by Lizzie Shane
More the fool her. He hadn’t turned out to be who she thought he was at all.
Rachel smothered the thought, evicting him from her brain. She didn’t think about him. He didn’t matter. He wasn’t in the picture. Period.
Her boss’s admin assistant wasn’t at her desk, but Trista’s office door was open, her voice drifting out. Probably on the phone. Her own phone in hand, ready to make notes on whatever project Trista was probably assigning her, Rachel tapped on the doorframe as she popped her head inside to let her boss know she was here.
Except Trista wasn’t on the phone. A client sat opposite her desk. A large, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man in a sport coat.
“Ah. Here she is,” Trista said, breaking off what she was saying with a smile. Her boss rose as the man turned—
And all the oxygen whooshed out of the room.
Not just a client.
Cameron Cole.
All-Star catcher. Local hero. Beloved by one and all. Handsome, rich, talented.
And Sofie’s father.
Sofie’s very married father.
She was hallucinating. That had to be it. But Trista was rounding her desk, smiling as if Rachel wasn’t having a coronary on the spot, and Cam was rising from his chair, recognition flashing over his face before he erased the expression.
“Rachel, I’d like you to meet Cameron Cole—”
“We’ve met,” Rachel blurted—then immediately regretted the words. She did not want to explain to her boss how she knew Cam. “So good to see you again," she said with what she hoped was professional poise, thrusting her hand at him in an attempt to prevent Trista from asking where they’d met. “I thought you’d moved to LA.”
It had been part of the reason she hadn’t. Her half-brother lived there and last year she’d been offered a job with an incredibly prestigious wedding planner who was looking to expand their business—but she hadn’t wanted to risk running into Cam. She knew LA was a huge city, but she’d had a recurring nightmare about bumping into him while walking with Sofie in the park. It had kept her up nights until she turned down the job offer and decided to stay in Boulder.
“I did,” he confirmed—his voice the same deep, distinctive tone that still haunted her dreams. There was something about his voice—it always sounded layered to her, with an extra rasp that cranked the sex appeal up to eleven and made the little hairs rise on her arms. As they were doing now. “But I’m back for the off-season. Colorado will always be home and I’m still connected to the community here.”
His pale grey eyes searched hers and she tried not to let her panic show in her gaze. What was he trying to say? Connected to the community? Could he mean a genetic connection? Did he know about Sofie?
Not that she was trying to hide her from him, but she didn’t want her daughter to grow up feeling about her cheating ass of a deadbeat father the way Rachel had always felt about hers. Better to keep him out of her life entirely.
“Cameron is one of our celebrity victims for the Bachelor Auction at the Russell House fundraiser.”
Rachel jerked, dropping Cam’s hand abruptly as she became aware of her boss’s presence again. “Bachelor?” she blurted, unable to keep the skepticism out of her voice, but Trista didn’t seem to register it.
Trista turned, her body language steering them all back to the seating area in front of the desk. “He’s also agreed to be the face of our last promo push to raise awareness for the event. There’s a photo shoot with all the bachelors this afternoon and we’ve arranged to have a reporter from a local lifestyle magazine sit down with him after for an interview.”
There was that word again. Bachelor. Trista really needed to do more research on her so-called bachelors, or some unsuspecting bidder might get her hopes up only to find out he was married the hard way—by bumping into his wife, like Rachel had, on the same day the lying bastard told her he was in love with her.
Cam resumed his seat and Rachel forced her body to act naturally, sinking down onto the other chair facing the desk. Trista leaned against it. “I figured you were the best person to brief him on the details of the event, since so many of the ideas were yours and you’ll be taking over the final preparations while I’m out of town.”
Rachel tried to keep the shock off her face since Trista clearly intended to play this off for Cam as something that had been part of the plan all along, but this was the first she was hearing about Trista going anywhere or her taking over anything.
The Russell House fundraiser was huge. Easily one of the biggest events they handled every year. Rachel had done several smaller events on her own and helped with the major ones, but she’d never actually been in charge of one of the tent-pole events before. Her breath went short at the heady surge of pride that Trista would trust her with this.
Though that still didn’t explain where her boss was going.
That would have to be a question for another time. Rachel kicked into work mode, her smile smooth as she faced Cam. “Absolutely. I’d be happy to answer any questions you have.”
Cam’s grey eyes met hers and a little zing of panic shot down to her chest at the look in them. She should have been more specific that she was only answering questions about the event—but Trista stepped in before he could speak.
“Perfect.” She beamed, evidently happy that Rachel had played her part well. “Cameron needs to head to the photoshoot now so we can get him started on hair and make-up and I need to have a quick word with you, Rachel, but then you can head along to the shoot.” She turned her attention fully on Cam. “Rachel can answer any of your questions there. And you already have her number if you think of any other questions or concerns over the next few days. She’ll be your point person during the press push.”
