by J. Lynn
Cradling Pepsi in one arm and the newspaper in the other, she headed into her small kitchen. Putting them both down on the table, she punched the coffee machine on and then opened up a can of kitty chow.
Bridget’s mom would’ve shit a brick if she knew she let Pepsi on the kitchen table, but it wasn’t like anyone other than Bridget was eating off it. Her last serious boyfriend had a huge problem with it, too.
Her ex had problems with a lot of things.
Taking her cup of coffee, which was more sugar than anything else, and the bowl of food back to the small round table, she sat down and eyed the cat. “Hungry?”
Pepsi sat back on his haunches and very slowly lifted a paw, as if to say, Hand it over, lady, you’re working for me.
She sighed and leaned over, putting the dish in front of the feline. Sipping her coffee, she cracked open the newspaper and scanned the headlines. It was the same as it was every day—economy in the crapper, presidential candidates promising the world, and some poor soul murdered the night before. Was it any wonder she skipped to the gossips?
She really shouldn’t look, especially after Friday, but her fingers had a mind of their own, flipping past the finance and sports sections.
Bridget gasped and nearly dropped her cup. With a shaky hand, she put the cup down.
Star Pitcher Gamble Goes for a Triple Play and Scores!
The headline alone was bad enough, but the picture—dear God, there was a picture?—caused an irrational surge of hot jealousy.
In true black-and-white grainy glory, in the middle of three very scantily clad women sprawled across a bed, was one Chad Gamble, grinning like he’d just hit the jackpot of half-naked chicks.
“Holy crap.” Bridget grabbed the paper and lifted it closer to her face. None of the women were Stella, the model who apparently wanted a repeat of last weekend, but any one of them could easily pose for lingerie, which they were for the entire world in a bed with Chad.
A blonde had her hand on his chest. Another had her leg thrown over his. The third had her hands in his fabulously messy hair.
The article really didn’t say much other than the “wild Nationals playboy strikes again.” The picture was taken at a Hyatt in New York City within the pass week.
Bridget had no idea how long she stared at that picture, but the elated faces of the women blurred. Chad, well, he also looked pretty damn happy grinning from ear to ear. What man wouldn’t be?
She closed her eyes and his cerulean blue eyes appeared, heated and consuming. Had he looked at those women like that? Of course he had. If she thought any differently, then she was truly an idiot. And why did she even care? She barely knew him, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t known his reputation.
But damn…that ugly feeling inside her was more than just jealousy. Possibly even a little bit of disappointment, because even though she knew that whatever had happened between them was a one-time thing, there had been moments where her imagination got the best of her. When she fantasized that he was going to show up at her door unexpectedly, having searched her out because he couldn’t go on without her.
Idiot.
Thank God she didn’t have sex with him and end up as another notch on a belt the size of Texas.
Bridget stood up and hurried into the kitchen. With a disgusted sigh, she tossed the newspaper into the trashcan.
God, she hated Sundays.
…
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Chad demanded.
From the chair beside him, Miss Stick-Up-Her-Ass shot him a nasty look. “I see language is another thing we’re going to have to work on.”
Chad breathed in slowly and— Screw this. “This is ridiculous. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Miss Gore is not a babysitter,” Jack Stein said plaintively. His agent had his jacket off and sleeves rolled up. Sweat beaded his brow and his dark hair looked like his fingers had made a run through them many times. “She’s a publicist that the Club is requiring—”
“Requiring?” Chad planted his hands on his agent’s desk and leaned in. “Since when are they requiring this?”
Jack gestured at the contract. “The Nationals are willing to re-sign you, Chad. They’re willing to pay you more money—”
“But?”
Miss Gore cleared her throat. “But if you wish to continue playing for the Nationals, you will agree to get your act together…under my supervision.”
Jack closed his eyes and blew out a long breath.
Very slowly, Chad forced himself to address her for the first time since he learned who she was and why she was there. Two dark brown eyes met his from behind square glasses. That stare made him want to cup his balls. True story.
Miss Alana Gore was the epitome of prim and fucking proper. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun. Her pantsuit was a drab muddy color and ill fitting. Her shoes looked like something a nun would use to kick kids with. Not a speck of makeup covered her face. She might have actually been a decent-looking woman if she knew how to smile.
She was so not smiling right now.
Chad folded his arms. “And exactly how am I supposed to get my act together?”
“Well, for starters, try keeping your dick in your pants for longer than twenty-four hours.”
Jack sounded like he choked, but Chad just stared at the woman. “Excuse me?”
Miss Gore smiled, and shit, it made her scarier. “Let me ask you a question, Mr. Gamble. Do you want to play for the Nationals?”
Stupid question. “What do you think?”
Her smile didn’t fade. “And you don’t want to leave the city, correct?” When he narrowed his eyes, she went on. “I’ve done my research on you, Chad. You have two brothers who both live in the city. You’re very close with them. The three of you are all joined at the hip. No other family except the Daniels.” She paused, scrunching her nose. “They run an apocalypse store?”
“It’s not an apocalypse store.” Chad was used to defending them. “It’s a preparation store for—”
“Whatever,” she said too sweetly.
