Player's Challenge (18 page)

Her authoritative tone affecting his balls, Devin shifted in his seat. He also fell in line. “A few twice a days in the gym, camp out in the steam room, I’ll be back down to my fighting weight by the press conference.”

“I hope so,” Gemma countered, her tone doubtful. “With all this talk of loyalty and trust, I assume you want to stay with Croydon long term.”

“I’m a one team kind of guy.” Devin grinned in the face of Yvonne’s laughter and Gemma’s sour pout.

“I think we’re done here.” Gemma began gathering up her things. Yvonne stood as well.

“That’s it?” he glanced at his watch. “We’ve only been at it ten or fifteen minutes.”

There was that phony smile again. “You insisted to meet with us,” she turned to Yvonne, “and since time is of the essence, I’d better jump on this.”

Devin watched her head for the door. “When will I hear something? Will you call?”
Dammit, man, where are your balls?

She didn’t miss a step. She didn’t look back either. “We’ll be in touch. Hit the gym.”

She’d dismissed him and took happiness with her.

As soon as Yvonne entered her office, Gemma pounced. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Feigning innocence or simply a fabulous actress, Gemma couldn’t tell which, Yvonne rounded her desk and sat down.

“‘Loyalty is rare, if you find it, you keep it,’” Gemma mimicked. “It felt like it was freakin’ Coronation Street in there.”

“Oh, that.” Yvonne picked up her notebook and fanned herself. “All those sly innuendoes, I got caught up in the moment. You have to admit he’s good.”

“I know,” Gemma groused. “I was this close to throwing my knickers at him.”

Yvonne’s eyes widened. “Not the big girl panties.”

“The whole drawer of them. The moment I laid eyes on him, I felt like I was suffering a bleedin’ heart attack.” Gemma swiped her forehead. “I’m surprised I survived the meeting.”

“Despite my being a detriment, you did fantastic.”

“Thanks for nothing, C.B.” Having said her peace, Gemma decided to cut it short. There was money to be made. “I need to confirm with Mulroney. I had his assistant pencil me in for three o’clock.”

Yvonne’s eyebrows shot skyward. “That sure of your client?”

Hand on the doorknob, Gemma paused. “Just good at anticipating his next move.” And it didn’t hurt she knew Devin like the back of her hand.

“Speaking of next move,” Yvonne set down her notebook, “what’s yours with Mr. Spencer?”

“I just told you I’m meeting with Mul—”

“I’m not talking business anymore.”

Gemma crossed her arms. “Defecting to the other side?”

“I’m a sucker for a happy ending. Plus, the sexual tension in that room was so thick I have half a mind to hightail it back to the rental for a naughty nooner.” Yvonne plopped her chin in her hand. “Highly doubt Paolo would be down for it. Baby duty can put a real damper on anyone’s libido.”

“Lies, manipulation and a client doubting your credibility are better than a cold shower.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing. I’d hate for you to rue all the time you spent being mad when you could’ve been making up.”

“What about your non-fraternizing clause?”

“Still stands. For you, I’ll make an exception. You and Devin had a history before this firm. That time has to mean something.”

“It does mean something, but it doesn’t outweigh the residual damage or picking myself up every time he finds something better. Ever been thrown over for football?

“No,” Yvonne muttered.

“It wasn’t pretty.”

Yvonne looked stumped, and then she said, “A relationship isn’t based on the length of time you spend together; it’s the foundation you build together.”

Gemma blinked. How was she able to pull these out of her ass? “Do you keep a book of quotes next to your bed?”

“I’m addicted to Pinterest.” Yvonne held up her cell phone, and sure enough the app was open.

“So are we back on the same page?”

Yvonne held up a pair of imaginary pompoms. “Team Gemma for the win.”

Invigorated from a cold shower, Devin stepped from the stall. His next stop the steam room. True to his word, and per Gemma’s advice, he’d picked up his old routine and gotten his arse in the gym. Two days later, he was already down half a stone.

A towel wrapped around his waist, his flip flops beating out a squishy rhythm on the wood floors, he trudged through a bank of shower stalls to the sauna. Of course, he carried his cell phone. He’d practically sat on top of it ever since he’d left Top Flight’s offices, hopeful his extending the olive branch would open a pathway toward a reconciliation.

What a disaster!
Instead of seducing Gemma, she’d chastised him for letting himself go. And rightly so. His pants had been so snug, they’d cut into his skin leaving angry, red welts.

Chuckling at his brush with skinny pants, Devin opened the door to the steam room. He hesitated, on the threshold, to scan the interior. A precautionary but necessary measure against nosey parkers or the media. Grateful to find it empty, he meandered inside. Barely in his seat, his cell buzzed. Smiling like a nut, he hit the take-call button.

