Tempting the Player

by J. Lynn

  Bridget flushed as her lips tingled. Such inappropriate timing.

  “You do understand your reputation is also at stake,” Miss Gore announced.

  Forcing her gaze away from photographic evidence of her attraction to Chad, she took a deep breath. “I don’t see how my reputation is affected by this.”

  Miss Gore picked up the paper and her brows lifted. “Funny thing about photos is how differently they can be perceived from one person to the next, and sometimes all it takes is a different side of the story to be pointed out.”

  Bridget folded her arms. “What are you getting at?”

  She looked up from the paper. “My job as a publicist requires me to spin things. That’s where the whole term spin doctors comes from. And I’m really, really good at spinning things. Take this photo, for example. It looks like two people sharing a kiss. Something both of them wanted.”

  “It was a mistake, but—”

  “What it really was doesn’t matter. It’s all how the public perceives it, and right now they think you’re Chad’s newest flavor of the week. But what if there was a different side to the story?”

  “There isn’t a different side to the story. Chad kissed me. I kissed him back.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Something I regret for several reasons.”

  “There’s always a different story,” Miss Gore said. “Look at this picture—closely. See how you’re gripping the front of his shirt, by his shoulders?”

  Bridget really didn’t want to examine the picture that closely. Bad enough that all she had to do was close her eyes to remember what being kissed by Chad felt like.

  “You’re also pressed against him,” Miss Gore continued. “And a woman of your size has to be fairly strong.”

  Slowly, Bridget drew in a low, steady breath. Like she was the size of Jabba the Hut or something.

  “To me, it looks like you’re grabbing Chad and forcing him to kiss you.”

  “What?” she shrieked. “That’s—”

  “Celebrities like Chad do have many women—sad, lonely, and slightly overweight women—who do approach him quite often. It’s no stretch of the imagination to assume that he has a stalker or two.” Miss Gore glanced at the photo. “To me it looks like you accosted him on the street and forced yourself on him.”

  Red-hot fury slammed into Bridget. “I would never do something like that! How dare you insinuate—”

  “I don’t dare, Bridget. I will do it. You’ll give me no other choice. It’s the only way I can cover up his latest mess-up, which is you. Perhaps you should’ve avoided his advances.” Miss Gore smoothed her hands over her skirt. “It’s unsavory and quite a bitch move. I agree. But that doesn’t change the fact that I will release a public statement accusing you of stalking Chad Gamble and forcing yourself on him.”

  “I’m going to hit you—put all of my considerable weight behind it,” Bridget said, eyeing the heavy lamp beside the couch. How much prison time would she get if she whacked it over the bitch’s head?

  Miss Gore didn’t look too concerned. “All you have to do is pretend to be dating Chad. That’s all. You’ll keep your job and your reputation. And let’s be honest here, dating Chad is surely going to increase your dating potential later on. Every man in the city is going to want to know what you have that hooked a playboy like Chad.”

  If she wasn’t so pissed off, she’d be offended by those statements. What she wanted to do was kick her foot so far up this lady’s rear that she’d need a doctor to remove it.

  Bridget turned away and stalked behind the chair she’d been sitting in, taking several deep breaths. Her apartment was shoebox sized, but now she really felt it—the walls closing in. She was trapped. There was no doubt in her mind that Miss Gore would do exactly what she threatened. Bridget would lose her job and end up looking like a psycho in the process. And just like her pride had refused to let her accept money for being Chad’s pretend girlfriend, pride refused to allow her to be labeled as some kind of fatal attraction wannabe with a weight problem. She could see the gossips now. The things they’d say about her…

  She swallowed hard, but the sudden lump of messy, ugly emotions didn’t budge. Damn Chad for dragging her into this mess.

  Facing Miss Gore, Bridget sent her a death glare. “I think this is disgusting, and I’m sure there’s a special place in hell for you, Miss Gore, but you’ve left me no other choice.”

