Playing Hard (34 page)

“Just like the sign on the door says,” she replied, pushing back from her desk to stand. Her voice was slightly husky. But still cool.

Definitely unhappy about something. He studied her a moment. Dark brown hair pulled back into a bun, black sweater buttoned over a crisp white shirt. Dark liner highlighting the eyes that weren’t impressed with him. But despite the demure attire, he got the feeling she wasn’t all that demure. Because the lips that were painted a very neutral shade were full and the body beneath the clothes curved like a racetrack. Not that he let himself study it in any detail. She was already unimpressed. Staring at her chest wasn’t going to improve the situation.

A trio of thin silver chains of varying lengths looped around her neck and thin small silver hoops hung from her ears. Except in her right ear, the loop wasn’t alone. Next to the hoop was a small silver shape. At first he thought it was just a stud, but when she moved her head he realized it was actually a tiny skull.

Definitely not demure.

More like … intriguing.

But nope. He wasn’t here to be intrigued. Let alone be intrigued by the woman who Maggie Winters—wife of Alex and currently Chief Operating Officer of the Saints—had told him was the heart of the Preachers’ operations. The one who knew how things got done. The woman who had the respect and the ear of the coaching team. Not to be messed with.

And now they’d been staring at each other just that little bit too long.

Damn.

“Well, they told me to come find you when I got here,” he said, to break the silence and the potential to grow more intrigued.

“Nice to see you can follow instructions, Mr. Castro,” she said. She bent and scooped something up off her desk, held it out to him. “This is your security pass. It gets you into the building, the training complex, and the parking lot.”

He took the pass. It was clipped onto a white lanyard with the Preachers’ logo stamped in black along its length. Preachers. Not the Saints. His jaw tightened again and he relaxed it with an effort.

Suck it up
.

“Now,” Eva continued as she passed him a plastic folder that had a matching logo on the front cover, “this folder has the map of the complex, your IT login, and your schedule for the week as well as the plans for the first week of spring training next week. Your schedule will be emailed to you once a week, and it and most other information is always available on our intranet. We have all your paperwork from the Saints, so unless you need to update any of the details you’ve given them in relation to your banking arrangements or uniform size, then that should be all set up.”

Was he imagining things or had she just given him a quick once-over when she’d said “uniform”? He must have been imagining it. Her tone was definitely not enthusiastic.

“The only information we don’t have is your address here in Saratoga,” Eva continued. “Did you find an apartment or house yet? Or are you in a hotel for now?”

“I have an apartment.” He’d rented a place not far from the Preachers’ home field, Hennessee Park. His Manhattan apartment was sublet for six months. Alex Winters had told him he’d be in Saratoga Springs for a year, but he was determined to get back as soon as possible. So he didn’t need anywhere flashy to live. Just somewhere close where he could crash. He wasn’t here to party, after all.

Not that he was sure Saratoga Springs was much of a party town. The place seemed full of spas and, well, horse racing. He didn’t know jack about horse racing and couldn’t see himself getting interested anytime soon.

“Great,” Eva said, not sounding at all like she meant it. “Once you log into your email, send me your details and you’ll be all set. Now I’ll show you around and then deliver you to Coach.”

*   *   *

Finn kept his head down for the first couple of days. He went to his training sessions. To the gym. To team meetings. Took long runs around Hennessee Park and the area around his new apartment, trying to learn his way around. Spoke to his parents and his sister, Em, back in Chicago. Then he went home to his very boring apartment and slept. Focus, that was the key.

Head down, do the work, and be so damned good at his job that the Saints would have to call him back. No distractions. No thinking about the interesting Eva Harlowe.

Play it smart.

No trouble. Not so much as a hint. It was already clear that he had some ground to make up with most of his teammates. Who knew he’d been sent here in disgrace. Knew he’d blown it at the Saints. The guys hadn’t exactly welcomed him with open arms. It was only the two real rookies, fresh out of college, who had spoken to him much at all. They were all enthusiasm, convinced they were going to conquer the world of baseball, eager to hear about his time in the majors. They reminded him of his idiot younger self. Which was kind of painful. But it was a start. The rest of the guys he’d have to prove himself to.

Work for it.

So head down and definitely no flirting with Eva, who was clearly a central part of the Preachers’ organization. One that the players regarded as part of the family. He knew a little about how guys reacted when other guys tried to date their sisters, having a sister himself. Eva was off-limits. He would just have to ignore the fact that she kept popping into his mind and that the few times he’d seen her during the week, his attention had zeroed in on her like she was a lifeline and he was drowning.

It was an excellent plan until he tried to log into his email on Thursday morning, and the computer declared he didn’t exist. Or rather his password didn’t. Which meant he was going to have to go see the very interesting Eva after all.

No flirting, he reminded himself as he headed toward Eva’s office thirty minutes later. Nice. Friendly. Cooperative, that was the key. She’d been all business when she’d given him a tour of the complex on Monday. Nothing but the facts. No shift in her demeanor despite his attempts to get her to relax. He hadn’t figured out if it was him or if she’d been having a bad day. Hopefully the latter. Though she probably knew exactly how he’d washed up on her shores, so to speak. Knew all about his fall from grace at the Saints. She must have come across plenty of other players who’d been demoted. Maybe she gave them all the cold shoulder.

Smart woman.