Cam had been unusually quiet—she didn’t remember him being nearly mute, but then how well had she really known the man? The sum total of their relationship had been three whirlwind weeks—starting with too much champagne at a charity gala and ending with that disastrous ballgame.
He stood now, straightening his cuffs, his eyes never leaving hers. “I look forward to it,” he murmured in that raspy sex god voice—and her panic level hit critical as she tried to decipher what he meant by that.
She rose as well, hoping her movements didn’t look as jerky and wooden as they felt. She automatically shook his hand when he finished shaking Trista’s. It was the second time she’d touched him, but this time her initial shock had retreated enough that she could actually feel her fingers—and his. His hands were large and calloused and warm. Incredibly warm.
She remembered that now. A little detail she’d forgotten in the last two years. His hands had always been hot where hers were cold. He would chafe her hands between his, absently, without even seeming to notice he was doing it, tucking her against him to warm her up.
She jerked back her hand, smiling to cover the abrupt movement. She needed to act naturally. Not just to assure her boss that she was fully capable of taking care of the largest fundraiser on TD Events’ Christmas docket, but also to avoid making Cam suspicious. He probably barely remembered her. The last thing she needed was him thinking he was anything more than a random guy she’d hooked up with a few times two years ago.
Casual. She needed to keep it casual.
Trista guided Cam to the door of her office where her admin assistant had reappeared. JoJo beamed and took over the job of showing him out. Trista waited until he was out of earshot and then turned back toward Rachel, closing the door behind her.
“Sorry to spring that on you. Everything all happened at once and I only had the chance to send you the one text.” Trista strode back behind her desk, waving Rachel back to the seat she’d vacated.
“What all happened at once?” she asked, trying to ignore the frantic panic rabbit that was bouncing around her brain at Cam’s reappearance in her life.
Trista flicked a glance at the photo on her desk. “Apparently I’m going on my
honeymoon.”
Rachel blinked. “Didn’t you get married three years ago?”
“We did,” Trista confirmed. “But we never took our honeymoon because we were always waiting for it to be a good time to be away—which isn’t entirely my fault. Audrey works as much as I do. But this morning my darling wife issued an ultimatum. Honeymoon or divorce. Apparently she thinks we need drastic measures—which translates to three weeks at some eco-resort in Fiji. Starting next Friday. Which means I need someone else to take over the Russell House Christmas auction. You were the obvious choice—though I would have preferred to talk to you about it before introducing you to the talent. I’m sorry about that. I already had the meeting with Cole scheduled. He was walking in the door as I got off the phone with Audrey confirming the dates.”
Her usually unflappable boss sounded more flustered than Rachel had ever heard her—though by most people’s standards she was still two Xanax past calm. Rachel leaned forward in her chair, projecting as much confidence as she possessed. “Don’t worry about the auction. I’ve got this.”
“I know you do,” Trista said. “And I know the timing is terrible—during the holidays when you want to be spending time with your family—but so many of the new features were your ideas, it didn’t seem right to offer it to anyone else.”
“No, I want to do it,” Rachel assured her. If she proved she could handle a major event like this, more big things were certain to come her way. “I’ll have it so organized it will practically run itself. Just concentrate on enjoying your vacation.”
Trista smiled. “I knew you were the right person for the job. You already have access to all the files you’ll need on the company server. And I’ll be here for the next week if you have any questions as you’re taking over.” Her gaze flicked to the empty chair where Cameron had sat. “How do you know Cameron Cole?”
“Passing acquaintance.” Rachel felt her face heating and hoped her blush didn’t show. “We met at a charity gala a few years ago—and I’m fairly sure he wasn’t eligible for a bachelor auction at the time.”
“Ah. He’s divorced now.”
Shocker. His wife had probably dumped him when she discovered he was a lying, cheating ass.
Rachel ignored the bitter voice in the back of her mind as Trista continued, “Though the Bachelor Auction is less dates and more experiences. I’m still not sure we made the right call by labeling it that.”
Rachel vividly remembered that discussion. It had been a coincidence that all the early volunteers donating experiences happened to be single men and the marketing team had latched onto the idea. “I thought Boulder Life loved the bachelor angle?”
“They do. But they aren’t the ones asking people to shell out a hundred and fifty bucks a plate to attend.” She grimaced. “It’s your headache now, I guess.” She glanced at the clock on her desk. “You should probably head over to the photo shoot. I don’t trust Amanda Smith from Boulder Life not to arrive early and blindside our boys.”
Rachel suppressed her cringe at the reminder that Cam was expecting her.
She could do this. All she had to do was organize the largest charity event she’d ever coordinated while trying to avoid the lying scumbag sperm-donor—who happened to be the public face of the event.
Easy.
Chapter Three
“Cameron Cole. How is a catch like you still single?”
Because I told a woman I loved her and she broke up with me via text message. Cam smothered the thought, not allowing a trace of it to show on his face. Luckily, he was an expert at catching curve balls and making it look easy. He’d worked with world-class pitchers with ungodly movement who didn’t always know where their pitches were going to end up, and he had to be ready for whatever was coming at him because if he didn’t get his glove on the ball the ump wasn’t going to call it a strike, no matter how nasty it was.
