Player's Challenge (17 page)

Pleased as punch at the sudden turn of events, Devin rocked back on his heels. If he were the gloating type, he would’ve kept them sitting around waiting but being away from Gemma had been hell. He’d missed her laughter, her smile, the lilt of her voice when she became excited. He’d missed the way she snuggled against him when they watched TV and after they made love. He missed those times the most.

Nothing was the same after she walked out of his life. Every flat surface seemed to have her imprint or triggered a memory—her ghost as good as permanent. He hadn’t been back to his apartment in weeks, opting to hole up at Grayson’s.

The change in scenery hadn’t helped. Devin’s entire routine had altered for the worse. He’d become a walking, grunting zombie stalking Grayson’s estate. To say he’d suffered sleepless nights, would be an understatement. Of course, he made up for it by sleeping through the day, rising just in time for dinner.

At least he hadn’t lost his appetite. His five meals a day had fallen by his ever-expanding waist side and now consisted of constant grazing. His almost religious following of the five food groups had now been replaced with his worship of fish and chips, Nutella, potato crisps, salt water taffy and copious amounts of beer, but not in that order. He estimated he’d put on about a stone. Between all the eating and sleeping, there was no way he could keep up with the demanding schedule of twice a day workouts.

His behavior had also taken its toll on his new living arrangement. Having never experienced Devin ‘The Sad Sack’ Spencer before, Grayson was at his wits end. Tired of his advice falling on deaf ears, and not wanting to be an enabler, he’d packed his bags and gone on holiday in Ibiza.

Finally, Gladys and Mum came to the rescue. Refusing to leave unless he opened the door, they burst in like twin cyclones. With a little tough love and threats of humiliation (like posting a picture of him in Grayson’s soiled pajamas to his four million followers) they helped him get his shit together. He wasn’t completely out of the dark, an addiction to hazelnut proved hard to break, but at the very least he wasn’t incrementally losing his mind.

The car ascended for what seemed like an eternity. Devin counted down each floor while running his baby-I’m-a-stupid-son-of-a-bitch speech through his head and trying to ignore the twisting pain in his chest. Served him right if he dropped dead outside her office from an anxiety attack. After what he’d done, he deserved a punch on the kisser, not a meeting. A one-on-one he’d gained through manipulation.

Would he ever learn his lesson? Probably never, Devon mused. Gemma was as essential to his being as breathing. It was confirmed when the elevator opened on the twenty-first floor, and a familiar surge of adrenaline pumped through his veins. For the first time in weeks, he felt alive.

Guilt absolved, Devin stepped off the elevator. He crossed a sun-drenched hallway with views of London’s skyline at either end. Automatically sensing him, a set of double glass doors, frosted and labeled with “Top Flight”, slid backward.

Devin wondered why they even bothered with the formality of having an entrance way. Scarcely departing from the building’s green design, Top Flight’s offices boasted an abundance of more natural light and clean lines. What differed was the addition of white walls sporting black and white photographs of their various clients, and beautiful hardwood floors. Behind the receptionist desk, sitting at the far end of the room, was a different but splendid view of London.

On his approach, the receptionist, a beautiful East Indian girl, glanced up. The sudden movement caused her shoulder length bob to sway lazily against her brown shoulders.

“Mr. Spencer,” she breathed, her red rouged lips cracking in a magnanimous smile.

“I’m here to see Gemma Clarke,” he said, relieved his voice came out steady.

“Very well aware of that,” she chastised. “I’m paid to know everyone’s schedule. Inside the office and even when they’re on the road.”

Devin wondered if he could pay her to keep an eye on Gemma.

“Well, I’m not going to hold you up talking to lil’ old me.” She glanced at the switchboard. “Hmm…looks like she’s on the phone. Let me go and tell her you’re here.” She pushed away from her desk and stood. “Would you like a refreshment? Coffee, tea, sparkling water?”

“No thanks, I’m good.” Devin doubted he could hold anything down with his stomach tied in knots.