He deserved the cold shoulder. It would remind him that he was walking the line, to steal a phrase from Johnny Cash.

He hadn’t ended up in prison last year, but he’d been lucky to escape charges after a dumb bar fight. Luckier still that the Saints hadn’t just sacked him and had instead sent him to a six-week program that wasn’t exactly rehab. The consensus being that he wasn’t an alcoholic but had definitely been in “Dude, you need to get a handle on things” territory. No booze, more health food than he ever wanted to see again, and daily sessions with a sports psychologist and the regular kind.

It had given him some clarity. Shown him what needed to change if he was going to be successful in MLB.

Now he just had to prove that he could do it.

So Eva Harlowe might just be a good test subject.

He knocked politely on her half-open door, waited for her to say “come in.” When she did, he pushed the door open carefully.

Eva stood at one of the file cabinets behind her desk, rummaging through a drawer. Her dark hair was piled up and she’d stuck a pen through it at some point. She was smiling absently as she flicked through folders, as if remembering something happy. The deep blue sweater she wore over a black skirt highlighted some very nice curves. He pulled his eyes back to her face as she turned her head.

The cool look that quickly replaced her smile when she saw it was him clarified something else. She hadn’t been in a bad mood on Monday. It was him she had a problem with.

He couldn’t really blame her. She had to know his history. How badly he’d screwed things up to end up here. In her place, he’d have a problem with him, too. Which meant that he was just going to have to work a bit harder to prove that her low expectations were wrong.

“Mr. Castro,” she said as she pulled a file from the drawer. “What can I do for you this morning?”

“It seems that your IT system has decided I don’t exist. I couldn’t get into my emails this morning.”

“Did you try resetting your password?”

“Yes. But I got an error message. Plus, even if it worked, I can’t log in to get the reset link.”

She looked at him over the top of her glasses, expression suspicious. “No one else has mentioned having an issue.”

He held up his hands. “I swear I didn’t do anything to it. I logged in fine yesterday.”

“I’ll get the IT guys to reset the account. Was there anything in particular you wanted?”

“I wanted to check the schedule again. Coach said last night that there had been changes to the travel arrangements for Wednesday.” Their first away game of spring training. He rolled his shoulders, suddenly nervous. He’d done fine in the training sessions this week. No reason for that to be any different when he got onto the field next week.

“Well, you’re in luck. I just printed out a few copies to post in the locker room.” She walked to her desk, lifted a big expensive-looking camera that was sitting on a pile of printouts, and picked up a piece of paper. “Here.”

He took the paper. “Nice camera.” He had no idea whether it was nice or not. Or whether it was hers. The Saints had an on-staff photographer who traveled with the team. He had no idea whether the Preachers’ budget ran to that sort of thing.

She hitched a shoulder. “It does the job.”

He nodded at the camera. “Do you like photography?” He knew he should really just take the schedule and leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to quite make that first move toward the door.

“I dabble. I take shots around here to post to our social media.”

“I’ll have to check them out.”

“You didn’t list any social media accounts on the profile information you gave us.”

“I closed them all last year when…” Exactly how much did she know about what had happened to him last season? Probably all of it.

“When you got in that bar fight?” she said coolly.

Yep. She knew. “Yes.” No point trying to bullshit his way and put any spin on it. “Haven’t really missed them much. But if you want me to set something up again, I can.”

She shook her head. “It’s not team policy that you have to have them, it’s up to you.”

He shrugged. “Trying to keep things simple. Keep my head clear.”

Her brows lifted, just a fraction. “Well, as I said, it’s not team policy.”

He smiled and just for a moment he thought she was going to smile back. But then she looked away, reaching out to adjust a bright red photo frame on her desk. He knew he should leave, shouldn’t get in her way. Not give her any reason to dislike him any more than she apparently already did.

The photo was Eva and three younger women. All dark-haired except the youngest who was sporting cropped platinum blond hair. All with the same deep blue eyes as her.

“Sisters?” he asked.

For once she actually smiled as her gaze dropped to the photo. “Yes. Kate, Lizzie, and Audrey.”

“Eva, Kate, Lizzie, and Audrey?” he asked. His mom was an old Hollywood movie fan. “Tell me, is Kate short for Katharine?”

“Yes,” she said. She shrugged. “My mom loved old movies.”

“Katharine Hepburn, Audrey Hepburn. Elizabeth Taylor.” He ticked the names off. “But wait, I assume you’re Ava Gardner? Didn’t she spell her name with an A?”

“My dad wasn’t such a movie fan. He filled out the birth certificate and spelled it with an E. My mom almost strangled him when she saw it but the deed, so to speak, was done.”

“So that’s why you’re Ay-va not Ee-va?” He looked from her to the photo again. Her mom had obviously been psychic. All four of her daughters were gorgeous. Though Eva had that something … more than mere prettiness.

“Yup. There you go, the great mystery of my name solved.” She stroked a finger over the photo and then turned it slightly again so he couldn’t see it clearly. “Now, is there something else I can do for you, Mr. Shields?”

About the Author

Melanie Scott
is an unrepentant bookworm. Luckily she grew up in a family that fed her a properly varied diet of books and these days is surrounded by people who are understanding of her story addiction. When not wrestling one of her own stories to the ground, she can generally be found reading someone else’s. Her other distractions include yarn, cat butlering, dark chocolate and fabric. She lives in Melbourne, Australia. Her website is
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