Center Stage: A Hot Baseball Romance (Diamond Brides Book 8) (20 page)

Because salvation
was
within sight. The United Pharmaceutical Alliance case would free her from debt. All she had to do was win the damn thing, convince a judge that UPA’s patents had been infringed to the tune of millions of dollars. Link Oster would collect thirty-three percent of the award, and Amanda would get a bonus large enough to pay off every penny of her debt—and then some. Until then, it was simply a matter of putting her head down, tightening her belt, and getting the hard work done.

Which would be a hell of a lot easier to accomplish if she didn’t have a headache lancing behind both eyes.

Or if she wasn’t picturing Kyle Norton, looking up at her from that broad expanse of green grass, laughing as he waved for her to throw down her sunglasses. She could still feel that moment between them, that strange
tug
as their eyes met. Sure, everyone had been laughing. The office folks around her had thought it was all a big joke; Harvey had thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world. But looking down at the right fielder, she’d felt a hell of a lot more than a joke.

She’d felt something melt all of her insides, a warm bath that spread from her chest to her toes in a tingling rush that left her wondering where all the oxygen in the stadium had gone. She’d stared at Norton’s fingers as he cupped his hands; she’d watched the strength flow from his shoulders to his biceps to his forearms and his wrists. Their eyes had met, and the entire ball park had dimmed around her—not just the sight, but the sound as well, and the tang of hot dogs and beer and funnel cakes.

The effect had only lasted for a heartbeat. Then Harvey had hollered, and she’d dropped the glasses, and everything had slipped back to normal.

She shook her head, exasperated with her imagination. Right. Like Amanda Carter would go boy crazy now, at age twenty-nine.

She rolled her eyes and pulled her keyboard closer to the edge of her desk. Amanda Carter had to go
research
crazy. Clicking her tongue and shaking her head, she opened up the powerhouse program all the lawyers used to gather information for their cases. At one flick of her fingers, she could search through vast databases of court decisions and newspaper articles and scientific journals. She needed to pin down an expert witness for UPA, someone who could testify about a particularly obscure aspect of phamacokinetics. An associate had already identified half a dozen likely candidates; Amanda’s current task was digging up dirt on each of them, figuring out how each scientist could harm them if called to the stand.

Due diligence. That was the name of the game. Every sane lawyer did it, to protect against disasters at trial.

As Amanda typed in the name of the first expert, her thoughts drifted back to the game. Back to Kyle Norton. Back to those cobalt eyes.

Cobalt. Right. Like any human being actually had eyes the color of the element at atomic number twenty-seven. Get a grip, Carter. Sheesh, she was
smitten
.

Not smitten, so much as bored. It was a hell of a lot more entertaining to think about a baseball player than it was to think about some balding, wheezing expert on monocompartmental models of pharmacokinesis.

Her fingers darted across the keyboard before she’d made a conscious decision. She called up the broadest due diligence database, the one that would provide the most hits. She typed in Kyle’s name, using initials, using all the tricks of the research trade that she’d learned in three years of law school, in seven years of practice.

The flood of articles threatened to overwhelm her account. But it didn’t take long for her to limit the search, to take out all the common reports of ordinary baseball games. She focused her review on Kansas newspapers, on stories from Kyle’s youth, when he was just coming up in the big leagues.

