Game for Seduction
Page 12
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"You don't owe me anything," she said again. "We had a night of fun. So what? We've both had one-night stands," she lied.
"You haven't."
She stood her ground. "I have." "I'll kill him."
She almost smiled at his surprisingly jealous reaction, but she didn't have a smile in her. Not yet.
"You and I had a great night together. No ties, no promises. Stop worrying," she said, putting a hand on his arm to reassure him. But touching him was a big mistake. She rubbed her hand on her hip to stop the tingling. "I'm fine." She would be. One day.
"I'll have my lawyer draw up a contract this after noon for your review."
She stared at him in disbelief, unable to continue this discussion with him any longer. He was acting like a dictator, yet she was still aroused by him. Every time he moved his arms and his biceps flexed, every time she watched his hands move and thought about what he'd done to her with those long fingers, she started losing the tenuous hold she had over her dignity.
Head held high, she retrieved her bag and walked out the door in her bare feet and down to the elevator. She felt his eyes on her as she pressed the red button and waited for the elevator.
The bell dinged, the stainless steel doors slid open, and she stepped inside. She had to be strong, couldn't let Dominic see how deep his arrows had gone, so she made herself face his stony features as the doors slid closed.
Chapter Eight
Melissa walked into the office after a long, scalding shower and ages in front of her mirror, working on hair and makeup and clothes. Her brain was at war with her body—her body still in a state of bliss, her mind reeling at being kicked to the curb—but she refused to lie down and play dead.
She wore a snug purple V-neck cashmere sweater she'd stashed at the bottom of a drawer. If ever there was a day for a jolt of confidence, this was it, so she added a wholly unnecessary push-up bra. Paired with perfectly tailored black slacks, she hoped she looked like a million bucks, even if she felt like the ninety-nine-cent special.
For the second day in a row, Angie waylaid her. "Your father has been trying to get a hold of you for hours," she said, her tone both accusing and questioning.
Melissa shrugged. She had more important things to think about than her father's endless laundry list of tasks. Like getting a new job at a new agency, for instance. Or, even better, starting her own. "You can tell him I'm here now."
She went to her cubicle, sat down at her desk, and logged on to her computer. By the time she left work today, she'd have a list of strong contacts at the top five other agencies in the football business. Scratch that; she wasn't going to limit her search to football. She'd always liked baseball and hockey. Hell, she could learn to like boxing or golf if she had to.
Her phone rang and, foolishly, her first thought was, Dominic. But when she looked at the caller ID, it was just Angie calling to say that her father was eagerly awaiting her presence.
Melissa closed her eyes. She couldn't get her hopes up every time the phone rang, couldn't waste her life daydreaming that Dominic was going to fall in love with her.
Pushing back her chair, she slipped on a pair of red-rimmed no-prescription glasses she'd bought for the express purpose of looking tougher, more sharply angled. Her father's door was wide open and she sat on his couch, unwilling to subject herself to the seat of torture in front of his desk. Surprisingly, he got up to join her.
He laid a thick file down on the coffee table. "I've given more thought to yesterday's discussion."
He looked intensely uncomfortable, and her first instinct was to say something to put him at ease, to let him think she hadn't been hurt by the way he'd shut down her dreams. But her self-respect rose up and she settled for crossing her legs and waiting for him to continue.
"I've decided to give you full representation of a new client."
Nothing could have shocked her more. "Seriously?"
He rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking his age. "Your mother read me the riot act. Said I wasn't giving you a fair chance."
So Mommy had come to rescue her baby girl, just like she had years ago on the playground, or at the dinner table when her father chastised her for not getting better grades. Which meant that nothing had really changed. Her father didn't really want her to be an agent.
He was simply afraid of his wife.
Melissa stopped her self-pitying thoughts cold. If she wanted to change her life, she needed to focus on the positive. Regardless of her father's reasons for giving her this chance, this was her opportunity to blow his expectations out of the water.
"Who's the player?"
He gestured to the file and she picked it up. JP Jesse. His name vaguely registered on her radar.
"He's been playing for five years. The Tennessee Titans cut him and he was an unrestricted free agent who no one wanted out of the gate in March. In May he was given a tender offer by the Titans, but he's desperate to get out of Tennessee. Which means the clock is ticking on signing him to another team before the free-agent period runs out July twenty-second. And I don't have two weeks to kill finding JP a new contract."
But she did. She flipped through JP's file. He didn't play much, but when he did his stats were impressive, averaging fifteen yards a reception and a touchdown every ten catches.
"Looks like he has potential," she said as she scanned the information.
Her father shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not."
A warning bell went off in her head. Her father never took on long shots; every last one of his clients was a sure thing. Oh crap. He's taken on a player to pacify me.
"Does he drink?" she asked. "Party? Blow it during big games when the pressure's on?"
Her father nodded. "All of the above. The Titans' official reason for releasing him was a DUI he got in January. But after looking through his file, I think he's got bigger problems than partying too hard." He paused. "I'm counting on you to make him into a star wide receiver. Or drop him on his ass."
How the hell was she supposed to do all that in two weeks? Well, this was her chance to prove to her father that she had what it took to be the best damn agent in the business. "Thank you for this opportunity."
Leaving her father's office, she pulled out JP's 8 x 10. A tall, lean, dirty blonde with a wicked gleam in his eyes stared back at her. Unabashed sensuality leaped off the page. They'd start with his looks, then work on his skills. With a face and body like that, if she couldn't get him a new contract, maybe she could negotiate an agreement with a modeling agency.
Engrossed in JP's file, she walked straight into a rock wall. The folder—along with her glasses—went flying as she tried to catch her balance. Strong hands curled around her shoulders and a familiar scent of heat and pine needles assailed her senses.