He had a reputation for being unflappable. Superman with nerves of freaking steel. No one saw the effort. He made sure of it.
So he didn’t even blink when the little blonde reporter fluttering her lashes at him lobbed that curveball at him. Years of media training kicked in and he smiled enigmatically. “It’s a mystery,” he said, perpetuating the myth of his charmed life—when what he wanted to do was tell her to check her damn facts.
Because he wasn’t still single. He was currently single because his wife had left him three years ago, immediately after being diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Erika had called it a wake-up call and packed her bags—though the divorce had taken much longer, delayed by her treatment. She’d moved out, but they’d continued to play the part in public—divorced-but-not-really-divorced so she could stay on his insurance.
They really were better as friends. Once his ego had gotten over the blow, he’d had to admit she had a point with the whole I-think-I-loved-you-because-I-told-myself-I-should thing, though he’d still been in no position to think about relationships or the future.
So of course he’d fallen ass-over-ears in love.
Fallen so freaking hard and fast it was like something out of a sappy movie. Fast, and hard, and reckless as hell.
Unfortunately it hadn’t turned out to be the kind of movie with a happy ending, as he’d discovered when the one woman he’d let himself get close to during the entire messy chemo/separation process had broken up with him via text message with no freaking explanation. Only to pop up two years later, waltzing into the TD Events office this morning and smiling at him as if nothing had happened. As if that crazy September had meant nothing to her.
And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe he was the only one who had been hit by the love stick so freaking hard it had been like taking a fastball to the face.
But still, it would have been nice if she’d seemed even a little flustered. Even if that wasn’t Rachel. Rachel was composed. Calm. Friggin’ gorgeous.
How could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? It wasn’t just her features—which were, yes, very symmetric and all that stuff science said was supposed to be objectively attractive. But it was the way she smiled. The way she blushed. The way she looked at him. The way she’d always looked at him. Like she couldn’t look away. The two of them caught in the same gravitational pull.
Though maybe that had just been wishful thinking.
She certainly seemed capable of looking away now. Without moving his head, so he didn’t upset the work being done by the make-up artist, he glanced over toward where Rachel was speaking to the other bachelors, her back to him and her phone in her hand. She’d been supposed to brief him on the details of the fundraiser before the little blonde piranha arrived, but Blondie had been early and she’d latched onto him before he’d had a chance to do more than sit in the make-up chair for the photo spread.
He’d done a few print ads over the years, so he knew the drill. Let people fuss over him for an hour or so, then clench his jaw for the cameras. Easy.
What wasn’t so easy was keeping his mind on the questions the little piranha was asking when he couldn’t seem to stop stealing glances at Rachel.
“C’mon, Cam,” the reporter cooed. “Our readers want to know. Commitment issues? Or did someone break your heart?”
Cam’s gaze flicked over to Rachel again.
He didn’t see what any of this had to do with Russell House or their cancer research efforts—wasn’t this supposed to be for a lifestyle magazine, not a tabloid? But since Rachel didn’t look like she was going to save him anytime soon, he played nice with the little reporter. “I guess I’m still looking for the One,” he said with an easy smile.
Always easy. The perfect illusion of his charmed life. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.
The make-up artist tsked softly and he relaxed his face so she could work on it.
“And you’re going to find that One at a bachelor auction?”
“Hey, you never know when you’re going to meet Ms. Right.” He’d met Rachel at a cystic fibro
sis fundraiser. “Really, I’m just trying to support an organization I believe in—and if I meet some new friends in the process, all the better.”
The piranha sighed, reluctantly letting him steer the conversation toward the fundraiser she was supposedly there to write a story about. “Have you been a supporter of—” She glanced down at her notes. “—the Russell House long?”
“For several years now.” He stopped himself from saying his ex-wife had been treated there after she left him—somehow he didn’t think that was the soundbite they wanted. “The teams I’ve played for have always been very involved in the local communities and Russell House is an incredible organization.”
“Uh-huh.” The piranha made an absent note on her pad. “Speaking of your new team, rumor has it you’ve been seen with a number of Hollywood actresses since your move to Los Angeles. Any comment?”
A new voice spoke behind him. “Let’s stick to the fundraiser, shall we?” Rachel suggested lightly as she appeared at his side.
Cam’s relief at her intervention was matched only by his irritation over the question she’d heard. As far as he knew there were no rumors outside of Miss Smith’s overactive imagination, but he didn’t want Rachel thinking he’d been bragging about his LA exploits.
Not that it mattered what she thought. She’d broken things off with a freaking text. It would serve her right if he’d been seeing half of the members of the Screen Actors Guild in his spare time—but he was still, stupidly, trying to prove to her that he was one of the good ones. Always trying to prove himself.
“Has Mr. Cole told you about the experience he’s auctioning off?” Rachel prompted.