by Pamela Yaye
Sage followed Leo’s gaze. It was the angry brother in plaid. “I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting him outside. What about him?”
“That’s Khari’s father.”
Staring at him with fresh eyes, Sage reexamined the surly guy she’d met in the hall. Without the scowl, he was a different man. He still needed a gift certificate to a Ralph Lauren boutique, but she noted the defined features of his profile. The nose was straight, the mouth sensuously wide and full and his gaze startlingly intense. Marshall Grant had perfect posture, strong male features, and when he cheered his smile revealed slight dimples. “Are you sure, Leo? He doesn’t look old enough to have a teenage son.”
“He’s thirty-seven.” Pushing his Armani eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose, he lowered his head and his voice. “Marshall knocked up his girlfriend and they got married just before sophomore year of college. They split up when the kid was around ten. Apparently, Roxanne had a drug and alcohol problem and refused to seek help. When Marshall returned from Kuwait, he chose not to reenlist.”
“He served in Kuwait?” she asked, shocked.
“And Bosnia too.”
“Hold up. How do you know so much about him?”
Leo held up his folio. “It’s all in here. Why do you think I was studying the scouting report on the plane? I’ve got to bring my A game if I’m going to convince Marshall Grant that I’m qualified to represent his son.”
“What reverence. You make it sound like this guy is next in line for the throne!”
His smiled fizzled like an Alka-Seltzer tablet in water. “Grant spent five years in the navy before joining the navy’s counterterrorist unit. Since being discharged, he’s had a string of community service jobs and now runs a center for teens at risk.”
Nodding, she considered their ten-second exchange in the hallway. “A glorified truant officer, huh? He’s definitely in the right field.”
“Marshall will be a hard one to crack. He won’t let anyone get within a mile of Khari. He thinks someone’s going to cheat his son.”
Sage laughed. Nudging him playfully with her shoulder, she teased, “You’re not scared of him, are you, boss man?”
“You wouldn’t be laughing if you knew what Khari’s projected net worth will be once he turns pro.” Glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one was listening, he dropped his deep baritone to a whisper. “Fifty million.”
Sage was glad she was sitting down. If she had been standing, she would have tumbled forward and knocked herself unconscious when she hit the gymnasium floor. “Fifty million dollars,” she repeated, her voice rising with excitement. “At your standard twenty-percent fee and agency costs, you stand to make almost three million bucks!”
Licking his lips, he adjusted his crisp marine-blue tie. “You’re quick on your feet, Collins. I haven’t done the math yet, but that sounds about right.”
“Mind if I take a peek at the scouting report?” she asked, swiping the document from his briefcase. While Leo droned on about Khari’s baseline jumper, Sage slowly perused the five-page document. This kid was destined for greatness and she wanted a piece of the action. All she needed was an in. Something to endear her to Khari and his family. Something to help her stand out from all the other agents. Soon, Indianapolis would be crawling with slick-talking managers promising cars, cash and favors. It was imperative she do something while they still had a lead.
Sage raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of her lips. There it was in black and white. Her in…
It was something so small, so insignificant, she’d almost missed it. “I can get to Khari,” she announced.
“Right, and I can change water into wine.”
“I’m serious, Leo.”
“What are you going to do? Seduce the kid with your womanly wiles? Forget it, Sage. Leave this to a pro.”
“Are you forgetting that I was the one to sign Hailey Hope, A-Town Boys, and a long list of other up-and-coming teen stars?”
“But that was years ago. You haven’t brought any new clients to the agency in months. And from where I’m sitting, that’s bad for business.”
The sting of his retort cut like a blade. Leo was right. There was a time when she was the celebrity manager to watch. But these days Sage just didn’t have it in her to schmooze. Traveling between Vegas and L.A. on a weekly basis was taxing, and although it was only an hour flight, it cut into her workday. Keeping her existing clients happy was difficult enough without the added pressure of having to court other celebrities; but all that was about to change. Signing the next basketball phenom would catapult her into the spotlight, and it wouldn’t be long before other superstar athletes were beating down her office door.