  A look of remorse flickered across Miss Gore’s otherwise impassive expression, but it was so quick that Bridget soon doubted she even saw it. Miss Gore placed a card on the coffee table as she stood. “I expect you to be at the address provided tomorrow evening at seven to go over the ground rules with Chad. Wear something…nice.” That tight, fake smile again. “You will have a late dinner with Chad at Jaws.”

  Jaws was an upscale seafood joint that Bridget couldn’t even afford to walk past. Letting out a shaky breath, she watched the publicist/dictator stroll toward the front door.

  Miss Gore stopped and looked over her shoulder. The woman’s spine was straight as a nail under the suit. “Don’t be late, Bridget.”

  Bridget did the only thing she could do in this situation that wouldn’t end with her doing a life stint in prison. She flipped the woman off.

  With both hands.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chad had been stunned into silence when Miss Gore called and informed him Bridget had agreed to pretend to be his girlfriend. He’d been positive she would’ve laughed his publicist right out of town, and they’d be scrambling for another way to repair an image he’d been partly responsible for. Maybe he’d been right about Bridget all along, and she was no different than the other women who wanted to be with him for the attention.

  That was a damn shame.

  “You’re pacing.” Miss Gore’s voice grated on his every last damn nerve.

  Chad stopped and stared out the window overlooking a manicured park that split the teeming avenue.

  From the sectional couch, Miss Gore sighed. “You should be thrilled by this development.”

  The only thing that thrilled him was the fact he’d get to see Bridget again without having to seek her out. How fucked up was that?

  “I must say your place is by far nicer than Bridget’s. She has a thing for…color. Her walls are blue, red, and yellow. The pillows on her couch have every color of the rainbow in them. It was like being in an episode of Sesame Street.”

  A slow smile pulled at his lips as he leaned against the windowpane and folded his arms.

  “And she has a cat.” Miss Gore shuddered. “A cat the size of a small dog.”

  Chad wasn’t big on cats, being more of a dog person himself, but apparently he found them more tolerable than Miss Gore. There was a knock on the door, soft and almost hesitant. He turned from the window and thrust his fingers through his hair. The clock on the wall said it was a minute till seven.

  “You going to get that?” Miss Gore asked.

  He shot the woman a look. “You invited her. This was your idea.”

  “And that kind of attitude isn’t going to work. Get the door.”

  Chad balked at her demanding tone and had half a mind to toss her out into the hallway. The only thing stopping him was that his life was on the line. Crossing the living room, he passed the kitchen and went into the foyer. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Bridget.

  Her hair was down, like it had been the night in the club, falling in waves around her face. A faint pink blush stained her cheeks, causing tiny freckles he hadn’t noticed before to stand out over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Since they were supposed to go out later or some shit like that, she was wearing another demure sweater dress in deep green. The black knee boots with their pointy toes seemed toned down for her, but she looked good.

  She looked really good.

  Bridget’s bottle-green eyes were focused straight ahead, but she wasn’t seeing him. “Sorry if I’m late,” she said.

 
; “You’re not.” He stepped aside, and for the first time in a long, long freaking time, he felt nervous. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “The strongest liquor you have,” she said, placing her clutch on the kitchen counter as she brushed past him. He inhaled deeply, lust stirring at the smell of jasmine. There was the color, he realized as his gaze fell to the clutch. The thing was blue, red, purple, and green.

  Chad turned to the cabinet, but Miss Gore appeared out of nowhere. “I do not think alcohol is a good idea right now.”

  Bridget’s spine stiffened as she turned to the woman. “If you expect me to go through with this, I need a drink. A really hard drink.”

  Wondering if he should feel insulted or not, he grabbed a glass and a bottle of Grey Goose from the cabinet. “Tonight sounds like it’s going to be fun.” He poured Bridget a glass and handed it to her. “Can’t wait to get started.”

  Bridget’s eyes narrowed on him as her fingers brushed his. She jerked back, and clear liquor sloshed over the rim, running down her fingers. Man, he wanted to lick that right off.

