Читать книгу Hard and Fast - Lisa Renee Jones - Страница 8

BRAD WOKE Tuesday morning to the ringing of the phone on his nightstand. He rolled over to check the time. Early. Seven in the morning on one of the few days he could sleep in, since their series didn’t start until the next night. With a groan he grabbed the receiver.

“Have you seen the morning edition of the Tribune?”

It was his agent, Mike. “No.” Brad pushed to a sitting position, instantly alert. Please don’t let it be about my arm. “Do I want to?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mike said. “You want to. It’s good stuff. Exactly what we need for this negotiation. Read it. Like it. Thank God for it after that Ohio piece. Give me more stuff like this and you’ll lock up that contract in no time.”

Brad threw off the blankets and grabbed a robe before heading toward his front door. Though it didn’t sound as if the news was about his arm, he wouldn’t be calm until he knew for sure.

Brad prodded for more information, hoping to ease his nerves. “What exactly did it say?”

“The Tribune did an exposé titled, Undressing the Rays and you were the feature. Brad Rogers stripped down to a good guy who loves his mom. Man, oh man. It couldn’t get better than this if I had bribed the reporter.” Brad could hear Mike rustling papers. “Now we need that record. Ready to rock the world tonight?”

“Not tonight. Friday night. And I was born ready. You know that.” But even as Brad said the words, he knew he wasn’t ready. Already his arm hurt and he’d just woken up.

“That’s what I want to hear,” Mike said, approval lifting his voice. “Bring me three shutouts in a row. That’ll go a long way in negotiations.”

“Right.” Brad yanked open the front door and grabbed both morning papers. “Good press. Great pitching. No problem.” Hopefully his arm agreed with that declaration.

After a quick goodbye, Brad kicked the front door shut and headed for the kitchen. He sat at the table and read the piece Amanda had written about him, breathing easier with each line.

No mention of his arm.

With one worry behind him, his mind switched gears. This article gave Brad the perfect opportunity to make his move on Amanda, to open the door to more intimate communication. He considered his options, a variety of rather tantalizing plays to launch his campaign to victory flashing in his mind. Soon Becker would know who ruled this show. And who was man enough to make Amanda moan.

ON TUESDAY MORNING, the day of her column’s debut, Amanda whipped her piece-of-junk rental car into a parking spot outside the Tribune with only minutes to spare. How she’d managed to snag a rental that seemed on the verge of a breakdown was beyond her. The last thing she needed was to be late for work only a few days into her new job. Of course, it might not matter. She could very well be fired after writing such a daring story.

She’d hit the Send button on her computer the night before, delivering her story to her boss just in time to meet her deadline. Afterward, Amanda had stared at her inbox waiting to hear his feedback. It never came.

This morning, having slept through her alarm, Amanda had been forced to dress in a frantic rush, leaving her no time to find a newspaper. For all she knew, some Associated Press filler had taken her story’s place.

Shoving aside self-doubt, Amanda walked toward the building, running her palm down the slim-fitting black dress she wore, hoping she didn’t appear wrinkled. She knew she was fidgeting so she wouldn’t focus on the nerves making her chest tight and her stomach flutter.

She’d done the right thing, she told herself. Considering the short window of opportunity she’d been given to succeed, she had to make a splash, and fast. Adopting the Nike motto of Just Do It had worked in the pool. It could work here, too.

Amanda walked through the newsroom, turning heads and instigating hushed whispers as she passed. Great. Everyone but her knew she was getting fired. She let out a relieved sigh at the sight of her boss’s closed door. She preferred seeing the paper before she faced Kevin.

But all her fears and concerns disappeared as Amanda stepped inside her tiny corner cubicle and spotted the front page of the sports section laid on her keyboard. She picked it up and stared down at story center page. Her story.

Undressing the Los Angeles Rays. Beneath the racy headline, she saw her name. Beneath that, the words staff writer. A smile touched Amanda’s lips. She wasn’t a flunky anymore and, damn, it felt good.

“Whatcha think, sugar plum?”