And she nearly cried out loud when she hit pay dirt.

~~~

The following morning, Amanda strode into the lobby of her office building, clutching an extra large coffee and reminding herself not to rub at eyes that felt inflamed from lack of sleep. She’d spent the better part of the night plowing through the UPA due diligence documents, testing potential witnesses, honing her list over and over and over again.

In the end, she identified a lot of contenders, a lot of scientists who could help. But one name stood out: Antoine Phillips. Dr. Phillips had the gravitas, the reputation, the sheer years of experience to make her case. Too bad he devoted the vast majority of his time to a public health project in Equatorial Guinea. Amanda had sent the good doctor an introductory email, pointing out all the logical reasons he should testify for UPA.

After sending that letter, she’d calculated the time difference. She couldn’t reasonably expect Dr. Phillips to respond for several hours. Therefore, she’d allowed herself to go home.

That just made sense—she needed to change her clothes. And she needed to get away from the glowing eye of her computer screen. Because her detailed study of Dr. Phillips had barely masked the other information she’d found. Her thoughts kept slipping back to Kyle Norton, kept sliding over the obscure references the databases had revealed. Once she’d found the first intriguing note, she’d dug deeper, using specialized resources, signing in to electronic services with questionable legality. Even as one track of her mind clicked away on UPA and Dr. Phillips, another chewed at the Norton data. The facts taunted her with possibility.

In the end, she only grabbed a couple hours of sleep in her own bed. She forced herself to take a freezing shower when she woke. Studies showed that cold water could compensate for as much as 3.27 hours of lost sleep. She’d slipped on her black-framed eyeglasses, the ones with clear lenses that made her look more intelligent. She’d armored herself in a suit and heels and told herself that would have to be enough.

“Amanda!” She barely stopped herself from grimacing as Harvey’s bold bass voice thundered across the lobby. She squeezed past him into the elevator as he held the door for her.

“Good morning,” she said, trying to sound bright and well-rested as she fought not to gulp down half of her steaming vat of coffee.

He waited until the door closed before he mauled the button for the eighteenth floor. “I’m glad I caught you. The partnership wanted me to remind you about the pay-in.”

“Of course,” she said. Like she could have forgotten. She needed to go the bank today, open up a vein, throw herself on the mercy of a lender who was sure to charge her usurious interest rates. Automatically, she started calculating how she could spare herself some of the cost. She could shift the last few hundred in her savings account over to her overheated checking account. She could put off paying rent for nine days—one day shy of incurring a penalty. If she skipped paying the electric bill, they
probably
wouldn’t cut her off for thirty days.

But she already knew the bottom line. She’d tallied it up countless times. Scrimping and saving wouldn’t be enough this time. She’d have to take out that loan for the full amount, even if every dollar she borrowed ultimately cost her three, in interest.

But there
was
an alternative, an evil corner of her mind whispered. Something else she could do. She’d found another path the night before.

“Excellent,” said Harvey, and he actually rubbed his meaty hands together, like a giant child anticipating an early Christmas present.

The elevator door slid open before Amanda needed to think of anything else to say. Harvey stepped back, allowing her to go first. And she stopped dead, one step into the Link Oster lobby.

Kyle Norton stood beside the receptionist’s desk.

Kyle Norton—wearing a white dress shirt and khakis. Kyle Norton—looking like he was perfectly at ease, as accustomed to law firm waiting rooms as he was to patrolling the outfield at Rockets Field. Kyle Norton—holding a manila envelope in his left hand, extending his right hand toward her, just like they were old business acquaintances, old friends. Just like he could trust her. Just like he had no idea what she’d pulled up on her computer Saturday night, what she’d read and checked and double-checked, until there couldn’t be a shadow of a doubt.

Which, of course, was the truth. He didn’t know what she’d discovered.

She shook her head and cleared her throat, stepping forward as she pasted on a professional smile. “Mr. Norton,” she said, matching his hand with hers.

His fingers were warm, solid. As they tightened around hers, she felt the pressure jolt along a direct line to her belly. She swallowed hard against that soaring swoop, that feeling that she’d pumped a playground swing out of control, that the chains were slack, and she was about to fall away into nothingness.

Harvey cleared his throat behind her. The sound was enough to bring her back to earth. She reclaimed her hand and introduced Harvey Link to Kyle Norton, as if she’d known the ballplayer forever. The social nicety gave her a moment to push down her thoughts, to smother the evil seed that had been trying to sprout since Saturday.

The men were talking about yesterday’s game. Harvey was complimenting Kyle on that home run. Kyle was nodding politely, tossing off information about the game as if it was easy, as if it mattered.

And all Amanda could think of was the computer printout she’d locked inside her desk. All she could hear was her voice on the phone in the early hours of the morning, leaving a message for a document delivery service in Kansas, requesting a ten-year-old file. She’d enunciated the case number, spelled out the name—N-as-in-Nancy, O, R, T-as-in-Tom, O, N. She’d read from the docket she’d pulled online, specifying the exact document numbers she needed, and she’d given them a billing number, her own personal expense account within the firm.

The charge would come back to her. The cost would come out of her pocket. But she was willing to pay, willing to spend the couple of hundred dollars it would take to get the Kansas files copied and emailed to her, rush. Because those documents were going to make her more money. They were going to pay her back a thousand-fold, if she only had the brains and the courage to use them.