“Give me a week.”
Leo raised his eyebrows. “You think you can sign Khari Grant in seven days?”
“Maybe less, but I didn’t want to sound overconfident—even though I am.”
“Sorry, Sage, I can’t do it. You mess this up and there goes my million-dollar commission. I’ll handle this one myself, but the next case is all yours.”
“Please, Leo. I’m begging you. My career needs this. Hell, I need this.”
His answer was a firm “no.”
“Like I said, I’ll see to it that the next client who signs on at the agency belongs to you.”
Low-spirited but convinced she could successfully expand into the sports market, Sage searched for the right words. Her sharp mind and boundless creativity had been her springboard to success and would one day help make Sapphire Agency the best in the business. “What if I sweetened the deal? If, I mean, when, I sign Khari, I’ll split the commission with you.”
Wearing a contemplative expression, Leo stroked his pointy jaw. “I don’t know. I have a lot riding on this. If you blow it, it’ll ruin any chance I have of signing him.”
“I know what I’m doing, Leo. Trust me.” Sage batted her lashes for good measure and flipped her silky hair over her shoulders. Playing the beauty card was beneath her, but she was desperate. “All I need is seven days.”
Several agonizing moments went by. Then, Leo gave her the nod. “Okay, I’ll give you a chance to prove you’ve still got that Collins magic. Don’t mess this up,” he warned, eyeing her sternly. “There’s a ton of money at stake!”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“You have one week and not a second more.”
Sage winked. “That’s all I need.”
Chapter 2
Adjusting her baggy gray cardigan, Sage stared down pitifully at the white blouse underneath. Worried Marshall might recognize her, she’d ditched her designer threads for glasses, polyester pants and penny loafers. Scratching the itch on her forearm, she expelled the bitterness clogging her lungs. Sage didn’t need the Fashion Police to spring from the bushes to know she looked awful. No makeup, no jewelry, hair hidden under a thermal cap. If her girlfriends could see her now, they’d fall over laughing. If it wasn’t mentioned in Vogue, Sage didn’t give it a second glance. But this wasn’t about winning a fashion contest or getting some guy’s attention. She had a job to do, and nothing, not even wearing used clothes and dollar-store perfume, was going to deter her from signing Khari Grant.
According to the scouting report, Marshall Grant was generous with his time and money. In addition to his at-risk youth center, he was the conditioning coach of the Westchester Academy basketball team, did regular talks at inner-city schools and delivered groceries to seniors. Reading about Marshall had sparked her imagination and given her a foolproof plan. All she had to do was deliver her spiel and let him do the rest.
As Sage climbed the steps, she felt her conscience prick her with the pin of truth. Assailed by doubts, she took a moment to rethink what she was about to do. Some might say posing as a volunteer was a cruel, unconscionable scheme. Booting the thought from her mind, she pressed the doorbell. Bringing attention to the plight of needy children could never be a bad thing, even if she did have ulterior motives. H
er words breathed confidence. What she was doing was a good thing. A very good thing. Commendable even. Pleased that her plan would benefit the less fortunate, she made a mental note to talk to all of her friends and clients about sponsoring a child in Haiti.
While she waited for someone to answer the door, she took in her surroundings. The lawn was edged with shrubs and trimmed bushes. Mature oak trees shielded the windows from intrusive sunlight and, aside from a few scattered leaves, the lush, landscaped yard was litter-free. Sage could hear dogs barking, but the neighborhood was surprisingly quiet.
Sage patted back a yawn. It hadn’t been easy finding the place. All of the streets in Meridian Hills looked the same, and she’d wasted an hour driving around searching for Marshall’s address. A kindly dog walker had pointed her in the right direction and ten minutes later she pulled her rental car up to 73 Irvington Lane.