Thirty minutes later, Devin wished he’d accepted the girl’s offer.

As if sensing his pique, she got up and walked over. “I’m so sorry for the wait, Mr. Spencer. With the transfer window closing, it seems like the sky’s fallen around here.”

Devin didn’t believe the world revolved around him. His mum did a great job of reminding him of that fact. But the wait was inexcusable. Prepared to cut his losses, for the time being, he stood.

“I’m going to resched…”

The past thirty minutes spent twiddling his thumbs, suddenly seemed inconsequential. Even the girl faded into the background. He had eyes only for Gemma. As if his bones had been fabricated with magnets and she of metal, he didn’t resist the insistent pull that caused him to gravitate toward her.

She’d changed her hair, replacing the sleek coif with a head full of bouncy spirals. Devin rubbed his fingertips together, his fingers itching to run through the Coca-Cola red curls. Her hair, a riotous mass of color, was in direct contrast to her pearl white dress. Doing a poor job of suppressing her mouthwatering curves, the garment heightened the color of her brown skin, and drew his gaze to her full hips. The same hips he held onto whenever he took her from behind.

“Hello, Devin.”

For a few seconds, Devin lost the ability to speak. His lips parted and he stared. Stared in a way he had never stared at any woman, ever. A natural beauty, she’d gone light on the makeup, some eyeliner, maybe some mascara and a golden lip gloss which begged to be eaten off. Devin drew closer until he towered over her.

Craning her neck back she took a step back. “I’m sorry we kept you waiting so long.”

Devin waved away her apology. “I just sat down.”

“Good,” she seemed relieved by his answer. “The phones have been ringing off the hook…and you, Mr. Spencer,” she poked a manicured finger in the center of his chest. Barely touched him, and only for the briefest moment, but his blood rushed south. “Are the cause of ninety percent of them.”

Devin refused to apologize. His plan had worked. “Now that I’m here, maybe I can fix things.”

“We’ll see.” She turned around, inviting him to follow with a carefree wiggle of her fingers. “Hope you’re prepared for an all-day powwow,” she threw over her shoulder as she led him down a hallway adorned with more black and whites. “We have a very small window to get this right the first go ’round, so there’s no delays.”

Devin tugged his gaze from her strappy high-heeled sandals. Also off-white and Gladiator in design, they lifted her several inches from the ground and accentuated her delectable calves.

“Whatever it takes to get the job done,” he drawled. “I’m all in.”
Balls deep if need be.

This was going swimmingly. Better than he’d hoped! Better than he’d dreamed! For the better part of a week, he’d tossed around different scenarios regarding their reunion, and every single one ended with him on his knees begging her forgiveness.

“Are we heading to your office or a boardroom?”

Devin hoped for the former. Since Gemma had lived with him during the previous negotiations, he’d never stepped foot in her office. And now, for some peculiar reason, his curiosity was drawn to another facet of her life.

She stopped in front of a frosted glass panel, resembling the two at the front entrance. “We’re meeting in here. The walls of my office aren’t floor to ceiling, and I prefer we have some privacy.” She pushed on a chrome handle, and the partition slid open to reveal a small boardroom with more white walls, a panoramic view of London, and four chairs arranged around a glass top table. Underwhelmed by the prevailing décor, he almost missed a credenza set with a tea service and other refreshments.

She breezed past him, and his gaze followed unable to get their fill. He wanted her so bad, his pants were now tighter in one other place besides his waist.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Love some tea.”
And you.
Preferably bent over the table.
Naked save for those sexy heels.

Unaware of his in-the-gutter fantasies, Gemma plucked a white tea cup and saucer from a set stacked two high and four deep. With an efficiency he would never be able to master, she rifled through a blue and white porcelain tea caddy, while filling his cup with hot water.

“Earl Grey with milk?”

“You remembered,” he murmured, doubly affected by her uncanny recall and watching her doing something as innocuous as preparing his tea, which brought back memories of better times.

