by Leigh James
He looked me up and down, taking in the rumpled sweats, which contrasted garishly with his Armani suit. Then he turned and inspected my messy house. "You bringing man-town to the main living room? I like it," he said, his face breaking into a grin. He pushed past me and surveyed the empty takeout cartons, the beer bottles, the blankets and remote controls scattered everywhere haphazardly…
"Jessica would not approve," he said, clapping me on the back, "so I do."
"What're you doing here?" I asked. Eric rarely came up to Boston. He preferred Los Angeles, where there was sun. And women wearing a lot less clothing than they usually wore up here in New England.
He grinned at me. "I talked to Martha. She said she was worried about you. So I thought I'd come up and stage a man-tervention." His eyes flicked to my sweatpants again and then my hair, which was most likely really messed up. "I can see I made a wise choice."
He threw his bag down and stalked into the kitchen. I followed, shuffling behind.
"You want a beer?" I asked.
"It's seven in the morning—four a.m. my time." Eric raised his eyebrows. "We're having coffee."
"I'm having beer."
He took out two mugs, ignoring me, and turned my Nespresso machine on. He eyed the sink filled with dirty dishes, then opened the fridge to find it mostly empty. "Your housekeeper off this week?"
"I think Jessica fired her," I mumbled.
Eric laughed, shaking his head. "She's bitter to the end."
"You can say that again."
Eric was still chuckling. He hated Jessica and seemed positively giddy that she'd packed up and left. "It's gonna be okay, I promise. We'll get this all straightened out."
He handed me a coffee, and I hated to admit it, but it tasted great. Even better than beer.
Eric eyed me over his mug. "Why're you so upset? You haven't even liked her for the past year and a half."
I scrubbed my hands over my face. "I'm not upset about Jess."
"Then why're you such a wreck? What's with the sweatpants and the beer?"
"Football," I said and shuffled back out toward the couch. "I'm upset about football."
"Ah. Football. I should have known." Eric sat down next to me, moving some empty food cartons so he could put his feet up on the coffee table. "Wes handled the press conference well. He never gives anything away. Christ, those reporters must hate him."
I laughed. "They'd hate him if he wasn't so good at his job. He's going to try to keep the fight quiet for as long as possible. But Pax's coming back to practice soon. Someone's going to get a picture of his mangled face and put it all together. Unless Jessica lays it all out for them first." I was surprised she hadn't released a statement announcing our split and that I'd beaten up her new lover. That was exactly the sort of drama she loved.
"I talked to Mickey…" Eric's voice trailed off.
I winced. "Did he breach his attorney-client privilege again?"
My friend nodded.
"So you know that Jessica wants to get married to Pax? Soon?"
He nodded again. "You're not upset about that?"
"Nah." I was pretty sure those two deserved each other.
Eric watched my face. "But…you're upset about what it's going to do to the team?"
I could see the sympathy in Eric's eyes. He knew me too well. "Yes."
"Okay," Eric said. "You're suspended for another full week after this, right? And there's no word as to whether the Warriors are going to cut Pax loose?"
"Yes," I mumbled. "To both."
"You're going to have to deal with him sooner rather than later."
I groaned. "I thought you were here to cheer me up."
Eric sighed. "There's also a crap-ton of reporters outside your house, in case you didn't notice."
"That's what the pizza guy said." I curled up into a ball, wishing that my coffee would magically transform into a beer and that none of this had ever happened. To me.
Suspended. Humiliated in front of my teammates.
"What're you worried about, Chase?" Eric asked.
I squinted at him. "That might be the stupidest fucking question ever."
He crossed his legs, his elegant suit out of place amidst the man-squalor. "It's not a stupid question. I'm your agent, remember? Which means you pay me a lot of money to think of things you might not. To look out for you and your best interests. To consider every angle. Remember when I told you not to marry Jessica?"
"Yep. I remember. Everyone seems to be reminding me these days."