Battling a mixture of fear and anxiety, she jabbed the buzzer again. She pulled her finger away, but the bell stuck and continued to chime. “Oh, shoot.” Unzipping her tote bag, she groped around for her car keys. She was trying to pry the buzzer loose when the door swung open and Marshall Grant appeared.
“Can I help you?”
Groaning inwardly, she slipped her keys back into her pocket. Things were not off to a promising start. Marshall was supposed to be impressed with her, not growling at her. Standing ruler-straight, Sage fed him her friendliest smile. “I’m sorry about that, but the buzzer got stuck. You should get that fixed.”
Marshall looked peeved and Sage sensed that he was about to slam the door in her face. “I was hoping to speak to you for a few minutes, but I can come back if now’s not a good time.”
To her surprise, he said, “It’s all right. Go on.”
Sage could tell that he was trying not to be rude. Good, he did have a soft side. That would make her job that much easier. Moving her clipboard aside, she pointed to the World Mission logo on the pocket of her sweater. “My name is Sage Collins and I’m a volunteer for World Mission International. Might I speak to you for a minute about our life-changing sponsorship program?”
His lips relaxed into a grin. There was that dimple again. Today he didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as he had two days ago. Sage didn’t drool over brawny-looking men, but there was something about Marshall Grant that made her heart pitter-patter. He had a powerful chest, big man hands and a voice deeper than the Grand Canyon. Dazzled by the warmth of his smile, she stared up at him, utterly captivated.
“Sure, I have a few minutes to spare.” Leaning against the door frame, he folded his arms across his chest. “You were saying?”
“I…was…ah,” she sputtered like a fish out of water. This was a first. Men didn’t leave her flustered. She left them tongue-tied fools, not the other way around. But the more she tried to focus, the more delicious Marshall Grant looked. Soulful eyes, and a cleft chin that softened his facial features and detracted from his imposing height, he was as cool as he was fine.
Leo’s image flashed in her mind, yanking Sage out of her lustful haze and back to the present. Collecting her thoughts, she glanced down at her clipboard. “Thank you so much for your willingness to make a difference in a child’s life. Six thousand children lose a parent to AIDS every day. At World Mission, we believe that we can make a difference.” Sage held up a picture of Chibu, a seven-year-old Haitian boy with sad eyes. She didn’t know anything about the child, but from what she’d read online, he was an orphan, living in a center with hundreds of other kids. Moved by his story, she had filled out the sponsorship application and committed to paying forty dollars a month to maintain his care. Now Chibu would receive medical care and she would use this real-life story to reach Marshall.
“AIDS ravaged Chibu’s family and left him to fend for himself. He’s been living at the Center of Hope Orphanage, and though his basic needs are being met, he’s unable to attend school. His reading and writing skills are poor, but at World Mission International we believe that with you and the help of others like you, we can bring hope not only to the village of Jacmel, but to the entire country.”
“I can tell by listening to you that this organization is near and dear to your heart.” Admiration filled his eyes. “You’re very passionate about what you do. That’s commendable and I wish there were more people like you.”
“You do?” Reading Chibu’s story had stirred some powerful emotions in her too. She was supposed to learn more about Marshall and Khari, not prattle nonstop about the problems plaguing Haiti, but she couldn’t help herself. “As citizens of the world, it’s important that we all do our part, don’t you think?”
“I do. It’s not easy going door-to-door, especially during the winter.” His voice was awash with nostalgia. “The first job I had was signing people up for the Indianapolis Post. It’s a very difficult job, isn’t it?”
“You’re right. It is.” Or at least she imagined it was. After Sage left Marshall’s house, she wouldn’t be knocking on any more doors. It was back to the Four Seasons to work on the second half of her plan.
“I remember this one elderly woman who lived in Stanford Park. She took one look at me and slammed the door in my face!” Chuckling, he shook his head at the memory. “I had ID, but some homeowners still wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
Thankful she’d had the foresight to go to the World Mission office, she smiled inwardly. A quick trip downtown had put a small dent in her sign-Khari-Grant fund, but it was money well spent. The supervisor, Ms. Pittney, had beamed as she scooped up T-shirts, pens and other merchandise bearing the World Mission logo.