~~~

Kyle might never have worked in a standard office, but politics were the same everywhere. He knew he needed to stand there, bullshitting with Harvey Link, pretending like the guy had brilliant insights into yesterday’s game. It was part of the territory. One of the things that came with playing a game for a living.

Even if what he really wanted to do was tuck Amanda Carter’s arm through his and pull her into the nearest closet to get to know her a little better. She looked just like her picture on the law firm’s website, the one he’d studied when he decided to track her down. She had that whole sexy librarian thing going on—eyeglasses and straight black hair, bangs that framed her face. He looked at the V of her soft white blouse, so prim and proper against her dark grey suit.

Right, like he was some fashion god, and could describe what she was wearing. He’d rather talk about what she
looked
like, how her green eyes flashed, bright against her pale skin, against cheeks that had just a dusting of freckles. He could tell someone that she smelled like baby shampoo and flowers. He could say that her teeth just barely scraped her bottom lip, like she was thinking of doing something she wasn’t supposed to do.

Amanda Carter in her office was a hell of a lot more intriguing than Amanda Carter in the ballpark. And while no straight man would ever wish away the sight of her in that knotted green T-shirt or those leg-revealing shorts, he was every bit as intrigued by what she was covering up here in the white-on-white lobby of her law firm.

“Well,” Harvey said. “I should let you two get back to… what exactly
does
bring you to our firm, Mr. Norton?”

Kyle kept his grin relaxed, easy. “A business proposition.”

Harvey’s face brightened at that. “Well, then! Why don’t we just step into one of the conference rooms here—"

“I’m sorry,” Kyle said. “I wasn’t clear. My proposal is for Ms. Carter.”

That
got her attention. Kyle watched Harvey try to thread his way through that one, try to figure out a way to shoehorn his way into whatever conversation followed. But Amanda stepped forward decisively, raising one hand to indicate a conference room door. “Mr. Norton, we can step right in here.”

And she shot a sweet smile at Harvey, a smile that would have gone straight to Kyle’s crotch, if he hadn’t caught the little flare of victory deep in her eyes. He barely kept from laughing as he followed her into the room. She wasted no time flipping on the light switch and closing the door, effectively cutting them off from the rest of the firm.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said sincerely. “But you have to realize you just made Harvey’s day. He’s probably in his office right now, calling all his buddies. You might have a few autographs to sign before you get out of this place.”

He shrugged as she gestured toward the table, as she indicated one of the giant leather chairs. He tugged on the closest one, and it glided back easily. As he settled on the seat, he felt like he was being folded into a woman’s soft arms.

Right. He shifted his hips, easing his pants’ tightness against his crotch. No thinking of soft arms. Not until he’d finished his work here.

He pushed the manila envelope toward the seat she’d taken, at the head of the table. “Ms. Carter,” he said.

“Amanda,” she corrected.

Perfect. This was heading exactly where he wanted it to go. “Amanda,” he agreed. “I owe you an apology. I wanted to get a message to you before the end of Saturday’s game, but I wasn’t able to break away.”

She tilted her head at a curious angle, raising both eyebrows. The corners of her lips turned up, and he flattened his hands against the dark wood table to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. She noticed, of course. He was pretty sure Amanda Carter noticed everything.

“Please,” he said, nodding toward the envelope.

She slipped one fingernail beneath the flap, moving with a careful determination that tightened his thighs. He barely resisted the urge to shake his head, to tell himself he was acting like a teenager. As it was, he made himself sit all the way back in his chair. He took a deep breath, letting the scent of leather filled his nose, replacing the sweet smell of Amanda.