“Fat Bastard, at your service.”

There was a muted pause, then Gemma’s laughter drifted through the receiver. “Fat bastard?”

“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
Or at all for that matter.
After Monday’s fiasco, he’d

expected her to go through intermediaries. Unable to contain his excitement, he stood.

“I didn’t want to call unless I had news from Croydon.” Deflated, Devin sat down.” This was only about business. “How soon can you come in?”

“I’m in the gym right now then I’m heading to Aimee’s.”

“Skip it.” Noting her strident tone, Devin elected to yank her chain a bit.

“No can do. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. After a workout, it’s essential.”

“Come in afterward.”

“The rest of my day is completely filled,” he lied. The only thing on his plate was cleaning Grayson’s place as a parting gift before moving back into his apartment.

“I have three meetings lined up,” she sputtered. “Surely you can—”

“Ten o’clock Aimée’s.”

Presenting her with the only acceptable option, Devin didn’t wait around for her to accept, he hung up.

***

An hour later, showered but desperately needing a shave, Devin entered the parking lot of Aimée’s Cottage. Nervous, he checked his appearance in the side view mirror. Christ’s Church! He ran his hand over his whiskered chin. He’d fallen into his old habits with ease, his daily shave not so much. His beard had grown beyond a five o’clock shadow into more like midnight. The stiff blond hairs were beginning to fill in. He could barely see the two inch scar, a permanent reminder of a brutal penalty kick, on his chin. At least he had two things in his favor. His hair was cooperating, staying put, slicked back, and his trousers, because of his recent weight loss, had some give.

Clutching a bouquet of
Rainbow Alstroemeria, he headed inside.
There was nothing he could do about his grooming or lack thereof now. He’d parked two cars over from Gemma’s mint green Fiat. He stopped to check the hood to gauge how long she’d been waiting on him. Not long. Still, he refused to dawdle. Happy ex, could lead to make-up sex.

“Devin,
mon homme trop sexy
!” Arms outstretched, Aimée leaned over the pastry display. He greeted her warmly, hugged her tight, pecked her cheeks. Despite their twenty year age difference, it was nice to be called sexy.

“Where have you been?” She tugged his mini beard. “Being a bad boy again?”

“Very bad. Now, I’m atoning for it.”

Aimée’s blue eyes twinkled. “Was it worth it?”

“
She
was and still is,” he breathed, heart racing and stomach curdling like he’d jogged Wembley Stadium twice. A tingle suddenly zipped down Devin’s back. Compelled, he slowly turned around. His eyes landed on Gemma and she waved. Seated by the windows, bathed in natural sunlight, wearing a pale yellow dress, she looked ethereal. Like an angel. His angel. Ready to receive his salvation, he wrapped things up with Aimée.

Aimée beat him to the punch. “The regular?”

“Today’s a low carb day. I’ll have the egg basket, fruit instead of toast. I’m watching my weight.”

“Your agent knows you pretty well.” Smiling, Aimée placed her hand on her hip. “She’s already ordered for you. Go take care of your business. It’ll be up shortly.”

“This isn’t a date.” Gemma said when he walked up. She eyed the bouquet as if it would bite her.

Devin smiled in the face of her waspish tone. The bigger the attitude, the more determined he was to win her over. Plus, his dick was clamoring to crawl inside her, hammer into her until she forgave him.

“It’s a peace offering then.” He set the flowers in front of her, then sat down. “I’m sure working with me again is a bitter pill to swallow.”

Without giving them a second glance, Gemma placed the flowers in the empty chair next to her. “This is strictly business and nothing more.”

“And I’m in good hands. You’re one of the best agents in the field.”

Her expression immediately soured and he’d wished he could take the words back.

“Is that according to you or your former agent? You seem to value
his
advice.”

“About that I didn’t mean—”

“Order’s up.” Aimée set their plates down.

Devin eyed the crepe topped with blueberries on Gemma’s plate and almost cried.

“Can I get you two anything else?”

“I’m good,” Gemma purred, already cutting into her crepe.

“Me too,” Devin grumbled, hating the poor timing of the intrusion and his healthy, but bland breakfast.

While Gemma dug in, Devin was determined to have his say. Plus with her mouth stuffed, she’d be less likely to interrupt him.

He was wrong.

“Where’s the rest of your top?” she asked, her fork pointed at his chest.

Devin glanced down. Usually, he wore the super low-neck undershirt layered beneath another shirt or a cardigan. He had a sweater in the car, but left it behind because his body temperature was still raging from the sauna.

