The Player's Club: Lincoln

by Cathy Yardley

  Juliana gasped.

  “He put it in a Swiss account, so his wife couldn’t find it. She had her own money, he reasoned…and she’d been bleeding him dry. He had a hell of a nest egg, though.” Lincoln smiled sadly. “When he died, it was all they could talk about—my father’s vanished bank account. They thought maybe gambling, drug habit, something. They never found out about me.”

  He knew the instant when Juliana guessed his father’s identity. The scandal had been huge—anybody who followed the news would be able to figure it out.

  “Now you know more about me than anybody,” he said. “More than even the club does.”

  “Why did you tell me?” she breathed.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. Then leaned his head against her shoulder.

  When she clutched him tightly, kissed him gently, he thought that perhaps he had an idea of why he told her.

  10

  JULIANA FOUND HERSELF back in Stephen Trainer’s office, her laptop in her purse. She could’ve emailed him the footage; could’ve transferred it to disk. But the idea of it getting spread around, stolen, made her sick to her stomach.

  This wasn’t just about her. Not anymore.

  And it wasn’t because of her—whatever it was—and Lincoln. Although, now that she thought about it, thinking of him in her bed did add another loop to the knots already forming in her gut.

  “Jules, tell me you’ve got something,” Stephen said, tapping his fingers nervously on the surface of his desk. “And I’ll cut you a check right now.”

  She sighed. “I need some assurances.”

  He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “I’ll make sure you’re an executive producer, in writing. And you’ll get a standard cut, Jules. I can’t do more than that, financially....”

  “It’s not that,” she said hastily, and she could tell that he was surprised. “I’m just showing you this footage to give you a taste of what the show’s going to be like. It’s awesome. I mean, I filmed it on a hidden camera, and it’s still amazing.”

  “So show me already!” He smiled eagerly.

  She held a hand up. “I still haven’t gotten the releases from the guys on this stuff—they don’t even know I took it. So this is just pitch stuff—it can’t be aired, do you understand? I don’t want anybody on the show that doesn’t want to be.” She paused. “Not just for legal reasons, either.”

  He looked at her quizzically for a minute, tilting his head. “Started drinking the Kool-Aid, did you?”

  She stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Why don’t you show me what you’ve got in your hands here, and let me be the judge as to whether or not you’ve got a show or not? Okay?”

  She nodded, swallowing against the feeling that she was doing something very, very wrong. She held out the netbook, the scene already cued up. She watched his expression as he took in the scenes.

  “Jeez,” he breathed. “They look and sound like fraternity terrorists. What’s that they’re doing?”

  “You know that mural? The one over in the Tenderloin?”

  His eyes widened, impressed. “They did that?”

  She nodded. “There could be criminal stuff attached—no way does this get televised,” she said sharply. “But you can see…”

  “You’ve got a show, all right,” he said, grinning. “Hell, yes, you’ve got a show. Especially if you can conjure up something like this every week!”

  “I don’t think we’ll be breaking the law every week.” She was biting at her lip hard enough to draw blood, and her fingers knotted and unknotted the strap of her Hermès bag. “But yeah, there will be challenges.”

  “Challenges. Huh. We’ll find a better name for it, something sexier,” Stephen said. He buzzed his assistant. “Deanna, would you come in here for a second?”

  Deanna, his assistant, came in, looking very professional and cool in a tailored suit that was off-the-rack but well accessorized.

  “Is this thing on a memory stick or something?” Stephen asked Juliana, gesturing to the footage on the netbook.

  She winced. “No. I don’t want a lot of copies made....”

  He sighed, beleaguered. “Hon, if you want to protect them so badly, you can’t let anybody see this video,” he pointed out, his tone gaining an edge. “And if nobody sees this video, you don’t get a show. No show, no cash.”

  She hid a wince. No cash, no condo…no parties. No friends.

  Total failure.

  Without a word, she handed the netbook over to the assistant.