Chad’s skin started to itch.
“In many of your past interviews, you’ve stated very clearly that you don’t want to leave the city or your loved ones.” She leaned forward, clasping her hands around her crossed knee. “So if you want to stay here and continue to be paid to play ball, then you’re going to do exactly what I say.”
He turned to his agent. “This is drastic.”
“Drastic?” Miss Gore bent forward and pulled the newspaper from her oversize black purse, and Chad cursed. “You were pictured in bed with three women.”
“I didn’t have sex with them!”
Both Jack and Miss Gore shared doubtful looks. “And what about the Victoria’s Secret model you were seen with the weekend before?” she asked.
“I didn’t sleep with her, either!” He took a deep breath. “Okay. I did sleep with her about eight months ago, but I haven’t recently. We’re friends.”
The look on the publicist’s face said she questioned his definition of friendship. “And the twins from four weeks ago?”
Good God, was this woman a stalker? “The twins used to date one of my brothers. We—”
“Are just friends, right?” Her smile tightened. He shot her a bland look, and she ignored him. “And then there’s this club you like to frequent. Leather and Lace? Let me guess, you go there searching for new friends.”
Chad glowered. “Funny.”
Miss Gore looked rather proud of herself. The whole messed-up thing was the fact that Chad hadn’t had sex with anyone in the last three months. Sure, it wasn’t an astronomical dry spell, but for him, it was epic. Hell, he hadn’t been interested in any woman until he stumbled across Bridget.
Shit.
That woman was the last female he wanted to think about. He was still pissed and confused about her leaving him while he was in the damn bathroom, and now he was dealing with this crap.
Miss Gore dropped
the newspaper on the desk. “You probably don’t know who I am, but I can assure you that nothing is more important to me than my job, and your Club hired me to repair your image.”
“My image doesn’t need repairing.” He turned to Jack. “I didn’t sleep with those women.”
“Just hear her out,” Jack suggested tiredly.
“It doesn’t matter if you did slept with an entire floor of an all girls’ dorm or not,” Miss Gore said. “It’s all about perception, and right now the District thinks you’re a whore.”
Chad turned wide eyes on the woman. “Wow.”
“It’s the truth.” She waved him off. “I have represented professional athletes, musicians, and celebrities far worse than you.”
“Man, you do wonders for a man’s self-esteem.”
Miss Gore sat back, folding those prim hands. “Somehow I doubt you have any problems with your self-esteem. In my past experience, I have dealt with addiction, anger problems, and sexual escapades that would make yours seem like a Disney movie. Each and every one of my clients’ images was beyond tarnished when I came onboard. Remember that certain child celebrity who had a penchant for cocaine and Botox injections? You don’t see her at the club scenes anymore, and she’s now working in Hollywood again. So I have experience with overgrown children who don’t care how their actions affect other people. I have built a career on repairing images of those in the spotlight. I have never failed at it, and you’ll be no different.”
Oh, he was gonna be real different. “Look, I’m sure you’re great at what you do, but I don’t need you.”
“And that’s where you’re sadly mistaken.” Miss Gore met his stare head-on.
Chad sat down and gripped the edges of the chair. He’d never cussed at a woman before, but damn, he was coming close.
Jack cleared his throat. “I know you think you don’t need this, Chad, but you don’t have a choice.”
“Bull. Shit.”
As if he expected that kind of response, Jim opened a file and handed several papers stapled together over to Chad. He took it, quickly realizing it was his contract, and opened to the stipulations page.
He scanned it and breathed, “Shit.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack said, scratching his chin. “If you don’t agree to work with Miss Gore and do what she says, the Nationals won’t re-sign you—and could even let you out of your existing contract early.”
He was absolutely dumbfounded.
“This is in your best interest if you want to continue to play ball here,” Jack said.
Chad had no idea what to say. Anger and disbelief slammed into him with the force of a Mack truck, which ran him over and then backed up and did it again. Shit.
“I’ll take your silence as acceptance,” Miss Gore said. “We’ll begin working together immediately.”
“Really?” he grumbled.
“Really.” She reached into her purse again and dropped a freaking encyclopedia-size file in his lap, causing him to grunt. “This is my contract.”
“Jesus.”
“And you will see that in your Nationals’ contract you are required to sign this one.” She leaned over and flicked the stack open to page twenty. “This is the list of new lifestyle choices.”
Lifestyle choices? He wanted to laugh, but none of this was funny. His eyes darted over the list and he nearly choked. “Holy…” There were no words. Seriously.
No drinking in public. No late nights. No bars or clubs of questionable status. No women. He snorted at that. Women, as in plural, because he was a man-whore according to Miss Stick-Up-Her-Ass.
Well, and according to his brothers, but whatevs.
“This is laughable,” he said finally, shaking his head. “I’m not a seventeen-year-old boy. I’m an adult.”
“Good. I agree.” She smiled again. “Now it’s time for you to start acting like one. I expect you to look over everything there, because you will follow those rules. My reputation depends on it, and unlike you, I actually care how the public sees me.”
He really didn’t like this woman.
