by Aimee Duffy
SCANDAL
Aimée Duffy
What had she done?
Branded a cheater and wild playboy, Sebastian Collins’ glittering career as a pro-tennis player is almost over – thanks to an ex-fiancé set on revenge. His jet-set lifestyle is cut short when his manager insists he salvage what’s left of his reputation.
Alicia Simpson, PR maven and daughter of a powerful and respected earl, is brought in to salvage Sebastian’s image and restore him to glory. But Alicia has problems of her own - her past has broken her in more ways than one and she’s determined to change.
Not even her new client, charming bad boy Sebastian, can hold her back. At least, until she gets to know the man beneath the media spotlight…
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Cariad Titles
Chapter One
Counting the number of seconds she was late as she burst through the doors of Maine PR was not helping with her stress levels. With a bundle of today’s newspapers in one hand and half a latte in the other, Alicia Simpson ran through the corridors, ignoring the “oh-shit-you’re-in-trouble” look Sarah, the receptionist, pinned her with.
She was late. Six hundred seconds late, to be exact, and that was the last thing she needed on the day she was pitching to the highest profile client she’d ever been given a shot at.
As she burst into the boardroom, panting, her colleague Kenny was shaking hands with the man she’d spent the better part of the week researching. The man who’d made the front news – again – which was why she was holding a stack of newspapers and her jacket was stained with coffee.
One glance at Mr Maine’s murderous expression had her fighting the urge to scamper out of the boardroom. Her stomach was a flutter of nerves and her heart rate exuberated like she’d had a shot of adrenaline injected straight into it.
Pulling herself together, she threw a quick smile at Collins, dumped the papers on the table, and whipped off her jacket. She only hoped she didn’t have sweat marks, but what was worse? Pit stains or a frothy brown mark down the front of her grey coat?
‘I stopped to pick up the news. Mr Collins, you’re on the front page of them all.’ She didn’t glance his way, only stared down Maine until he nodded to acknowledge she was late for a reason.
‘Shit,’ said a voice that sent a shiver down her spine.
She turned in time to see him flip over the daily rags and catch a glimpse of his headshot on the front of each – but it wasn’t this story that threatened to make cleaning up his reputation harder than stuffing Hitler’s skeletons into a closet that caught her attention.
It was the man himself. He was tall, more built than he looked on television, and his dark curly hair had grown out, resting on wide shoulders.
The ground seemed to sway under her, like her father’s yacht on a windy day. Alicia clasped the edge of the table for support. But this was just the stress of being late and a week of sleepless nights putting together her pitch. She needed to get over it quick if she wanted to convince Collins she was the woman for the job. No wilting wallflower would stand a chance with a project like this.
Neither would an earl’s hapless daughter who had always been outshone by her sisters. This pitch was step one of leaving that shadow behind. And she’d get this bad boy tennis player to sign with Maine if it was the last thing she did.
Collins dragged a hand down his face and turned to them. Dark circles underscored his eyes as if to highlight the hint of anguish, but he wiped it away with an easy grin as Mr Maine introduced her. When Collins stepped closer, she had to crane her neck. Refusing to shrivel, she met his dark eyes with a smile.
The way he beamed back made her stomach flutter. Alicia’s pulse raced as he clasped her hand in a shake that went on for too long, but she couldn’t find the strength to break the connection.
‘Ms Simpson, I can’t wait to hear what you have in mind.’
He really didn’t. Right now she was wondering what his lips tasted like and whether his chest was as defined as it looked beneath his polo shirt. Tension curled low in her stomach and she snatched her hand back. Cleared her throat.
She reminded herself that he meant her pitch. ‘I’m sure someone at Maine can help you.’
Great. Just flipping fabulous. First she was late, and now this! She should have said she was capable of helping him.
Collins’ grin only got wider. ‘That’s why I’m here.’ He winked, then turned back to Mr Maine. ‘Let’s get this thing started.’
As Collins made his way to the chair at the opposite end of the table, Alicia was glad to be able to sink into her seat. Her legs didn’t feel strong enough to support her, especially when she got treated to him walking away. Those wide shoulders led down to a narrow waist. The polo clung to his lean muscles like a second skin. His jeans hugged his rear so tightly that she flushed imagining him without the clothes and her over-excited body went from hot to scorched in a heartbeat.
‘Kenny, carry on,’ Mr Maine instructed.
She didn’t hear a word of what Kenny said, too horrified at herself for gawking at Sebastian. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to look at a man like this. Not since she was sixteen, in love, and then destroyed in the worst possible way – by a sportsman who could convince any woman to drop her knickers with a few well-placed lines.
She wasn’t that crazy girl anymore. The one who had indecent thoughts and urges for guys who could make her want to wrap her legs around their waists. They did her no good and, more importantly, were not suitable suitors for a Simpson.
Pit ten seconds spent with Collins and that part of her came roaring back.