  “Be a love, and make a DVD—just one—of the video file that’s on here, okay?” Stephen instructed Deanna. “In fact, Deanna, how about you put it on one of those TrustCon Secure flash disks—that way, nobody else can upload it, send it via email or copy it. I’ll hand-deliver the pitches myself.”

  Juliana let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d trapped in her chest, and actually felt tears sting at her eyes. “You’d do that?”

  “Oh, now, don’t cry,” Stephen said, alarmed. He waved Deanna off. “It’s fine, Jules. It’ll be fine.”

  Deanna paused in the door frame. “By the way, Stephen, your two o’clock is here.”

  “Yeah, send him in.” Stephen looked at Juliana warily. “You got it together?”

  “Sure, sure.” She felt embarrassed, and relieved. “Listen, I’ll get out of your way, although…I hate to be mercenary, but I’m going to need that check.” Rather, her bank was going to need that check. She didn’t even want to think about everything she was behind on.

  “We can discuss it in a minute. First, I want you to meet your production partner.”

  She was so ready to leave, so fixated on the amount of the check, she barely paid attention to what Stephen was saying. Then her mind latched on the crucial word: partner. “Please tell me you don’t mean…”

  Right on cue, George Macalister swaggered into the room, his smile unctuous. “Nice to see you again, Jules. Heard you got some challenge footage.”

  This was bad. George would only make the situation more complicated. She got the feeling she could trust Stephen, but George?

  Not in a million years.

  What about the condo payment? What about the bills?

  She growled low in her throat.

  Screw the condo.

  “Sorry, Stephen,” she said quietly. “But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and frankly I don’t think I can work with George.”

  George looked at Stephen, who was rubbing his face with his hands. “Sweetie,” George chastised, “I don’t think you really have a choice on that one. I’ve been working through a story arc with Stephen, here, and besides, I’ve got a whole new group setup.”

  “A whole new group…?” She blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “If you film the Player’s Club, it’s going to be a documentary and it’s going to be a yawn.” George propped himself on the corner of Stephen’s desk and ignored Stephen’s look of irritation. “You know, I’ll bet she didn’t even have any footage worth selling, Steve. We really don’t need her, don’t need her at all.”

  Before she could interrupt, Stephen said, “Actually, she brought in some great stuff.... I’ve got Deanna running off a dupe as we speak. It’s rough, but fantastic—very exciting. And with Juliana’s embedded-reporter angle, and having the actual Player’s Club involved, I think we’ve got a better chance of selling it.”

  “I was one of the founders,” George scoffed, “and trust me, they’re just a bunch of pansies now. No, I’m setting up a new group—the Extreme Player’s Club. Every week, we’ll start with a group of guys and haze them…and somebody’ll get voted off. Whoever’s left standing will become a new member. We could do that for years.”

  She turned to Stephen, pleading. “Think about this. He’s coming up with a bunch of posers, trying to recapture some past glory. But I’ve got the real thing. If you came up with a reality-TV show that said �
��Become a Hell’s Angel’ and then had a bunch of soccer dads on Harleys, do you really think that people watching the show wouldn’t feel duped?”

  “Okay, you two, break it up,” Stephen said sharply. “George, she’s got a point. They’re the real deal.” Then he looked crafty for a second. “If we show the real guys, like an underground documentary, then offer a contestant the chance to become one…then, we’ve got a show.” He smiled genially at both of them. “Which means I need the two of you to play nice and get me what I need, and I’ll make sure it gets picked up. You’ll both get paid plenty—I think I can work enough deals that there’ll be lots to go around. All right?”

  George looked at her, obviously unhappy. “All right.”

  Juliana shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Stephen, but…no.”

  Stephen cursed. “I’m trying to be a nice guy here.”

  “I know.” She glared at George. “But I don’t trust him. And I’ve been in the club long enough to know they wouldn’t go for this. They’re not in it for the glory. They’re in it…well, to become better people. Braver people. People who know how to live.” She thought of their faces, recalled the memory of her first meeting. “I admire them. And if I go through with this, not only will they hate me, I’ll hate myself.”