Reggie appeared in the opening of her little space. “I think I’m a ball of nerves,” she told him, examining the rows of thumbnail pictures on either side of her story. “And you’re my hero.” She’d asked him to dig up photos that showed Brad on and off the field, and he’d come through. “I can’t believe what great shots you found.”

He flashed her a bright white smile. “That’s what a wingman is for.”

“So…what did you think about the story?” she asked, anxious to hear but afraid to at the same time. So much so, she continued talking before he could respond. “I went for a dual audience. Draw in the men with the facts. Entice the women with the real man and a promise of lots more to come.”

“Stop already,” Reggie said, leaning on the wall. “You scored big-time. You’ve got just enough sports to keep it real, but you’ve got that edgy, speculative quality that sells papers.”

She bit her bottom lip. “So as a guy, you’d still read it? You weren’t turned off by the real man stuff.”

He shook his head. “Actually, as a guy, I loved the part about Brad’s lucky necklace. It made him seem human. Besides, men are all about superstition when it comes to our sports. It’s something a guy could relate to.”

Before Amanda could comment, Kevin appeared, resting his arms on the top of her partition walls. The shininess of her boss’s bald head did nothing to detract from the scowl on his face—the one he’d worn in her interview that she would have sworn meant he hated her.

“My phone is ringing off the hook,” he declared, his tone clipped and rough.

Amanda and Reggie exchanged a concerned look. “About?” she prodded because Kevin seemed to expect her to ask the obvious.

“Some of the players are worried about your promise to expose the real men.”

Reggie made a sound. “Then they must have something to hide. Sounds like news to me.”

Kevin didn’t say anything. He stared at her, ignoring Reggie. Amanda’s heart settled in her chest and proceeded to beat so loudly she was quite certain the entire building could hear. “Right. I—”

Kevin cut her off. “The papers are flying off the racks.” Then, to her shock, he smiled. Almost. His lips sort of lifted on the sides a bit. She doubted the man ever full-out smiled. “You need to ease up a little. I printed the story, so obviously, I thought it worked. Every newspaperman worth a grain of salt knows sex and scandal sells. Good work.”

Amanda blinked, taken aback and thrilled by the compliment. “I, uh, well, thank you.”

“Speaking of ‘Undressing the Rays,’ there’s a rumor of steroid usage on the team. Jack’s working the story.”

Steroids? That was the kind of story that ruffled feathers. The kind of story one treaded lightly around. The wrong information could ruin careers. “Do I get to know your source?”

“No.” His tone was clipped. “I’ve been around a long time. I’ve earned my contacts. You haven’t yet. All you need to concern yourself with is getting this story before Jack. Understand?”

Her response was instant. “Oh, yes. I want that, too.” Amanda made sure her voice held the conviction she felt.

Kevin’s eyebrow inched upward, but he didn’t comment. “Good. I expect an update soon.” Without another word, he left.

Hand pressed to her chest, Amanda felt both relieved and happy. “Oh, my God, I just knew I was getting fired.”

“You scored big,” Reggie told her. “Now you have nothing to worry about except—”

“Getting this story before Jack Ass.”

“Right,” he said with a nod. “But don’t fixate on Jack. Do this your way, not his. And that wasn’t what I was going to say, anyway. I was going to say you need to find a place to live.”

“Oh,” Amanda said, settling into her chair. “I know. Kevin said to get here, so that’s what I did. I need time to find something I can afford. So far, everything the real estate agent has showed me is crazy expensive or so far away it’s nuts.”

“I might have a solution,” Reggie offered. “Karen Tuggle, our weather woman, has a duplex and she rents out the other side. I’m not sure when it’s available, but it’s in a good area of town and it’s affordable.”

“Sounds good. I’ll contact her today. I’m hoping Kevin lets me travel with the team for the Texas series in six weeks. That way I can drive my own car back.”

“I’d bet on it. The Rangers and the Rays have a competitive history with some tension between the coaches. Jack Ass will be going for sure. All the more reason for Kevin to want us there.”

Amanda’s cell phone rang before she could respond.

“I’ll check in with you in a bit,” Reggie said, before departing.

Amanda managed to retrieve her phone from her purse by the third ring. Caller ID told her it was her father. “Hey, Dad.”