“I’m glad you stopped by. I’ve been thinking about doing something like this for a while, but never got around to it.”
Her eyes danced over his face. His skin was a rich, creamy shade of brown, and he had a strong, defined chin. Policing her thoughts, she blinked hard, and quickly regained focus. Enough lusting. It was time to make her move. She had done her good deed for the day, now it was time to do something for herself. And nothing would make her happier than signing Khari Grant. “Do you have any children, sir?”
“Sir?” Marshall shook his head in disapproval. “I know I’m old, but I’m not that old,” he teased, his tone rich with humor. “How old do you think I am?”
“I don’t know. Thirty?”
He rewarded her guess with a smile.
“You’re not going to tell me?” she asked, liking how quickly he had changed from the snarling homeowner to the grinning neighbor. Attractive in a long-sleeve, collared black sweater and slacks, he looked more relaxed than he had at Westchester Academy. But then again, he wasn’t trying to stop her from beating up on the school vending machine. Today, she was a humanitarian. Feeling flirtatious, and enjoying their playful banter, she cocked her head to the right. “If you tell me your age, I’ll tell you mine,” she promised.
“Only if you come inside for a quick drink.”
He didn’t have to ask her twice. “I’m right behind you, Mr. Grant.”
One look inside Marshall’s house and Sage knew he was a momma’s boy. Everything from the dainty glass tables, plush, luxurious rugs and frilly cushions was a doting mother’s handiwork. From the outside, the house was no showpiece, but the three-story home boasted lofty ceilings, gigantic picture windows and polished floors. The house felt lived-in and had obviously been decorated with tender, loving care.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“A glass of water would be great,” she said, holding her clipboard to her chest. “Walking around all day is exhausting.”
“I bet,” he agreed with a sympathetic nod. “Has there been a lot of interest in the sponsorship program?”
Remembering what Ms. Pittney said about last year’s Christmas campaign, Sage shook her head regretfully. “Not as many as we would have liked. More people sign up during the holidays. I guess it pacifies their guilt for buying things they don’t need, but by the time the New Year rolls around most sponsors have
had a change of heart.”
“That’s terrible.”
The solemn expression on his face squeezed her heart. He really did care about the orphaned kids in Haiti. And there was no doubt in her mind that she’d be leaving with a financial contribution for World Mission International. An image of Ms. Pittney flashed in her mind, assuaging her guilt and bolstering her spirits. “It’s warm and toasty in here.” Glancing around, she rubbed her gloved hands together. “I’m from Las Vegas and not used to such cold weather.”
“What brought you all the way to Indianapolis?”
Caught off guard by his question, Sage racked her brain for a suitable answer. Snippets of her hour-long conversation with Ms. Pittney resurfaced. “World Mission has its headquarters here, and I felt it was important to make the trip out.” Marshall nodded, his eyes kind, and his expression sympathetic. Encouraged by his obvious interest, she went on. “I’m on a multicity tour to drum up more corporate donations. The AIDS treatment center in Haiti is desperately underfunded and on the verge of being closed.”
“Well, on behalf of Mayor Ballard and the entire city council, welcome to Indy.” Smiling, he motioned to the suede armchair to his left. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back with your drink.”
“Thank you,” she said, resisting the urge to do the cabbage patch in the middle of the area rug. Sage never imagined it would be this easy getting close to Marshall. Five minutes into the plan, and she was sitting inside the Grant house. By the end of the week, Khari Grant would be her newest client. Confident she’d be thousands of dollars richer, she settled into her seat with the grace of a queen.
The harsh, riveting sound of Marshall’s voice knocked the grin off Sage’s face. He was warning someone named Dale Williamson to stop calling his house. Occupied with her thoughts, she hadn’t even heard the telephone ring. Sage could tell by the hostility in his tone that he was pissed off. It was the same tone he’d unleashed on her when he caught her kicking the vending machine.