She smiled and he was knocked sideways. Her welcoming demeanor confused him, but it didn’t completely disorient him like being privy to her happiness, which he wanted desperately. Heart slamming, Devin grabbed the nearest chair. To calm his nerves, he gazed at the ever present London cityscape.

Smile still in place, she suddenly appeared in front of him, blocking his view. “I’ll let you pour your own milk and sugar,” she said, handing him his tea.

“Thank you.” His hands closed around hers and her smile faltered. In fact, her entire genial façade crumbled. He could see her chest rising and falling, each breath deeper than the last. Lips slightly parted, she licked them and every muscle in his body tensed ready to pounce.

“Gemma, I miss—”

“Did I miss anything?”

Flustered, Gemma hightailed it to the credenza. Devin cursed his luck. Yvonne, oblivious to what she’d interrupted, rounded the boardroom table and took the seat across from him.

“Not much,” Gemma returned to the table, a sparkling water in hand. “Just helping ourselves to the refreshments.”

Devin’s eyes narrowed when Gemma took the seat next to Yvonne. Together, side by side, it felt like they were ganging up on him. Not liking this one bit, he asked, “Are you joining us?”

“Normally, I don’t sit in on my agents and their clients. Micromanaging isn’t my style. But this is a special case. You backed out of the initial deal Gemma worked so tirelessly on, so I felt I should be here to help her iron out all the kinks before she dives in again.” She paused to click the button on her ballpoint pen. “Shall we get started?”

Devin’s gaze settled on Gemma. There was that polite smile again. “I’m all yours,” he conceded.

“So what didn’t you like about the Edmonton deal?” Gemma asked bluntly. “Were the terms not to your liking?

“I had no complaints with the contract. It was drawn up in my favor. You did a fantastic job.”

A larger part of him relished the way she sat up straighter. But then a smaller part of him, the self-center part realized he’d never complimented her achievements enough. She’d always been his cheerleader. He’d rarely returned the favor.

“Then it wasn’t enough money?”

“Far from it,” he retorted. “I would’ve been grossly overpaid, and mo—”

“—money isn’t everything,” Gemma completed.

“Exactly.” Devin sat forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I might sound like a bloody sap, but some things are more important than material possessions.” So she had no doubt to what he was referring, he looked pointedly at her.

Her smile slipped just a notch as she touched the back of her neck. “So…
as a player
what do you consider important?”

“Friendships…my relationships.”

“You could’ve moved on, developed the same bonds at Edmonton. With any team in the EPL, for that matter and with a beautiful payout.”

“There’s something wrong with your character if opportunity controls your loyalty don’t you agree.”

“Loyalty is rare, so if you find it, you keep it.” Yvonne whispered.

“Exactly.”

Gemma glanced at her boss. They exchanged a look, then Yvonne turned back to him. “Do you have a personal monetary threshold you’d like us to shoot for?”

“I’ll leave that up to Gemma.”

“Devin, I don’t think—”

“I trust you’ll go to the goal for me,” he cut off Gemma’s protest. “You always do.”

Obviously not buying his bullshit, Gemma’s lips twisted in to a moue. “Do you think you’ll pass the physical?” Her gaze dropped to his midsection. “I noticed so I’m sure Croydon’s management will see how you’ve been living it up this summer.”

Self-conscious, Devin ran his hands over his abs. He’d packed on a stone, but the washboard was very much intact.

“What do you think? Did I fall too far off the wagon?”

Her boss’s appreciative gaze raked over him. “You’re a little pale around the gills. Other than that you look great. By the way,” Yvonne lifted her right arm, “what’s the history behind that tattoo right there below the elb—”

“Oi!” Gemma griped. “Can we stay focused?”

“Sorry,” Yvonne offered even going so far as to look contrite. As soon as Gemma’s head was turned she mouthed, ‘we’ll talk later’.

“We don’t need to give Croydon any reason to low ball us. So I need you to get your butt in the gym like yesterday.”