“You need to do this, Chad. I know how much this team means to you and this city—your brothers,” Jack said, picking up a pen and offering it to him. “You need to sign this and just go with it. In a few months when things die down, it won’t be this bad.”
Chad stared at his agent, feeling like he’d just been betrayed. Then his gaze dropped to the two contracts in his lap. The thing was, he could say screw it and go free agent. The Yankees would grab him up in a heartbeat, but the publicist was right. Leaving this town and his brothers was the last thing he wanted. He and his brothers had a shitty childhood in their cold, sterile home. If it hadn’t been for Maddie’s family, God knew where any of them would be right now. Hell, it was Maddie’s dad who used to come to his Little League games.
Dammit. This city had a ton of bad memories, but the good ones…. Yeah, they outweighed the shit his father and mother dragged him and his brothers through. He needed to be close to his siblings or what he was doing now would seem like child’s play. Leaving wasn’t an option. Who was he kidding by even thinking he would? He just didn’t think he’d end up here, with a babysitter. The Club had him by the balls.
He tipped his head back and groaned. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
Chapter Six
Every time Chase Gamble visited Madison at work, which was, like, every damn day since the two decided to admit their undying love for each other this past May, Bridget wanted to kick off her techno-colored pumps and crawl under her desk. Of course, she doubted her ass would fit in the space under the desk. Not that she was that big, but her desk was that small. After all, she was Madison’s assistant, which meant she got the leftover, no-one-had-used-in-forever type of desks. She probably needed to stop bitching because she was lucky the thing had four legs and hadn’t collapsed on her yet.
She’d spotted the tall, dark-haired club owner navigating his way through the cubicle farm outside their office before Madison did. A quick glance to the left and Bridget saw that Madison’s nose was buried deep in quotes for the winter fund-raising gala.
The winter fund-raising gala.
Le sigh.
There was still time to try to squeeze under her desk or at least pretend she was on the phone, but before she could grab the receiver, the doors swung open and Chase’s huge shoulders filled the gap. Big, door-busting shoulders—shoulders that reminded her of someone else, someone with a tongue and fingers to die for.
She really didn’t need to think about that right now.
Bridget fixed a bright smile on her face. “Hey, Chase.”
Over at her desk, her boss’s head jerked up and her lips broke into a wide smile as she spotted her guest. “Hey,” she said, standing quickly. “Is it lunchtime already?”
Chase sent Bridget a quick nod before turning his full attention on Madison. “Yes. You ready?”
Pretending to rearrange the pens on her desk, Bridget tried desperately to ignore the heavy and extremely long-lasting, PDA-filled meet-and-greet going on no more than five feet in front of her.
But Bridget looked up.
She always did, even more so now, because instead of seeing Chase and Madison, she saw Chad…and her. She was pathetic.
A sharp pang sliced her chest, ripping open a fresh wound that shouldn’t even be there. She sucked in a quiet breath as she watched Chase kiss Madison like she was the air he needed to breathe—and that’s when she looked away, blinking dry eyes.
It wasn’t Chase—God, no. It wasn’t Madison. Even though Bridget hadn’t been a big fan of Chase in the beginning, she was happy for them. No two people were in love with each other more and they deserved happiness. Being in love was the key, Bridget believed with every ounce of her being. It was different than loving someone—much, much different.
But her problem was who Chase was forever going to remind her of now.
Bridget picked up a red pen that matched her cardigan and
placed it in the holder that contained colored-ink pens, a black pen with the non-colorful pens. So, she might be a tiny bit obsessive over where her pens were placed.
“Bridget.” Madison laughed softly. “Leave the damn pens alone and join us for lunch.”
Looking up, she tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. No matter how tight she pulled her hair back, the damn pieces always managed to slip through. “Oh, no, you two lovebirds enjoy your alone time.”
Madison made a face as she spun and grabbed her jacket and purse. “I don’t want any more alone time with him. That’s why I’m inviting you.”
“Thanks.” Chase turned to her slowly. “My self-esteem just went through the roof.”
Bridget cracked a smile at that.
“But seriously, come with us.” Chase draped an arm around Madison’s slim shoulders. “We’re going to the new restaurant down the street.”
“The Cove?” Bridget asked. Her stomach was so in.
“Yes.” Madison grinned. “The one you’ve been wanting to check out. That boasts the best burgers in DC.”
Chase tugged Madison against him. Any closer and the two would be sealed together. “I’ve ate there and their burgers are the shit.”
Damn them and their knowledge of how much sway burgers held over her. Standing from her chair, Bridget grabbed her purse off the little cart beside her desk. “Well, how can I pass up such a glowing recommendation like that?”
Chase grinned as he pivoted around. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “No jacket?”
Bridget straightened her cardigan so the embroidered flower didn’t end up poised over her left breast like some kind of weird nipple. “I don’t like jackets.”
“She thinks they’re too bulky,” Madison interjected as he held the door open for them. “It can be snowing outside and she won’t have a jacket on but will be wearing a scarf.”
True.
Chase fell in step between them. “A scarf but no jacket?”
Bridget shrugged. “It keeps my neck warm and besides, unlike Maddie, I have a couple of extra layers worth of protection.”