her neighbors.

  But not today.

  Her run-in with Demetri Morretti yesterday morning at Samson’s Gym consumed her thoughts and weighed so heavily on her. It was all she had been thinking about. Stretching her legs out in front of her, she allowed the sunshine streaming through the windows to quiet her mind. The tree-lined street was overrun with kids. They were riding bikes, splashing in puddles and doing cartwheels across their lawns. On any other day, their shrieks of laughter would draw her outside to cheer them on, but tonight Angela didn’t have the energy to move.

  Unzipping her tweed blazer, she shrugged it off and chucked it at the end of the couch. After work, she’d stopped by Simone’s house for dinner, and after two hearty servings of vegetable lasagna, and a couple of strawberry wine coolers, she was stuffed.

  Picking up the remote, she pointed it at the TV and hit the on button. Angela flipped channels, in the hopes of finding something funny to watch, something that would take her mind off of her troubles. Angela spotted the clip of her arguing with Demetri playing on a rival news station and pounded the sofa cushions with her fists. “I can’t believe WQK is showing this stupid video again!” she raged, her chest heaving with anger. “Those jerks!”

  Sitting in her living room, watching the video for the umpteenth time, Angela wondered how she could spin her showdown with Demetri into an even bigger news story. Not one that had people pointing fingers or laughing at her. Rather, a story that would drive more viewers to check out her weekly show.

  As the clip played, Angela found herself admiring Demetri’s long, lean frame. He looked as cool as a gun-slinging cowboy, and although he was glaring at her during the entire video, there was no disputing the baseballer’s striking good looks. With his smooth skin and dark, striking eyes, Demetri Morretti could land a role in any big-budget Hollywood movie. And it would be a guaranteed smash hit at the box office.

  Angela heard the telephone ringing on the table behind her but decided to let the answering machine pick it up. She wasn’t in the mood to talk. It was probably one of her single girlfriends calling to ask about Demetri Morretti, and Angela was sick and tired of hearing the man’s name. In the past week, the video had received thousands of hits, and according to Simone’s husband, it was still making the rounds of the local radio stations and was a hot topic on Sports Chicago.

  Angela released a deep sigh. By now, anyone who didn’t live under a rock had heard about her showdown with Demetri Morretti. And even though Angela knew the story made sensational headlines and would drum up free publicity for her show, she was embarrassed over the way she’d acted. In the video, she was loud and brash and looked completely out of control. That wasn’t her. In all her years of working in television, Angela had never gone off on a guest, never lost her cool. But there was something about Demetri Morretti that brought out the worst in her. And that scared her. What if he agreed to do her show and she lost her temper again? Would she even have a show when the dust cleared?

  Angela heard her cell phone buzz, and she fished it out of her nearby purse. She scanned the screen for the number and released a deep sigh when she saw the Denver area code. It was her dad, calling from the road. He never called to chitchat, and was an avid sports fan, so she knew he was phoning to find out if she’d lost her damn mind. “Hey, Dad,” she said, faking a cheerful voice. “How are you doing?”

  “Angela, what happened with Demetri Morretti?”

  So much for easing into the conversation, she thought, raking a hand through her hair.

  “Dad, it was nothing.”

  “It sure looked like a whole lot of something to me.”

  Biting the inside of her lip, she racked her brain for a plausible explanation for why she’d gone off on baseball’s biggest star.

  “Quit stalling, baby girl, and tell me what happened.”

  At his words, Angela smiled. Her father, Cornelius Kelly, had raised her and her brother single-handedly. He had never once complained or bad-mouthed her absentee mother. And when her mother died from a drug overdose, it was her dad who helped her overcome her grief. A proud daddy’s girl, Angela grew up doing all the things her father loved. To this day, Angela consulted her dad before making any major decisions and lived for the afternoons they spent jogging around Millennium Park, watching their beloved Chicago Royals play or barbecuing at her childhood home. Her dad was a truck driver who worked long hours for crummy pay, and as soon as Angela became lead anchor at WJN-TV, she was going to pay off his bills and buy him a new car.

  “Demetri Morretti showed up unexpectedly at WJN-TV.”

  “And,” Cornelius prompted.

  “And when he confronted me over my Athletes Behaving Badly segment, I lost it,” Angela confessed, forcing the bitter truth out of her mouth. “I know the athletes mentioned in the story are upset, but I never expected Demetri Morretti to pop up at the studio, demanding an apology. Seeing him threw me for a loop.”

  “Morretti didn’t put his hands on you, did he?”

  “God, no!” she hollered. “If he had, I would have slugged him!”

  “That’s my girl!”