  “Fine. I’m all for principles,” Stephen said. “But honey, I don’t pay for them.”

  George’s smile was victorious. “Guess it’s back to my idea, huh?”

  “Frankly, I’m sick of the whole prospect now,” Stephen retorted, and George’s smug grin fell. “George, unless you can get back in your club’s good graces, I think this project is dead in the water.”

  George’s face turned an unattractive shade of red. “We’ll just see, won’t we?” he said, then stalked out. At least he didn’t slam the door behind him for effect.

  She lingered for a moment. “I’m really sorry, Stephen.”

  He shrugged. “It was a waste of my time, I’m not going to say it wasn’t,” he replied. “But hey, I always liked your dad’s movies. And your mom was a knockout…I had a poster of her.”

  “Oh?” She squirmed in her seat.

  “They must be proud that their little girl has so much backbone.”

  Not really, she thought. But for the first time, it didn’t bother her. She was proud of herself. “You’re a good man, too, Stephen.”

  “Don’t let it get around, not in this business. The wolves will start circling,” he said, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t kidding.

  She got up, getting ready to go, then gave him a thoughtful look. “You have any downtime?”

  He barked a laugh. “My doctor and my wife keep trying to convince me to learn how to relax. I’m still working on the downtime thing. Why? You have a time-share or something?”

  “If you ever decide you want to be a player,” she said, “you call me.”

  He seemed startled, but then grinned, boyishly for a sixty-year-old man. “No kidding?”

  She leaned over, kissed his cheek. “Absolutely. And trust me, Stephen…it’s worth it.”

  With one last grin, she left, stopping at Deanna’s desk. “Excuse me. I’m going to need my netbook back. You know, the little computer that had the footage on it.”

  “Of course,” the efficient admin said, handing the computer over. “I made one copy of the footage on your computer, and I was going to make another copy for Stephen....”

  “You don’t need to make any copies. The project isn’t moving forward.” Juliana stopped as she processed what the girl had said. “You already made the copy on a flash disk? If those things are copy protected, does that mean it’s impossible to erase, too?”

  Which meant that they would have a copy of the footage just lying around.

  Juliana felt fear stab at her. “I’ll buy it from you if that’s the case. I really don’t want that footage being seen by anyone else.” She stopped when she noticed Deanna’s anxious expression. “Is something wrong?”

  Deanna visibly gulped. “I already gave the copy to Mr. Macalister.”

  “What?” A wave of panic hit Juliana. “Why?”

  “Because he’s an executive producer. And he told me Stephen wanted him to have a copy…” Deanna’s sentence trailed off. She looked nauseous. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Juliana felt as sick as Deanna looked.

  “I think we both did.”

  LINCOLN WAITED IN THE SUITE of the penthouse of the W hotel in San Francisco. The view was stellar, but he only had eyes for the door.

  He was surprising Juliana. He hoped she would be pleased.

  His cell phone rang, and he glanced at it. When he saw it wasn’t Juliana, he answered it a bit impatiently. “What’s up, Finn?”

  “That’s what I was about to ask you,” Finn grumbled. “I haven’t heard from you in days, man. I was starting to think Terrence’s last stunt had put you off the Club for life.”

  Lincoln grinned. “It’d take a hell of a lot more than some sirens to get me to quit the club. Although, we might want to rethink some of the rules of our challenges.”

  “We’ve got enough rules as is,” Finn countered easily. “Did you see the press conference, though?”

  “What press conference?”

  Finn chuckled. “It’s safe to say we’ve got the chief of police’s panties in an official bunch.”

  Lincoln winced. “Oh?”

  “Based on ‘eyewitness reports,’ he’s pretty sure that it’s us,” Finn said, sounding completely unconcerned. “He’s also offering a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for anybody who can nail us with some proof.”

  “Yikes.” Lincoln frowned. “Why’s he picking on us, specifically? Aren’t there murderers and thieves that he ought to be trying to arrest?”