“How is my baby girl?”

“I’m fine.” Amanda smiled into the phone. “My first story hit the paper today.”

“I saw that,” he said, his voice holding a fatherly authoritative tone as if he wasn’t completely pleased his daughter had written it. “And quite the story it was. I bet you got some notice.”

“I did,” Amanda agreed. “And the good news is, I’m still employed.”

“Well, of course you are. But let me get this straight. You wrote the article thinking it might cost you your job?”

“No.” She blinked. “Well, maybe. It is a bit daring,” Amanda admitted.

“You certainly made everyone sit up and take notice, and you did it right out of the gate.” He paused. “I noticed you picked Brad Rogers as your first feature, too.”

“I knew you’d approve.” Her father had a thing for pitchers. Not teams, but pitchers. Brad was a favorite. Amanda loved watching baseball with her highly opinionated father. Just listening to him complain about the bad calls, bad pitching, bad coaching and a long list of other bad things, kept her entertained.

“You didn’t happen to get—”

She rolled her eyes. “No, Daddy, I did not get you an autograph. Give me time to be accepted.”

A heavy sigh filled the phone. “All right, but don’t wait too long. You know how I like my autographs.”

“Yes,” she said, thinking of his den filled with his collection. “I do know. I’ll get you one. I promise.”

“Before he quits pitching.”

She frowned. “You think he’s going somewhere?”

“He’s playing hurt. You know from your own history what that means.”

She knew very well. “I noticed, too. He kept doing that little flexing movement between pitches. Discreet, but obvious if you’re a doctor.”

“Or the daughter of one,” her father said.

“I couldn’t listen to you and Kelli talk shop and not pick up something. The odd thing is that no one with the Rays seems to have noticed that Brad’s hurt. I noticed, but not them. How crazy is that?”

“You’ve been in the locker rooms. Broken bones and blood get attention. The rest is easy to miss. Especially when it’s being hidden.” A female voice sounded in the background. “Hold on,” he said. “I have lots more to ask, but your mother feels it’s her time to talk. Love you, honey.”

“Love you, too, Daddy.”

“Don’t forget my autograph.”

She laughed. “I’ll get it.”

“Oh,” he said, as if he’d had a last-minute thought. “Any word on you coming home for the Texas series?”

“Not yet,” Amanda said, feeling the pressure of performance. The team would head to Nashville before Texas, and she didn’t know about that trip. “I imagine that decision will come once they decide if I’m a keeper or not.”

“Then I’ll see you soon,” he said, confident in her as always.

Amanda chatted with her mother a few minutes and then hung up. She was forever grateful for her parents’ confidence and support.

It was time to earn that confidence. She was going to find the story behind every teeny-weensy towel in that locker room…even if she wasn’t allowed to remove any of them.

LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Amanda sat at her desk jotting down potential interview questions for the locker room postgame, nerves working a number on her stomach. She had a lot of ground to cover. Tuesday’s game had gone so horribly for the Rays that the coach had shut the locker room to the press. Wednesday and Thursday had been off nights so there’d been no talking with the players for her second column. She’d gone with Riley’s Gypsy oil as her featured superstition but hadn’t gotten as deep into the topic as she would have liked. Tonight would be her first chance to find out Brad’s reaction to her story on him.

Brad.

He’d stayed on her mind far too much.

A loud thud jerked Amanda to attention. Kevin stood in front of her cubicle, having tossed two big bags on the floor. He pointed to one. “Fan mail.” Then to the other. “Hate mail.”

Amanda gulped. “Hate mail?”

“Attention is attention,” Kevin said. “Think Howard Stern. Keep this up and you might actually stay around a while.”

She couldn’t quite get past the hate mail. “Why do they hate me?”

Irritation flashed in his face. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you get that steroid story before Jack. Check out Tony Rossi. My source says Jack thinks he’s the user. My question to you is why does Jack know this and you don’t?”

“I—”

“I want that story, Amanda. Whatever it takes, get it.”

She was being asked to earn the team’s trust and destroy a player’s career all at once. It seemed as wrong as the hate mail. She’d signed up to be a reporter, not a destroyer.