“You never had a problem with any of my undershirts before. I’m down to only three because of you.” She stopped chewing and Devin went for the jugular. “You do remember don’t you? I’d just gotten out of the shower and we were headed for a latte run. I made it as far as the front door when you ripped it off me.”

She set her fork down slowly. “Devin…it’s better to…um…” She started to squirm like a fish on a hook, and Devin smiled.

“You can rip this one if you want. In fact, I’d lov—”

“So what do you think of the deal?”

“Yvonne, what a surprise.” Irritated, but not altogether surprised by the other woman’s arrival, Devin pulled a chair over. “I’m feeling rather special,” he said, patting the seat. “Two agents for the price of one.”

“Well not exactly the price of one. I get my cut as well.”

“We haven’t had a chance to get to the contract.” Looking sheepish, Gemma wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Feeding our faces.”

“No harm there,” Yvonne eyed their plates. “I think I might order a bite as well…” Yvonne stopped in midsentence. Her attention suddenly drawn to his chest. “Is that a tattoo of a heart?” She leaned in closer.

Used to the attention his ink garnered, Devin was unfazed by her invading his personal space. Gemma on the other hand looked well-nigh epileptic. Her hands clutched her knife and fork so tightly the knuckles were white. Just because he had to put their reconciliation on hold, he couldn’t have a little fun.

“A heart
and
a key.”

“The key to your heart?” He nodded and Yvonne’s mouth rounded into an O. “Can I see?”

Smiling, Devin pulled the collar aside. Yvonne lifted her hand as if it would help her see the inscription better.

Yvonne’s gaze narrowed. Her head tilted to the left, then right. “Does that say—”

“Gemma,” he furnished. In the same breath, he felt suddenly free of an unseen burden.

The namesake of his art leaned forward. “Gemma? Let me see.” Affecting an air of surprise, she fawned over the tattoo as well. “Gemma!” She giggled. “What are the chances?” She deserved a BAFTA for her performance.

Irritated by her ability to turn the tables on him, keeping their secret intact, Devin released the collar of his shirt.

Yvonne sat back, her gaze still on his now covered ink. “Yeah…what are the chances?” She blinked as if coming out of a trance. “So…what about that contract.”

Crisis adverted, now in full business mode, Gemma set a piece of paper next to his plate. “Croydon didn’t match Edmonton’s deal, but we think you’ll be very pleased.”

Resigned to another night spent beneath a cold shower, Devin scanned the terms. He was locked into five years at twenty-six million. “Ten million up front?”

Gemma grinned and his balls tightened. “Another ten guaranteed, plus a pretty sweet incentive. A million bonus for thirty-eight clean sheets. Half a million for sixteen. A quarter of a million for eight. The payout doubles in the Champions league.”

Devin’s eyebrows arched. The bonus was better than sweet. Shut out games were pretty common in football. And considering last’s season’s record eighteen, he could earn more than Edmonton’s initial offer.

“You’re not exactly at thirty million, but if you put in some work you could earn much more than Edmonton’s offer.

Devin picked up the paper and scanned the numbers again. This wasn’t sex with Gemma, but it was a great consolation. “Where and when do I sign?”

With instructions to stand by for further news, Devin left his food untouched and a promise to keep his cell on. With him gone, Gemma felt empty and antsy. Suddenly thinking of a million things she could be doing besides bemoaning Devin’s absence, she gathered her things.

“I’m heading back to the office.” She slung her purse over her shoulder, then stood.

Yvonne stayed put. She’d ordered a crepe suzette and unlike Gemma, Devin’s departure had not stolen her appetite. “I’m switching teams,” she said, spearing a plump strawberry then popping it in her mouth.

Gemma sat down. “Excuse me?”

“I’m officially on Team Devin. Here’s your jersey back.” She held up her hands and opened them as if dropping a shirt in Gemma’s lap.

“When did my love life become a competition?”

“Someone has to cheer for your happiness.”

Gemma bristled. “Not all of us need a man to be happy or feel complete.”

“That’s true but why turn your back on love?”

“Love…love?” Gemma sputtered. “Who says Devin loves me?”

“A permanent tribute imprinted into his skin.”

“A tattoo applied during a rowdy weekend in Amsterdam,” Gemma corrected, dispelling Yvonne’s romantic delusions and hopefully hers as well. Seeing the tattoo again, brought back memories. Sushi runs. Late nights watching horror movies. Lazy afternoons making love.

“He probably has a tramp stamp dedicated to some bloke named Boris.”

“Does he?”

“No. I’m lying,” Gemma grumbled. She hated she missed him more than she cared to admit.