  He doubted Miss Prissy would approve.

  And, by the way Bridget was not looking at him, she wouldn’t, either.

  Putting the vodka back, he closed the cabinet door. “So we’re doing dinner?” he asked, wanting to get this show on the road.

  “We need to cover some ground rules first,” Miss Gore said, gesturing back to the living room like she owned the damn apartment. “Follow me?”

  Bridget moved past Miss Gore, and he’d swear the temperature in the room dropped by the look she’d given the woman. At least they could bond over their mutual dislike of his publicist.

  He watched Bridget sit on the edge of the couch, his gaze glued to that lovely ass of hers. He chose to stand back at the window, but this time the scenery was a lot more interesting inside his place.

  “Before you say a word,” Bridget said, holding up a hand as she twisted toward Miss Gore, “I want your promise that this will only be a month.”

  Chad’s brows shot up.

  Jumping in before Chad could open his mouth, his publicist nodded. “It would be a little over a month—a few days. Basically until New Year’s Day.”

  Bridget lowered her hand and took a nice, long, and healthy gulp of vodka. Now his eyes narrowed on her. “Do you think you can make it that long?” he asked sardonically.

  “I think I’ll need to develop a drug habit to get through this,” she said, smiling sweetly.

  Miss Gore stepped forward. “Actually, I would advise against that.”

  Bridget’s brows rose as she took another drink of the vodka. “Sorry, but this is all new to me.”

  “Well, I’ve never had anyone pretend to be my girlfriend, so I’m in the same boat as you.”

  She glanced at him but quickly looked away. “What are the ground rules?”

  Miss Gore’s gaze traveled between the two, her eyes sharp. “No public intoxication or drug use.”

  Chad folded his arms, exasperated. “I don’t do drugs.”

  “That last part was meant for her.”

  Now it was Bridget’s turn to look riled. “I’ll try to refrain from doing my daily hit of crack.”

  Chad barked out a short laugh, but Miss Gore was not amused. “You two will need to be believable. I suggest that you do not tell any of your friends or family about this arrangement. If this were to get out to the press, we’d all look like fools.”

  “Then maybe we should find another way,” Chad suggested.

  Bridget’s gaze dropped to her half-full glass. “I agree.”

  “There is no other way. You’ve made your bed with Bridget and now you get to roll around and lie in it. Moving on.” Miss Gore straightened her glasses. “You must be convincing to the public. No arguing. You have to act like you like each other, and given the fact that you two shared a very public kiss, that shouldn’t be too hard.”

  A pretty flush crawled over Bridget’s cheeks. “Can we not talk about that?”

  Chad had been entertaining a quick fantasy of tracing the rush of blood with his fingers, mouth, and tongue. “Oh, you’re going to start the whole ‘I’m not attracted to you’ thing again?”

  “Just because you kissed me doesn’t mean I’m attracted to you,” she shot back.

  Oh, here the fuck we go again. “You kissed me back. “

  “I didn’t have much of a choice.” Her hand had tightened around the glass. “Just like I don’t have much of a choice right this second.”

  The way Bridget said that made it sound like she was about to take a job shoveling pig shit. “It could be worse. I hear I’m a pretty good catch.”

  “Yeah, when you were named Sexiest whatever alive last year, when you were still relevant.”

  “Ouch.” Chad’s brows shot up, and he laughed, genuinely amused. “I’ll be expecting a written apology when I’m named again this year.”

  Bridget eyed him over the rim of her glass. “If that happens, then I seriously question the taste of American women.”

  He remembered easily how great she had tasted. “If I recall correctly, you’ve—”

  “Children,” snapped Miss Gore. “You two kissed. We’ve established that. All right? Obviously there is some sort of attraction between you, but I cannot have you two behaving like bickering children in public.”

  Bridget glanced down at her glass. “I need more vodka.”

  “Aw, come on,” Chad drawled.