Kenny seemed to speak in some sort of monotone. Even so, Collins nodded at what she assumed were the right places. Still, he had a frown between his brows like he’d expected more from them – or at least a mention of the latest scandal robbing the headlines.
Or maybe he just didn’t want to be there. After flunking out of the Australian Opens, he’d partied it up instead of going straight back into training. The media had deemed his head wasn’t in the game, and his management company claimed the stress of Collins’ break up with Kiss-and-Tell Mai was the reason he’d lost focus on the court.
By the pictures printed in the news over the last week, his head and focus had been in the knickers of half the women in Melbourne. That couldn’t be blamed on the stress of a break-up three months earlier.
Alicia wiped her damp palms along her skirt. Challenge? This was going to be as difficult as an expedition to the South Pole wearing a scanty bikini and flip-flops.
His gaze snagged hers, as if he’d heard her disparaging thoughts. Collins’ frown smoothed out and her heart sped faster. What was it about those eyes that made her forget the whole room around them?
Then it came to her. He was a player with a capital P. He could probably melt any woman he wanted with no more than a sultry look. Well, she wasn’t falling for his charms – she’d had en
ough of that to last a lifetime. Plus, she’d dug up enough dirt on him to bury the Isle of Wight. This was about climbing the career ladder, nothing more.
So she turned to Kenny, which was like turning from the sun to stare at rainclouds. His speech droned on, but she couldn’t make out a word with her mind full of Collins.
Damn.
Giving up the pretence, she shuffled through the papers on her clipboard, wishing she had practised her pitch delivery a little more. In front of shirtless posters of Collins so she could have bored herself of this annoying urge to ogle him.
When her colleague was finally done, Mr Maine said, ‘Great work, Kenny. As always.’ Turning to Collins with a smile, he continued, ‘Are you ready to hear more, or have you made a decision?’
Collins looked at her with a raised brow. ‘Are you here as a pretty face, Blondie, or did you have a pitch ready too?’
Her eyes narrowed. Blondie? No doubt he thought she’d be as useless or boring as Kenny and his monotone speech. She had to bite back the urge to tell the arrogant sod exactly what she thought of him. Antagonising a potential client this big would have her P45 slapped on her desk so fast she’d barely have time to finish a rant filled with words a lady should never use.
‘I do.’ Alicia pushed away from the table. ‘And I think you’ll want to hear what I have planned, especially after that.’ She pointed to the newspapers spread over the table.
Collins didn’t glance at the desk. He just leaned back on his chair, folding his arms across his chest like he couldn’t care less what the media were slinging at him.
The smile teasing the corners of his mouth only made her irritation grow. It was obvious he was mocking her. He probably didn’t believe she had anything worth pitching, but seemed he was playing along for his own amusement.
Irascibility won out over nerves. Alicia straightened, walked over to the whiteboard, and turned it around. The previous day she’d bullet-pointed her three-step action plan.
‘It isn’t just the UK media stringing up your reputation and hanging it out for a beating.’ She turned to face him, but pointed at number one on her list. His attention zeroed in on the board with a deeper frown, like her words had pissed him off. Funny, she didn’t care too much if she’d offended him.
‘Your number one priority is making sure your sponsors don’t drop you. That means an image clean-up. Not just here in London, but worldwide. We need to give the media another angle to work with and win back faith from your supporters. That’s where point two comes in.’
Collins held up his hand. ‘“Clean up” as in prove innocence, you mean?’
He met her eyes with none of the cheeky sensuality he had earlier.
‘No,’ she said.
‘Alicia.’ Mr Maine’s voice was layered with warning, but she barrelled on regardless.
‘Your management company tried to deny allegations that you were partying every night of your trip to Melbourne and look how that turned out.’ No one had believed it. ‘They dug deeper because they smelt a cover-up, and they weren’t far off the mark if today’s news was anything to go by.’
His shoulders stiffened. ‘Pictures can be deceiving.’
‘Maybe.’ She doubted that. ‘But the truth doesn’t matter as much. People believe what they want to believe, and your sponsors will be cautious about investing in you. Making it up is the right way to go here.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘You think I’m guilty, Blondie?’
The low, seductive way he asked spurred more than anger. Her blood sizzled and she had to grind her teeth to keep from losing her cool. Sportsmen, it seemed, were all the same. Players, liars, and self-assured bastards.
She forced out a non-answer, trying not to sound breathy. ‘Like I said, that’s irrelevant.’
Keeping an easy grin on his face was tough, especially since Sebastian knew there and then she believed every word the press had printed about his break up with Mai. Just like his sponsors. And they wondered why he’d almost gone totally off the rails. It had only been months of slander and false accusations, after all. That would cause even the most innocent guy stress.
He should walk out of there. The first pitch was an extension of what AIG had done for him and he knew he was up the creek this time. He needed a miracle, and no one at Maine seemed up to the job.