"You haven't."
She stood her ground. "I have." "I'll kill him."
She almost smiled at his surprisingly jealous reaction, but she didn't have a smile in her. Not yet.
"You and I had a great night together. No ties, no promises. Stop worrying," she said, putting a hand on his arm to reassure him. But touching him was a big mistake. She rubbed her hand on her hip to stop the tingling. "I'm fine." She would be. One day.
"I'll have my lawyer draw up a contract this after noon for your review."
She stared at him in disbelief, unable to continue this discussion with him any longer. He was acting like a dictator, yet she was still aroused by him. Every time he moved his arms and his biceps flexed, every time she watched his hands move and thought about what he'd done to her with those long fingers, she started losing the tenuous hold she had over her dignity.
Head held high, she retrieved her bag and walked out the door in her bare feet and down to the elevator. She felt his eyes on her as she pressed the red button and waited for the elevator.
The bell dinged, the stainless steel doors slid open, and she stepped inside. She had to be strong, couldn't let Dominic see how deep his arrows had gone, so she made herself face his stony features as the doors slid closed.
Chapter Eight
Melissa walked into the office after a long, scalding shower and ages in front of her mirror, working on hair and makeup and clothes. Her brain was at war with her body—her body still in a state of bliss, her mind reeling at being kicked to the curb—but she refused to lie down and play dead.
She wore a snug purple V-neck cashmere sweater she'd stashed at the bottom of a drawer. If ever there was a day for a jolt of confidence, this was it, so she added a wholly unnecessary push-up bra. Paired with perfectly tailored black slacks, she hoped she looked like a million bucks, even if she felt like the ninety-nine-cent special.
For the second day in a row, Angie waylaid her. "Your father has been trying to get a hold of you for hours," she said, her tone both accusing and questioning.
Melissa shrugged. She had more important things to think about than her father's endless laundry list of tasks. Like getting a new job at a new agency, for instance. Or, even better, starting her own. "You can tell him I'm here now."
She went to her cubicle, sat down at her desk, and logged on to her computer. By the time she left work today, she'd have a list of strong contacts at the top five other agencies in the football business. Scratch that; she wasn't going to limit her search to football. She'd always liked baseball and hockey. Hell, she could learn to like boxing or golf if she had to.
Her phone rang and, foolishly, her first thought was, Dominic. But when she looked at the caller ID, it was just Angie calling to say that her father was eagerly awaiting her presence.
Melissa closed her eyes. She couldn't get her hopes up every time the phone rang, couldn't waste her life daydreaming that Dominic was going to fall in love with her.
Pushing back her chair, she slipped on a pair of red-rimmed no-prescription glasses she'd bought for the express purpose of looking tougher, more sharply angled. Her father's door was wide open and she sat on his couch, unwilling to subject herself to the seat of torture in front of his desk. Surprisingly, he got up to join her.
He laid a thick file down on the coffee table. "I've given more thought to yesterday's discussion."
He looked intensely uncomfortable, and her first instinct was to say something to put him at ease, to let him think she hadn't been hurt by the way he'd shut down her dreams. But her self-respect rose up and she settled for crossing her legs and waiting for him to continue.
"I've decided to give you full representation of a new client."
Nothing could have shocked her more. "Seriously?"
He rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking his age. "Your mother read me the riot act. Said I wasn't giving you a fair chance."
So Mommy had come to rescue her baby girl, just like she had years ago on the playground, or at the dinner table when her father chastised her for not getting better grades. Which meant that nothing had really changed. Her father didn't really want her to be an agent.
He was simply afraid of his wife.
Melissa stopped her self-pitying thoughts cold. If she wanted to change her life, she needed to focus on the positive. Regardless of her father's reasons for giving her this chance, this was her opportunity to blow his expectations out of the water.
"Who's the player?"
He gestured to the file and she picked it up. JP Jesse. His name vaguely registered on her radar.
"He's been playing for five years. The Tennessee Titans cut him and he was an unrestricted free agent who no one wanted out of the gate in March. In May he was given a tender offer by the Titans, but he's desperate to get out of Tennessee. Which means the clock is ticking on signing him to another team before the free-agent period runs out July twenty-second. And I don't have two weeks to kill finding JP a new contract."
But she did. She flipped through JP's file. He didn't play much, but when he did his stats were impressive, averaging fifteen yards a reception and a touchdown every ten catches.
"Looks like he has potential," she said as she scanned the information.
Her father shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not."
A warning bell went off in her head. Her father never took on long shots; every last one of his clients was a sure thing. Oh crap. He's taken on a player to pacify me.
"Does he drink?" she asked. "Party? Blow it during big games when the pressure's on?"
Her father nodded. "All of the above. The Titans' official reason for releasing him was a DUI he got in January. But after looking through his file, I think he's got bigger problems than partying too hard." He paused. "I'm counting on you to make him into a star wide receiver. Or drop him on his ass."
How the hell was she supposed to do all that in two weeks? Well, this was her chance to prove to her father that she had what it took to be the best damn agent in the business. "Thank you for this opportunity."
Leaving her father's office, she pulled out JP's 8 x 10. A tall, lean, dirty blonde with a wicked gleam in his eyes stared back at her. Unabashed sensuality leaped off the page. They'd start with his looks, then work on his skills. With a face and body like that, if she couldn't get him a new contract, maybe she could negotiate an agreement with a modeling agency.
Engrossed in JP's file, she walked straight into a rock wall. The folder—along with her glasses—went flying as she tried to catch her balance. Strong hands curled around her shoulders and a familiar scent of heat and pine needles assailed her senses.