Eric sighed. "The point is you should have listened to me then. So please listen to me now. Let's go through the steps."
I sighed and shot him a menacing look. "Seriously?"
"I'm totally serious. We need to think this through. What are you specifically worried about?" Eric asked.
I knew Eric well enough to realize that he wasn't going to leave me alone until I played this silly game with him, so I answered. "I'm specifically worried that my team isn't going to respect me anymore. That I'm not going to be able to lead them because they've lost faith in me."
"And why are you worried that they've lost faith in you?" he asked.
"That's another stupid fucking question."
"Just answer it," he insisted.
"I'm worried that everybody's going to think that I have no dick because my wife left me for a teammate—the worst teammate I've got. And that Pax's going to try to rally them all against me, because that's the kind of shit-starter he is."
Eric's brow furrowed. "He doesn't care about the team?"
"He's fucking the quarterback's wife. What do you think?"
"Tim'll cut him," he said confidently.
"Pax is an asshole, but he's a strong defensive player," I countered. "We need him more than he needs us right now."
Eric shrugged. "He needs a paycheck, Chase. Just like the rest of us."
"He seems to think he can do whatever—or whoever—he wants."
"We'll deal with Pax. Let's see what management does first." Eric seemed to concentrate on his coffee. "Either way, we have to face the whole thing head on. So let's break it down. Even though you're glad Jessica's gone, you're worried about what your team's going to think of you because you're a cuckold."
I looked at him grimly. "What the fuck does that mean?"
"It's a Shakespearean term, buddy. It means you were cheated on. Duped. Humiliated. And everybody knows it."
I grimaced. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No," Eric said carefully, "it's supposed to help us identify the real problem so we can come up with a solution."
"I don't think there's a solution to having your wife sleep with your teammate and then leave you for him. In the public eye. With a very large chunk of your money."
"You're right," Eric conceded. "But there are ways to make you feel like you're back on top. To maintain your team's respect—but if I'm being honest with you, I know those guys. Your teammates worship you. They'd do anything for you. I don't think that's going to change just because of what Jessica did."
I shook my head. "I don't know…they won't see me the same way." Thick misery descended on me again. I could deal with everything that had happened, but I didn't want to lose the trust and camaraderie I'd worked so hard to build with my teammates. I didn't want them to doubt me, doubt my judgment.
Doubt my balls.
They were counting on me, just like I counted on them. This was supposed to be our year, and now everything was on the precipice of going to hell.
"You just need to seem like you're still on top. That's all," Eric said. He never failed in his supreme confidence in me. "You guys are in good shape to make the playoffs. You'll be the NFL Player of the Year. I know it. You've been working hard for this your whole life. Don't let Jessica fuck it up for you."
He stood up and started pacing. "You show your team you haven't faltered, their belief in your leadership won't falter, either."
I ran my hand over my head; I could already feel my crew
cut growing out. "How do you propose I do that? Am I supposed to go back to practice next week with a big grin on my face? Fake it until I make it or something? That's fucking stupid."
"Jessica wants the house, right?"
I nodded.
"So let her have it," he continued. "Let's go find a sweet condo in downtown Boston. The press is going to be following you. Let the public see you out and about, looking fine, moving on. That sends a message. And I'm going to get you a smoldering hot girlfriend. Blistering hot." Eric had a manic gleam in his eye. "We'll stick that in Jessica's pipe and let her smoke it."
"Um…Eric? I hate to break it to you, but you can't stick my non-existent girlfriend into Jess's non-existent pipe," I said. I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. "I don't have a girlfriend. I don't want a girlfriend. I just barely got rid of my wife, who was a Grade A pain in my ass. I'm not ready for anything else. Not even close."
He smiled at me. "You don't have to be ready. You just have to look like you are."
"I don't understand." Maybe Eric was finally losing his touch.
"I'm going to hire a girlfriend for you. For show." He'd pulled out his phone and his fingers were already flying over it, tapping away.