Blondie turned back to the board and his mind took off on a little holiday. The drab grey pencil skirt hugged her backside like a second skin. With a fizzle running through his veins and his throat suddenly dry, keeping up the casual act got tough.
‘Step two,’ she said, pointing a finger at the writing on the whiteboard.
Instead of walking like he should, Sebastian found himself saying, ‘I’m all for charity work, but I’m stuck in England until the French Open.’
Alicia turned back to him with a smirk, like the joke was on him for doubting her. Still, he cocked a brow to show he wasn’t convinced and the smirk slipped. Point one for him.
‘I’d thought of that. I also know that you have acquaintances all over the world who play tennis, and your father did too. You don’t need to leave London, but free lessons or some volunteer work at a club could go in your favour. Plus if you unite with a few other sportsmen and convince them to spend a little of their time doing the same under a program, you’re hitting it worldwide. As long as your name’s thrown in there, you’re going to get the right media coverage.’
The idea was tempting and he should give her a point for her smarts. Maybe he’d underestimated her. But …
Shaking his head, he said, ‘I don’t have the kind of time to organise all that. Training is gruesome before a tournament and I’m not willing to miss any.’
He’d missed enough, got sloppy, and made a public spectacle of what was left of his reputation. No more.
‘You don’t have to,’ she said. ‘That would be my job. All I need is your contacts and a few hours a week from you.’
This time he had to give her credit where it was due. One point each. He could squeeze in a few hours a week. His manager Tony would kick his backside up and down the court if he didn’t do something to stop the sports companies pulling their funding. Savings only went so far. He didn’t fancy picking up a shift or two at a bar to stay in the game.
‘I could spare a few hours, and I know some people who might be interested in something like this.’
Alicia smiled like he’d just given her a diamond necklace. The curves of those lips had him remembering her other curves beneath that hideous suit. Even with her hair in some kind of fifties up-do, there was something about her that caught and held his attention. Kept him in the chair, even when that guy’s pitch had him ready to walk.
Even when it was clear, just like everyone else, she believed the worst about him. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, but he refused to swipe it and give himself away. Instead, he took a deep breath, willing himself not to get sucked back into the spiral of the last few months.
What she thought about him didn’t matter. Not if she could back up her words and turn things around for him. Especially after the latest kiss-and-tell, this time from one of the women he’d fallen into bed with after he got back from Australia.
‘Step three.’ Alicia pointed to the word scrawled in red.
‘Rebuild?’ he asked with a frown. ‘Is this a twelve steps to sobriety pitch?’
She scowled and he couldn’t hold in a burst of laughter. From the corner of his eye he could see her boss gaping at them, and the first guy to pitch sat with his hands folded and shoulders stooped. He knew Blondie was on to the win.
‘Three.’ The angry burn in her eyes and clenched jaw made it seem like she wanted to say more, but she kept her voice cool with a slightly prissy edge that made his lips twitch. Sebastian couldn’t help but be impressed by her control.
‘Like I said, cover up is pointless at this stage. It won’t earn respect. If you put your hands up, admit you made mistakes, and prove that you’re trying to rectify
them, people will sympathise. Denial will lead to disaster. There’s too much evidence out there and too much hype around your split with Mai. The best way to go is to prove to the world you’re sorry and show them how much you’ve grown.’
Now it was him struggling to keep his irritation in check. Sorry? Yes, he was sorry alright. Sorry he’d met the media whore in the first place. Sorry he’d trusted her when there wasn’t a decent bone in her perfectly buffed body. Sorry he’d been too much of an idiot to see that sooner.
Sebastian had sworn to never make those mistakes again.
His career was what mattered, and though he was tempted to let Blondie sweat or make her work harder for this sell, it was stupidity like that which had landed him in this position in the first place.
‘You’re right.’ As far as her action plan went, at least. ‘At this point, covering up is tacky and pointless considering the evidence.’
He rose from the chair, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. Her gaze dropped down to his hips and a flush scored her cheekbones. His blood rushed south, and if he wasn’t careful she was going to get an eyeful of a part of him she hadn’t bargained for.
When her gaze met his again, she was blinking as if trying to hide her reaction or wake up from a dream. As his blood simmered he pictured what it would be like to unpin that golden hair to let it fall through his fingers and he made the first mistake of the day.
‘Just one question.’ Sebastian turned to Mr Maine. ‘When does Miss Simpson get off for lunch? I’d like to discuss her pitch in more detail.’
Chapter Two
Blondie was not happy to be going to lunch with him.
After claiming she had a meeting with a client, Maine pulled her aside and mumbled something to her. Her peach skin turned a deep pink – probably with irritation – and her angular jaw tightened like she was biting back a refusal that would have gotten her in serious trouble.
Why this made Sebastian grin, he had no idea. But as her heels clattered staccato on the pavement beside him and with the way she clutched her file and handbag so tight the circulation in her fingers must have cut off, he couldn’t help it.