  “Dad, I’m...” Angela struggled with her words. Swallowing, she pushed past her emotions and spoke from her heart. “Dad, I’m sorry if what I did embarrassed you. I got caught up in the moment, and—”

  “I’m not mad at you, baby girl. I’m damn proud!”

  “You are?”

  “Of course. It’s about time someone stood up to Demetri Morretti, and I’m glad that my smart, beautiful daughter was the one to do it.”

  Angela sat up straight. “You really mean that?”

  “I sure do!” His strong voice boomed through the phone. “It’s not your fault you lost your temper. Demetri Morretti provoked you, didn’t he?”

  Angela stayed silent. She wasn’t going to defend Demetri Morretti—he was the enemy—so
instead of correcting her dad, she vented her frustration. “Dad, you should have heard him! He was making demands and ordering me around like I was one of his flunkies,” she complained. “And get this—he said if I don’t go on the air and apologize, he’s going to sue me.”

  “Tell him to bring it on! I’m not scared of him!”

  A giggle fell out of her lips. “Dad, you can’t fight Demetri Morretti—”

  “I will if he disrespects you again.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I can handle him.”

  “Baby girl, he’s a bully. You can’t take him on by yourself.”

  “I won’t.” Angela thought for a moment and considered what she could do to make the whole ugly issue with Demetri Morretti go away. “I’m thinking maybe I should ask the station to cancel the last segment of my Athletes Behaving Badly story.”

  “Why? I’ve watched all of the shows online, and I think it’s one of the best pieces you’ve ever done.”

  “You think so?” she asked, stunned by her father’s words. “You don’t think I was too hard on the athletes featured in my story?”

  “Hell no! They’re all rich, spoiled stars who’ve had multiple run-ins with the law.”

  “Well, everyone except Demetri Morretti.”

  “Yeah, but he’s the worst of the bunch. Talk about an overpaid, overhyped star. He had a lousy season, both on and off the field. If I was the GM of the Royals, I’d cut him loose.”

  “A lot of people feel that way.”

  “And for good reason. Remember the last home game we went to? Fans were so pissed, they started tossing things onto the field and screaming obscenities.”

  Frowning, Angela thought back to that day. She didn’t remember any of that happening. But at the time, she imagined that she would’ve been too busy eyeballing Demetri Morretti to realize what was going on around her. In the midst of developing her Athletes Behaving Badly segment, she’d decided to use the time to scope out the players featured in her story. But when the stadium announcer called Demetri to bat, Angela ditched her iPad. There was something about the baseball star that excited her, something about his energy that turned her on. Her dad was sitting next to her, chatting away, but Angela hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

  Her eyes had been glued to number seven.

  Demetri’s uniform was crisp and clean and outlined his ripped forearms and firm butt. He had universal sex appeal, and when he took to the field, the women in the crowd went wild. Sitting there, in her plastic red seat, Angela felt something stir inside her. Something profound. Her attraction to him was so intense, it consumed her entire body.

  Angela shook off the memories of that blustery fall day in September. I’m attracted to Demetri—so what? she decided. I’m attracted to a lot of men, and just because I’ve fantasized about him a time or two doesn’t mean I want him. Because I definitely don’t.

  “Stay away from Demetri Morretti,” Cornelius advised. “He’s always been a loose cannon, and since injuring his shoulder during training camp, he’s only gotten more volatile. There’s no telling what he’ll do the next time you two cross paths.”

  “Relax, Dad. He’s not that bad.”

  “I just want you to be safe.”

  Angela smiled to herself. It didn’t matter how many people online bashed her show. She would always have her dad’s love and that meant the world to her. “I know, Dad, and don’t worry. I will be.”

  “While I have you on the line, there’s something else I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Let me guess—you want me to get you some more Harlem Globetrotter tickets, right?”

  “No, the ones you gave me last week were more than enough.”

  Angela heard her dad pause, then release a deep sigh, and immediately knew something was weighing heavily on his mind.

  “Your brother called today.”

  “From where?” she quipped, rolling her eyes. “The Cook County Correctional Center?”

  “Angela, don’t joke about things like that.”

  “Why not? That’s exactly where Rodney and his gangbanger friends are headed.”

  “This thing between you and your brother has gone on long enough,” Cornelius said. “When are you going to forgive him and move on?”

  “Dad, I moved on a long time ago.”

  “Then why won’t you take his calls or respond to his messages?”

  Because I’ve washed my hands of him. Angela didn’t want to hurt her dad, and if she spoke the truth, he’d be crushed. “Dad, every time I think about what Rodney did to me, I get angry all over again, so let’s talk about something else.”

