Hot Property (2 page)

Though that sounded more like something her mother would do than Amy, this man was worth stepping out of her comfort zone for. A tingle of anticipation rippled through her at the thought of a slow dance, his arms wrapped around her waist….

He bent his head close to hers. She inhaled and his aftershave filled her with deep yearning. He leaned closer. For a whisper? Not a kiss, it was way too soon.

But her heart pounded in anticipation.

“Roper! Roper!” A shrill female voice called out his name.

The chance for her to discover his intentions disappeared as Amy and John jerked back and turned toward the sound. A beautiful woman walked, teetering on high heels, across the lawn, making a bee-line his way. Her long dress kept catching beneath her shoes, and although she held up the hem with both hands, the trip was obviously a difficult one.

“There you are,” she said. “Didn’t I ask you to stay on the patio? I told you I didn’t want to ruin my dress on the lawn.” She whined through heavily glossed lips that turned downward in what was obviously meant to be a pretty pout.

It
was
pretty, though Amy hated to concede the point. The other woman was model-thin and attractive in a waiflike sort of way, elegant despite her awkward trek across the lawn. And judging from the possessive way she aligned herself against John, she was his date.

His date.
Disappointment rushed through her. All the while he’d been initiating conversation and coming on to her—at least that’s how she’d read his words and his body language—he’d had another woman waiting for him.

How naive could she be, thinking a hot baseball player would be interested in a country bumpkin? And that’s what she felt like compared to the chic woman standing next to him. She resented the emotion, hating that she allowed herself to feel inferior.

“I leave you alone for five minutes and I find you racking up another conquest in my absence,” the other woman said.

“I—” He paused. Obviously he couldn’t find an acceptable excuse because there was none.

Amy’s heart beat hard and fast while nausea overwhelmed her. She turned and started for the house, trying to get as far away as she could get from John Roper.

“Amy, wait!” He called after her. “I know this looks bad, but—”

She refused to turn around. It looked like what it was. He’d brought a date to the party, but he’d definitely come on to
her.

He caught her arm, forcing her to face him.

His date followed, coming up beside them. “You’re worried about her and not me? You
jerk!
I flew out to this godforsaken place to be with you and this is how you repay me? By trying to hook up with a local bimbo?”

Before anyone could blink, the woman grabbed his drink from his hand and deliberately poured it down his shirt.

“Come on, Carrie. This is a Hugo Boss shirt!” He pulled at the stained material and glared at his date. “Was that really necessary?”

She forced a smile. “I think it was.”

Amy couldn’t believe this. The crowd around them grew silent and began to edge closer for a better look. Amy cringed. She hated being the center of attention and she resented that this man had done it to her now.

“You two obviously need privacy.” This time she ran from the circus act that was John and his date.

She slowed as she approached the patio, disappointment in John Roper and the way this day had turned out as strong as the sun overhead. She’d really been attracted to him, but she didn’t need a man like that in her life. She would begin her new job as a publicist for the Hot Zone, operating behind the scenes. But she definitely had to grow a thicker skin if she was going to deal with this kind of high-maintenance client on a daily basis.

A commotion broke out on the other side of the patio and Amy glanced over. Apparently the bride had decided to toss the bouquet early. She squinted for a better view and groaned aloud.

Amy’s mother, Rose, and Aunt Darla both jumped for the prize and were now rolling on the lawn, both determined to claim the flowers.

Neither wanted the tradition that went along with the bouquet, since they’d sworn off remarriage. And they weren’t interested in the flowers, either. They just wanted the attention due them from catching it.

On one side of the house was John and his date. On the other side wrestled the crazy redheaded sisters who needed someone to separate them and give each a time-out.

This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

But when the New Year arrived and with it, her new life, Amy swore to make it her mission not only to succeed, but to thrive.

SPORTS AGENT YANK MORGAN
sat in the backseat of his Lincoln and rubbed a hand over his scruffy beard. Scruffier now since his wife, Lola, had thrown out his razor to prevent him from accidentally slitting his throat. Dang woman had also somehow discovered where he’d hidden his spares. Apparently an almost-blind man had no privacy in his own bathroom.