"I think you've officially lost it, buddy. I thought it was just me, but now I'm pretty sure it's you, too." I looked at him as if he had three heads, but he was ignoring me.
Eric feverishly scrolled through his phone. "Do you remember Cole Bryson?"
I stared at him. "What the fuck are you talking about now?"
"Cole Bryson—that dude who owns the Thunder?"
Cole Bryson was a billionaire investment guy I knew from Boston. He also owned a Bruins farm team, the Rhode Island Thunder. I liked Cole, but I hadn't talked to him in ages. "Yeah, I know Bryson. What the hell does he have to do with anything?"
Eric looked up from his phone and smiled. "A buddy of mine just went to Cole's wedding. He married an escort. He hired her and then they fell in love. No shit. My friend said the bride and all of her escort friends were smoking hot. So I'm getting one for you. A cute one."
My headache was back in full force. "Eric…shut the fuck up." The last thing I needed in my life right now was a hooker.
He ignored me, his fingers flying back over the phone. "No way. I'm going to get the number for the agency. I'm hiring the hottest woman on the planet to be your girlfriend. She's going to have an airtight confidentiality agreement, Chase. And a rocking bod—with real boobs. I'll ask specifically for that. Jess'll hate it."
I opened my mouth to object, but he cackled, cutting me off. "I can't wait to see the look on Jessica's face," he said gleefully.
And with that, he started talking on the phone before I could stop him. Before I could ask him if he'd actually gone completely, utterly nuts.
Chapter Five
AVERY
"It's a high-profile assignment," Elena was saying, but it was as if I couldn't hear her.
Fifty thousand dollars. That'd been the first thing out of her mouth. After that, my knees had buckled and I had to sit down. Everything else she'd said was fuzzy.
"Avery." She cleared her throat. "Look at me, honey."
I looked at the madam, finding her spiky, frosted hair and maroon lipstick strangely comforting. I'd never figured out how Elena had gotten into the business when she looked like a soccer mom from Wellesley. Then some of the other girls had told me that she actually was a soccer mom from Wellesley…who just happened to run an escort service.
"Are you okay?" Elena asked, breaking my reverie.
I swallowed hard over the newly formed lump in my throat. "That's a lot of money."
She nodded. "I know. I want this client. He could be a huge source of confidential, big-money referrals for me. And I know that kind of money would be life-changing for you."
I couldn't even wrap my brain around it. With fifty thousand dollars in my pocket, we wouldn't get evicted. Ever. I could afford to send Lila to rehab. I could stop hooking. I could take classes and get a different job—one that didn't involve a stranger's hands all over me.
I shivered.
"Are you up for this?" the madam asked.
"Of course," I said immediately. "But why me? Why not one of the regular girls?"
Elena smiled. "The client wants the cleanest and the hottest girl I have. That's you, all day long. You'll have to have your drug and STD testing updated, of course," she said. "Are either one of those going to be a problem?"
"No," I said, my voice hoarse.
"Have you been taking your pills every day?"
I nodded. One of the contract requirements was that we took birth control. The agency provided it.
The madam crossed her elegant legs and folded her hands together. "The escort business isn't for everyone, Avery. You have to look at it analytically and weigh your needs against your limits."
I looked at her. "I need this job."
"Well then—it's yours." She smiled. "This is sort of a…different situation. It isn't a straight-up call."
I nodded at her, pretending I understood, even though I didn't.
"The client is Chase Layne. The Warriors quarterback."
My jaw dropped.
"Are you familiar with him?"
"Of course," I said breathlessly. Chase Layne was famous—he was the best quarterback in the NFL. He was also a celebrity. Drop-dead gorgeous, six-foot-five with coppery skin and big, gorgeous blue eyes, he was the face of more advertising campaigns than I could keep track of. When I'd seen him on the cover of gossip magazines, he'd always seemed untouchable, perfect. "But I thought he was married!"
"You're not up on the news, huh?" Elena asked.