  “Slow news day?” Finn offered. “Trying to prove he’s a man of the people because it’s an election year? I don’t know. Still, I’m not worried, either.”

  “Are you ever?”

  “Not really,” Finn said, and Lincoln could picture him smiling. “But this time I’m really not, because nobody can identify us.”

  “We really need to start getting more careful, though. It’s not worth risking the club over.”

  “Whatever. So, how’re things with Juliana?”

  “Well,” Lincoln said slowly, then smiled. “Really well.”

  Finn went silent for a second, then burst out laughing. “She seduced you, didn’t she? Man! Of all the men in the world who I thought would be able to resist her, I thought you’d be the one who could manage it. But she’s unstoppable.”

  “She didn’t seduce me, I seduced her,” Lincoln corrected, grimacing when Finn’s laughter grew even louder. “Okay, it wasn’t so much a seduction as I finally… Would you quit it? I’m trying to talk here.”

  “Sorry.” It took Finn a few seconds to settle down. “Please continue.”

  The doorknob started to turn. Lincoln shot to his feet. “I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you later.” And without another word he hung up on Finn, who was laughing again.

  Juliana walked in slowly. “Lincoln?”

  He swept her up in his arms, kissing her sumptuously. She chuckled, blinking.

  “Why are we meeting here?”

  “Because my place is too damned far away,” he said, kissing her neck, stroking her back. “And because I wanted to surprise you with something spontaneous. Do you like it?”

  “Love it,” she breathed, glancing around, guilt warring with suspicion. “You know you don’t need to spend a lot of money on me, right? I’m not that mercenary.”

  “Sure, I know that,” he said, meaning every word. “But I have money, and I wanted to do something nice for you.”

  She smiled weakly, and he knew immediately that something was wrong. “What? What is it?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she said, giving in to her fear. “Actually, I don’t want to talk about it ever, but…”

  “Then we
won’t talk about it,” he said. “Are you hungry? It’s early yet for supper, but I could get room service, or if you want to go out somewhere, anywhere, we could…”

  “No, I’m not hungry.” She leaned up on tiptoe, and pressed her lips to his. Then did the same with her hips.

  His body got ready to launch in a nanosecond. “Or we could always put off dinner,” he joked, tugging her against him. As he kissed her, he noticed she was tense, so tense that it seemed to hum through her from head to toe. “You need to relax, love.”

  “You always call me by these endearments,” she said. “Ordinarily, I don’t like them, but when you say them, they’re sweet. They make me nervous, for God’s sake.” She sounded baffled, disconcerted. “Why do you affect me so much?”

  He smiled, kissing her. He knew what she meant, exactly.

  “Why don’t we take a bath,” he said. “Loosen some of these muscles up. Then you can tell me about your day.”

  She nodded, and he led her toward the bathroom. There was a deep tub, complete with whirlpool jets…lavish, luxurious and built for two. He filled it with warm water and some kind of bath salts and suds. The scene was ridiculous, but the pile of bubbles made her smile, which was what he wanted.

  She stripped out of her summery dress, eyeing him beneath the fringe of her lashes. “You joining me? This thing looks like it needs a lifeguard.”

  “I’m happy to volunteer,” he said, peeling off his own clothes and getting into the water. Their bodies were slick as otters, and he pulled her next to him, kissing her with a slow, thorough quality that was as luxurious as the bath. “Feeling better?”

  She nodded. Then she reached beneath the surface of the water, obscured by bubbles. She took his cock in her hand, the water making it slick as she stroked with firm deliberation. Groaning, he tilted his head back until it rested on cold granite.

  “I’d like to make you feel better,” she said, biting his neck softly before swirling around him in the water, straddling his waist. He sighed as she impaled herself on his hardness, taking him almost before he could really process what she was about. She arched her back, her glorious, generous breasts right in front of his face when he opened his eyes, her beautiful eyes closed, her expression one of passionate abandon.