Normally he’d be angry, but considering his eyesight had gotten worse, he was forced to admit Lola had a point. Macular degeneration was messing with the balance of power in his marriage. Telling a woman she was right about anything, though, especially his woman, would be the equivalent of relinquishing his throne. And that wasn’t happening at home or at work.

“We’re here, Mr. Morgan,” J.D., the ex-football player he’d hired as his driver, said. “Want me to walk you inside?”

Yank shook his head. “No, thanks. It’s bad enough you had to drive me here. I don’t need you as my guide. I got Noodle for that.” His Labradoodle sat beside him and Yank patted her furry head. He’d got the dog when she was a pup, but now she was the size of her standard poodle mother.

“Be careful. I don’t want to end up at the emergency room again because you tripped over something you and the mutt didn’t see.”

“She’s not a mutt, she’s a mix of two pure breeds,” Yank said proudly as he opened his car door.

“I still say you should have bought a real guide dog and not a pet.”

J.D. came around and met him.

Yank frowned. “Keep sounding like my wife and you’ll have to find yourself a new job.”

J.D. merely laughed. “You say that every day,” he said as he helped Yank out of the car.

Yank did his best to ignore the indignity of needing aid at basic tasks. A man accepted what a man had to accept. “You remind your father we’re playing poker tonight,” Yank said.

Nobody asked how Yank played without being able to see the cards, and Yank refused to discuss it. He’d rather lose money every month than give up the things he loved. And J.D.’s father, Curly, had been in Yank’s poker game for years, even before Yank had become his nieces’

guardian when they were little girls.

J.D. scratched Noodle’s fluffy fur and helped Yank pull the dog out of the car. “You think I need to remind Dad of something he’s been doing every month for most of his life? At least now with Lola around I know he won’t be smoking. You and my father. Neither one of you listen to your doctors,” J.D. muttered.

“Wait till you get older before passing judgment. I’ll only be about fifteen minutes.” Yank pulled his heavy jacket tighter around him and let the dog lead him toward the door of the gym.

Part Labrador retriever, part poodle, completely dense when it came to being in charge, Noodle wasn’t the guide dog Yank should have gotten, but he enjoyed the pretense. It was fun making people think he was a little bit crazy. There were worse ways to spend his life, he thought, laughing.

He made his way to the weight room in the back of the gym. The trainers and employees were used to him visiting clients and bringing Noodle along. He headed for where he knew he’d find John Roper, letting years of experience lead the way. The main part of the gym was noisy and crowded, but as he approached the private rooms in the back, Yank could hear that there weren’t as many people there.

Which Yank figured was the reason his not-so-star baseball player client John Roper chose to work out here and now. Unfortunately, the televisions were on and the sound coming from the speakers told Yank that morning sports talk-show host, Frank Buckley, was spouting off at the mouth as usual.

“Spring training is around the corner and this New York Renegade fan still hasn’t gotten over John Roper’s disastrous last season or his role in the Renegades Game 5 World Series loss. Call in and let me know if your lack of expectations match mine for the highly overpaid hero. The Buck Stops Here, folks.”

The television station went to commercial at the same time Roper yelled aloud, “Somebody shut that damn thing off before I rip the speakers off the wall.”

When nobody moved, Yank added his two cents. “Can’t you hear the man? Shut off the noise or we’ll sue you for intentional infliction of emotional distress.”

The weights clanged hard as Roper dropped them to the floor.

“Morgan, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Visiting the dumbbells.” Yank laughed at his own joke.

Roper didn’t.

“You still upset over Buckley the Bastard’s tirade? Grow up and get over it,” Yank said. He’d already tried coddling Roper through his rough patch and it hadn’t worked. He was moving on to tough love.

“Someone dropped off a Roper bobblehead doll with my doorman.

Damn thing had a knife stuck in the shoulder.”