As I currently had no phone, no computer, no television, and couldn't afford to buy magazines, the answer to that was a solid no. "I don't have time," I mumbled.
A flash of knowing sympathy crossed Elena's face. All of the girls who worked for her needed the money, and she knew it. "The story just broke, but only some of it's in the news. His wife left him recently. And Chase has been suspended from the Warriors for two weeks."
"Why?" I asked.
"This part's confidential—Chase's agent just told me," she said conspiratorially. "Jessica Layne's been having an affair with one of the teammates, Pax Unger. Chase found out and went after him. He broke Pax's nose. The team hasn't made that part public."
"Yikes," I said.
"'Yikes' is right. Chase is going back to practice in another week. The press has been hounding him. His agent has decided that, because his public image is going to take a beating, he needs to launch a preemptive counterattack. New house, new girlfriend, same great attitude. Obviously, he doesn't have time to meet someone new and fall in love—so that's where we come in."
Elena got up and grabbed a garment bag, hustling into the endless racks of clothes she kept in the office for our assignments. "His attorney has prepared a lengthy confidentiality agreement. You have to sign it and understand that these people mean business. You are going to act like his girlfriend, attend public events with him, and live in his home. The payment we've received is for one month. There's a renewal option if he wants to continue the arrangement. Are you okay with this so far?"
I nodded and watched, fascinated, as she assembled several gorgeous outfits for me. The assignment could last longer than a month. That meant more money. Lots more money and some actual, tangible room between me and the street.
Holy smokes. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.
"You can't ever reveal—not to anyone, not ever—that you were hired to do this. You can't tell your sister. You can't tell your best friend. You can't write a book about it or try to sell the story to XYZ or one of those other tabloids. If you ever do that, the contract is broken and they will come after you for every cent you earn, as well as damages. Understood?"
I nodded at her mutely. "I would never do that, Elena."
"I know. You're a good girl—probably too good to be working here, b
ut everybody's got their reasons. And trust me, they're all good ones."
I bit my lip. I wanted this so badly, but my thoughts were going into overdrive. "Aren't you worried that the press is going to find out about me? A girlfriend from out of nowhere is going to make a lot of people curious—especially when it comes to Chase Layne."
Elena smiled at me. "I've got you covered. I had a high-profile client out in California recently. It taught me a thing or two about protecting my employee's identities. We'll have false identification prepared for you once you sign the contract. A new name with a new driver's license, birth certificate, etcetera. I'll have it ready for you later today."
She packed a conservative grey dress and some silky tank tops. "Another thing… When I spoke with Chase's agent, Eric, he was very clear about the image he wants you to project. Chase's ex was a television journalist—very flashy, with fancy nails, fake boobs and designer clothes. They want the opposite of that. No body-conscious clothes, not a lot of makeup… They just want you to look pretty. Innocent." She gave me a wry smile.
"Works for me."
Elena continued bustling about. "Your backstory is your parents are dead and you're an only child. From New Hampshire. You have family money. You've been looking for a job around Boston but haven't found anything promising yet. You met Chase at the Barnes and Noble in Harvard Square. There was an instant spark. He knew right away that you were a nice girl, unlike that cheater who just left him."
She put a sophisticated, expensive-looking black dress into the garment bag. "Your new name is Avery Brighton. And you have your whole, beautiful, sparkling life in front of you—with Chase Layne."
* * *
With the signing money Elena had given me, I paid my landlord for the next three months' rent as soon as I got home. It was a huge relief. Lila was nowhere to be found in the apartment, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I wouldn't have to lie to her face, which I genuinely sucked at. A curse because whatever she was out doing was probably something that she shouldn't.
I packed up the toiletries and personal items I needed and wrote her a note. Dear Lila, I'm heading out of town for a while. Rent's taken care of. You can reach me at this number—for emergencies only! I jotted down the number for the loaner phone Elena had given me, the one I wasn't supposed to make personal calls from. But I felt better leaving my sister with a way to contact me.