“And another thing,” Kevin continued. “The team’s headed to Nashville. Jack’s not, so you’re not. That damn hotel room of yours is eating up my budget. Get a place to live before I find one for you.”

He wanted her to get the story, but he wasn’t letting her go with the team. That didn’t make sense. Shouldn’t she go because Jack wasn’t going? Wouldn’t that give her an edge?

She bit her tongue and focused on the solution she could give him. “I’m renting from Karen Tuggle. I move in next week.”

“Good. And how much longer do you have that rental car?”

She reminded him of their interview conversation. “We discussed me taking a few days after the Texas series to drive mine back.”

He grunted. “That’s several more weeks.”

His attitude was getting to her. They’d agreed to these terms before she’d started. “With the company discount, the rental came out cheaper than the cost to transport my car here.”

Reggie appeared. “Ready to hit the road?”

Amanda pushed to her feet. “I’m ready.”

Kevin fixed her with a level stare. “Get me that story,” he ordered before exiting, leaving her staring after him, feeling frazzled.

The phone on her desk rang and Reggie motioned toward the door. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

She waved, sitting back down and reaching for the phone. “This is Amanda.”

“This is the star of your first column at the Tribune.”

Her heart beat like a drum in her chest. “I never had the chance to ask what you thought of it. Did you like it?” she asked.

“I told you not to make me out to be superstitious,” he reminded her, but his voice held no anger. In fact, his tone seemed flirtatious.

“I didn’t,” Amanda said. “I made you out to be sentimental. And the way I see it, I did you a favor.”

“A favor, huh? What exactly was the favor?”

“Well,” she drawled, picking up a pencil and tapping it on the desk, needing an outlet for the adrenaline coursing through her body. “You’ve had some bad press, what with the fight and being out for part of the season. The public needed a reminder that you may be more good ol’ boy than bad boy. I suspect your team did, as well.”

“My agent agrees with you on that point, even if I don’t see it. I guess I’ll cut you some slack on the superstition thing.”

“So kind of you. I was worried. Really, I was.”

“You really are a good smart-ass. I noticed that when you talked to Jack.”

“Jack,” she said, her lips thinning with the name. “Such a nice guy.”

Brad let out a bark of laughter. “Right. I could see how well you two got along. Now, back to the article and my thoughts on it. You left some unanswered questions. It felt a bit unfinished.”

She frowned. “What unanswered questions?”

“Who is the real man behind the ballplayer?” he recited the question she’d posed in her story.

“It wasn’t meant as a literal question,” she replied, wishing like hell she could answer it herself firsthand. Wondering why she wanted to so badly. She didn’t get distracted by such things. “It was meant to pique interest.”

“I think you owe it to your readers to find out.”

“Oh, really?” she said, forgetting Kevin and that hate mail. “I got the impression you wanted the ‘real man’ kept private.”

“Depends on who’s involved,” he said, his tone low, suggestive.

“You’re offering me an interview?”

“That’s right. Tonight. After the game.” He paused. “Strictly business, of course.”

If it was strictly business, why say so? “Of course,” she agreed, though she sensed there was more than that going on between them. And, damn it to hell, her fantasy image of him, gloriously naked and tied to her bed, chose that moment to flash in her mind.

“Goodbye, Amanda.”

She blinked away the erotic images, reprimanding herself for allowing them to surface. “Goodbye, Brad.”

The line was silent a moment, neither of them hanging up, their breathing soft, intimate, sizzling with promise. Amanda forced herself to set the receiver on the cradle.

What had just happened? She grabbed a piece of paper and fanned herself. She’d never been this tempted to stray from a goal. And her career represented an important goal. Yet, Brad had most definitely proven he could seize her attention and make her forget all the reasons she needed to avoid him. If the man could get her this hot on the phone, what could he do in person?

And there was the question she couldn’t help but want answered. Yet, she couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—allow herself to find out. Brad Rogers was off limits. She wasn’t about to compromise her journalistic integrity to discover if some ballplayer with a God complex burned up the sheets as much as his voice promised.

She pushed to her feet, and made herself repeat her vow. She would not be seduced by Brad Rogers.

And that was that.

She hoped.