  “No one’s perfect, Angela. Everyone makes mistakes!”

  “I know,” she conceded, “but Rodney’s mistakes always end up costing me thousands of dollars and a trip to the county jail to bail him out.”

  “He’s only twenty-one. He has a lot of growing up to do—”

  “Dad, quit making excuses for him. When I was in college and my scholarship fell through, I didn’t go out and steal from my family. I got a job and worked damn hard.” Angela felt a pang of guilt but pushed past it. Her dad didn’t need to know the truth about the job she’d taken her freshman year. No one did. It was her little secret—one she was taking with her to her grave. “I busted my butt to make my dreams come true, and so can Rodney.”

  “I’m not condoning what your brother did, but I think you’re being too hard on him. He’s the only brother you have, your flesh and blood, and he needs you now more than...”

  Angela didn’t have the strength to argue with her dad. Not after the day she’d had. And not about her wayward sibling, Rodney. Her brother was a full-time criminal who could outsmart the cops any day of the week. Over the years, she’d become accustomed to making excuses for his poor choices. But when he’d stolen her debit card and withdrawn five thousand dollars from her account, she’d cut him off for good. Angela missed having her kid brother around, missed shooting hoops with him in her dad’s backyard and firing up the grill, but she’d never forgive Rodney for betraying her. “Dad, I’m tired,” she said, anxious to end the phone call. “I’m going to turn in.”

  “Okay, I understand. You’ve had a long day.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Angela, please give some thought to what I said.”

  “I will,” she lied. As she clicked off the phone and rose from the couch, she decided to put her problems with Rodney out of her mind. She had an interview with Demetri Morretti to prep for, and after their argument yesterday morning at Samson’s Gym, Angela knew she had her work cut out for her.

  After taking a quick shower, Angela got into bed, turned on her laptop and logged on to the internet. Once she checked her email and updated her Facebook page, she began typing “safe” interview questions. Questions she planned to submit to her boss but had no intention of asking Demetri Morretti on the air.

  Excitement pumped through her veins. It didn’t matter if they taped the episode next week or next month, because when the time finally came for her to sit down with the reigning bad boy of Major League Baseball, she’d not only have the upper hand, but she’d also be laying the groundwork for a promotion.

  By the time I’m done with Demetri Morretti, he won’t know what hit him!

  Chapter 7

  “Hold the elevator!”

  Angela stuck her foot out to prevent the elevator doors from closing, and when Salem rounded the corner and hustled inside, she couldn’t help but laugh. “The one time I decide to sneak out early, I get caught! Talk about rotten luck!”

  Salem laughed, too. “Where are you rushing off to? Got a hot date tonight?”

  “Nope, I’m getting a mani-pedi done up the block at Glamour Girlz.”

  “Mind if I join you? My gel nail
s are a hot mess.”

  “Sure. Why not? We can finally finish discussing my proposal.”

  “Or,” she said, drawing out the word, “we can gossip about our coworkers!”

  Twenty minutes later, Angela and Salem were sitting in the café adjacent to Glamour Girlz. Since the salon was packed, and there was an hour-long wait, Angela suggested they grab a cup of coffee to pass the time. They were the only people in the café, and once seated at a corner table, Salem sank down in her padded leather chair and kicked off her pumps.

  “God, I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” she confessed, shrugging off her black two-button blazer. “Those shoes were cutting off my circulation.”

  Angela glanced under the table and gazed longingly at the multicolored peep-toe heels. She’d been coveting them for months, and had the perfect dress to wear them with, but because Rodney had pilfered her bank account, she wouldn’t be making any trips to the mall anytime soon. “Those shoes are hot.”

  “I know, huh? I love my Louboutins, but after giving several studio tours, and running around the station all day, my feet are on fire!”

  “I’ve been there too many times to count.” Angela wore a sympathetic smile. “Sometimes it sucks to be a woman.”

  “Says the young, gorgeous newscaster who has men lining up to date her.”

  “Yeah,” Angela conceded, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Broke, lazy types who want me to be their sugar mama!”

  The women laughed.

  Crossing her legs, Angela picked up a menu and scanned the day’s specials. The Espresso Bar was a quaint spot with oak tables, fake flowers and framed paintings that looked as if they’d been done by three-year-olds. But Angela didn’t come to the café to admire the decor; she came for the desserts. The Polish-born chef made the best pastries in the city. Cakes so rich and creamy, patrons ordered them for breakfast. When the waiter arrived to take their order, Angela felt no guilt in ordering a slice of chocolate sformato to go along with her cappuccino. She needed something sweet to give her fuel for the rest of the day.