  Miss Gore’s sigh was a work of art and managed to silence both of them. “How did you two meet?”

  Since Bridget said nothing, he decided it was up to him to come out with the truth. “We met at a bar about a month ago. She obviously knew who I was and my family, since she works with my brother’s girlfriend. I didn’t know this.” And truth be told, he wasn’t sure whether, if he had known, it would’ve changed anything that night. “Anyway, we spent a few hours together.”

  Bridget had gone very quiet during this and seemed relieved when he hadn’t elaborated any further, and he wasn’t going to, no matter how many questions Miss Gore asked. Luckily, she nodded and moved on.

  “You two will need to act as if you’re in love.” Miss Gore rocked back on her heels. “You should definitely hold her hand while you’re out. And— What?” She frowned at his raised eyebrows. “You know, place your hand in hers.”

  “I know how to hold hands,” Chad growled, and Bridget snickered. He sent her a look, and her eyes rolled. “And contrary to popular belief, I know how to date someone.”

  “Now that is shocking.” Bridget took another drink. “I thought you only knew how— Hey!”

  Chad shot forward, moving so fast that he knew he’d startled her. Very carefully, he took the glass from her. “I think you’ve had enough.”

  She gave him a dirty look. “Not nearly enough.”

  While he thought her feisty responses were rather cute—and he wasn’t sure when cute became a part of his vocab—his ego was starting to get a little bruised.

  Miss Gore smoothed a hand over her tightly pulled back hair. “I think we could do about three public appearances during the week, plus a night out on Saturday. If the press catches on, you may be required to spend the night here, Bridget, to make it believable.”

  “What?” Her eyes had gone wide. “I didn’t agree to that.”

  His publicist’s lips thinned. “There are guest rooms here, and you’re both adults. Start acting like it.”

  Bridget’s cheeks flushed. “I really don’t like you.”

  Chad bit back a smile.

  “You don’t have to like me,” Miss Gore responded coolly. “There is also a Christmas event hosted by the Nationals you’ll be expected to attend together. With the very public dates and that event, it should calm down the press or at least switch to more appropriate write-ups on your personal life, Chad.”

  “What about after the New Year?” Bridget asked. “If we ‘break up’ afterward, wouldn’t that be bad
press for him?”

  He was kind of surprised that Bridget even cared if it was, but then again, he didn’t really know why she agreed to do this in the first place. He’d thought for sure she’d have told Miss Gore to take a flying fuck and slammed the door in her face. Only a true wacko who craved attention would want to join this three-ring circus. Chad frowned.

  “There will be no public statement, but eventually the press will catch on to you two not being seen together. At that point, I will release a statement that you two remain good friends.” Her dark gaze landed on him. “After this month is over, it doesn’t mean you go back to your old ways.”

  “I figured as much,” he said dryly, wondering if the woman thought he was an oversexed idiot.

  “If by the end of the year, the Club is happy with the changes in your behavior, your contract won’t be canceled.” She paused, and he knew she was thinking about her own reputation, not that he could blame her. “And hopefully you will take this as a learning experience.”

  What he’d learned so far was that the press greatly overexaggerated the truth and generally sucked ass.

  Miss Gore went over a couple more ground rules, all really just common sense, and a general breakdown on what you do when you like someone. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Miss Gore must’ve believed he was an imbecile when it came to women, he would’ve laughed.

  When it seemed like his publicist had run out of things to say, he wanted to ram his head into the wall. “So are we ready to do this?”

  Miss Gore nodded, but he didn’t really care what she thought. The other woman was sitting on the couch, pale and stiff, her fingers clenched in her lap. As he stared at her, he felt a pang of regret. He had no idea why she was doing this, but it was clear she really didn’t want to. It was fucked up, but the more upset she appeared the happier it made him. He hadn’t liked a version of Bridget as attention seeking. Now he wanted to call this whole thing off. It wasn’t right. His career shouldn’t be more important than her comfort.