Yank groaned. The fans wouldn’t let Roper forget his nightmarish last season. He hadn’t been able to hit or throw, and to make things worse, he’d sprained his shoulder in a failed attempt to stop a game-winning home run by slamming it into the center field wall. This in addition to striking out earlier when the bases were loaded and the Renegades had a chance at the go-ahead run. Their team had lost, the fans needed a scapegoat, and they’d chosen the highest-priced center fielder in the game to sacrifice. Not that the man wasn’t in a slump, but losing had been a team effort.

Now Buckley insisted on continuing the torture in the off-season.

Roper had every right to be pissed. He didn’t need Buckley riling up the fans against him in his daily tirades.

“Are you sure Buckley doesn’t have a personal grudge?” Yank asked.

Roper rose to his feet, looming large over Yank. “I screwed his ex-girlfriend. She just didn’t see fit to mention she was no longer his ex on the night in question.”

Yank chuckled. “He oughta let it go.”

“She’s his wife now,” Roper said.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Roper agreed. “You do realize that if this was a lesser market, nobody would pay attention to anything Buckley said?”

Yank shook his head. “But it isn’t a lesser market. It’s New York.”

And that said it all.

Athletes were like movie stars here, back-and front-page news and fodder for gossip. “You used to love the attention,” Yank reminded him.

Prior to his funk, Roper had been known for being a high-maintenance outfielder. ESports TV, Magazine and Radio named Roper among the top metrosexual athletes of the year. Yank didn’t get why grown men like Roper spent good money on the best clubs, gyms and hairdressers. What normal man had his back waxed? Yank had no idea.

But Roper’s good-looking mug had made them both a boatload of money, so Yank wasn’t about to complain.

“I did love the attention,” Roper said. “Until my talent went south.”

Roper leaned forward on the bench, elbows on his knees, and stared ahead at nothing in particular. “So what are you really doing here?”

Roper asked.

“I came to cheer you up. I don’t want the media to see you down and I sure as hell don’t need you taking a swing at one of them, no matter how much they provoke you.”

“That sounds like a message from Micki.”

Yank’s niece, Michelle, was Roper’s close friend, as well as his publicist. She was the resident expert at the Hot Zone for keeping her high-maintenance client out of trouble and out of the press.

Then again, maybe some good press was exactly what Roper needed. “I have a present for you. Here’s a gift certificate.” Yank pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. “Go get yourself a massage and a manicure.”

“Not in the mood.”

Yank didn’t know what else to do in order to help his dejected client. “Don’t you want to look your best for the annual Hot Zone New Year’s party?”

“I’m not going.”

Yank smacked him upside the head. “You sure as hell are. You’re going to hold yourself up and make like life’s grand. Attitude is everything and right now yours sucks.”

Yank couldn’t see well but he figured Roper was scowling at him about now. “I’m sure you’re having a rough time after the series, but obviously something more has you bent out of shape. The happy-go-lucky guy I know wouldn’t be sulking like a pansy.”

Roper rose and Yank felt the other man’s height close beside him.

“You want to know what’s bothering me? Where should I start? I could live with last year’s disaster if I thought I was definitely coming back, but we both know the shoulder’s not healing the way it should.

That means my career may be shorter than we’d anticipated. Not a financial problem given my huge contract, right?”

“Unless you pissed it away…” Yank said, not at all serious.

“You know me better than that. But my family’s working hard at doing it for me.”

Yank blinked. “Ever hear
just say no?
”

“You try telling them that.”

Yank wasn’t worried about Roper’s future. The younger man had come to him for investment advice and Yank knew he’d diversified wisely. But if his career was shortened due to injury and his family was going through his money like water, Yank could understand the man’s distress. “Slow ’em down, then,” Yank suggested.

“Yeah, I’m trying,” Roper muttered. “Do me a favor? Tell Micki I need time to myself. If she doesn’t quit worrying and sending you around to check on me, I’m going to let the Hot Zone go. Who knows?

If I can’t play this season, I may not need a PR firm at all.”

Yank frowned. “Micki’s not worried about you as a client, you ass.

She’s worried about you as a friend.”

“I know that,” Roper said, sounding more subdued and apologetic.