Playing for Keeps (Feeling the Heat Book 6)

by Alison Packard

  Rick chuckled. “You won’t get an argument from me on that one.”

  “You know what bothers me the most about him?”

  “The fake tan?” Rick grinned. “The blindingly white teeth?”

  Trey let out a snort of amusement then set his bottle on the table. “No. He reminds me of me.”

  “That’s bullshit. You’re nothing like him.”

  “You weren’t here.” Trey shook his head in disgust. “You didn’t see how much of an asshole I was.”

  No, he hadn’t. He’d heard a few stories about Trey’s behavior, and then there was that false allegation of attempted rape, but Rick had barely paid attention to what was going on with his former teammate. He’d been going through his own personal hell. By the time he’d gotten his shit together, dedicated himself to getting back on the team, and landing a non-roster invitation to spring training last year, Trey had been vindicated and had led the Blaze to their second World Series championship. Still, the man that sat at the table with him now was a far cry from the Trey he’d been friends with during their rookie season. But then again, so was he.

  “Whatever you became while I was gone, you’re not that man now.”

  “Maybe so. But it doesn’t make some of the shit I said and did any easier to live with. What Bristow said to our cocktail waitress was mild compared to what I would have said two years ago.”

  Rick shot a cursory glance at the woman in question, who was carrying a tray of drinks to a nearby table. “She seems more than capable of handling Bristow, or anybody else.”

  “That’s not the point.” Trey leveled him with an irritated gaze. “She shouldn’t have to handle it. She should be able to do her job and not be harassed.”

  “I agree.”

  Trey’s brow furrowed. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “You say that like it’s a good thing,” Rick said, earning a wry grin from Trey.

  “Seriously. Remember in our rookie year how we talked about teaming up to support a worthy cause?”

  “Yeah, but we never got past the discussion phase. I got injured, and then—”

  “Looks like you two might need another round.”

  Rick turned to find their server smiling down at them. Even though she had her hands full with a table of barely legal women who’d strutted into the lounge not long after he and the guys had sat down, she’d been more than attentive. However, with Dallas’s absence from the table, the smile curving her lips was more genuine. The heavy eyeliner and smoky eyeshadow she wore enhanced her green eyes, but he couldn’t help but wonder what she looked like underneath the thick layer of beauty products. Now that he’d spent time observing her, he was certain her entire physical presentation was nothing more than a façade. But he supposed in her line of work a certain amount of artifice was necessary.

  “I’ll have another beer,” Trey said with an amiable smile.

  “Coming right up.” She swung her attention to Rick. “Another club soda?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  Trey leaned forward. “Hey, I’m sorry about what our…ah…friend…said to you earlier.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “I appreciate that, but you don’t have to apologize. Comparatively speaking, what he said was mild. And I’m used to it.” Another smile tilted her glossy lips. “I’ll be right back.”

  Rick watched the womanly sway of her hips as she moved toward the bar and a shot of pure unadulterated lust heated his body. His father would say it was a good sign; that he was finally moving on. He, however, wasn’t so sure.

  Satisfied that her customers were momentarily taken care of, Amy made her way to the restroom. It was her first break of the night and she more than needed it. Although less crowded than the first floor, the VIP lounge was no cakewalk. The customers spent big bucks to be seated in the exclusive section and expected extra attention and a positive attitude at all times. And if they didn’t get what they expected they didn’t hesitate to complain.

  Maintaining a positive attitude hadn’t been too difficult, or at least it hadn’t until Kirby Ferrara, the mega-wealthy San Francisco socialite and her three friends arrived and were seated in Amy’s section. The four young women were barely over the legal drinking age, which wasn’t unusual in any club, but the aura of entitlement and superiority oozing off of them was anything but normal. Maybe that’s what having a ton of money did to people.

  Her first clue that dealing with Kirby was going to be challenging was when Kirby had set her sights on Rick Taylor and Trey Gentry. Kirby had demanded that Amy ask the two men to join them at Kirby’s table, and because it was in her job description to keep the customers happy, Amy had dutifully marched over to the ballplayers and extended the invitation. Her opinion of the two, whose friends had abandoned them for the dance floor, rose several notches when they basically said “thanks, but no thanks.” When Amy delivered the bad news it was obvious that Kirby didn’t take kindly to rejection, and with each downed flute of Cristal that followed she grew even more petulant.

  She’d also offered up a scathing critique of Amy’s hair and makeup. Per Kirby, Amy’s hair was obviously a wig (and not a good one) and her makeup was more suited to RuPaul’s Drag Race than to the VIP lounge. It was all Amy could do not to tell her to go to hell, but she had managed to avoid taking the bait. Luckily, she’d had plenty of practice doing that in Barstow.

  After exiting the stall, Amy washed her hands then grabbed a paper towel from the stack on the counter. One of the other stall doors opened and a woman Amy recognized from Cynda’s bachelorette party stepped out to wash her hands. Amy smiled and met the woman’s gaze in the mirror as she dried her hands. The woman, a bit older than the rest of her party, returned her smile and turned on the faucet. “I love your boots,” she said as she pushed the soap dispenser. “But I can’t imagine working in them all night.”

  “They’re not so bad. The cushioned insoles I stuck inside them help.”

  The woman laughed. “Right after college I worked in a copy shop and was on my feet all day. I wish I would have thought of insoles back then.”

  Amy tossed her paper towel in the trash receptacle. “I noticed you’re with the bachelorette party. Are you having fun?”

  “Surprisingly, yes. My co-worker is the bride-to-be and she insisted I come even though I’m not much of a club-goer.” The woman rinsed her hands then reached for a paper towel. “As long as they don’t drag me down to the dance floor I’ll be fine. In high school under my senior picture it said, ‘Grace Pratt…most likely to trip over her own feet.’”

  Amy laughed as the door flew open and Kirby and one of her friends, who was sporting a similar tight bandeau-style dress and the same artfully highlighted long blonde hair, stumbled into the restroom giggling.

  As the door closed automatically behind them, Kirby treated Amy to a scornful once-over, and then swung her attention to Grace. “What are you looking at, grandma?” Kirby said, exchanging a smirk with her friend. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

  Kirby’s friend cackled at the insult.

  The quick flash of pain in Grace’s eyes and the pink staining her cheeks were a stark reminder of what Danny had endured. There was a lot in life Amy could tolerate, but a bully wasn’t one of them. Anger fueled her as she crossed the short distance to stand in front of Kirby. Staring down at her from the lofty height of her four-inch heels, she scanned Kirby’s face with derision. “You should have better manners. But I guess money can’t buy class.”

  “How dare you!” Outrage flared in Kirby’s gray eyes. Not intimidated, she lifted her slightly pointed chin defiantly. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Of course I do. I recognize a bully when I see one.”

  Kirby wasn’t accustomed to being called out for her bad behavior. She glared at Amy, her mouth pressed into a tight grim line. Behind her, her look-alike friend had taken a step back toward the door, her fingers gripping the handle, ready to bolt.

  Amy glanced at Grace who looked a l
ittle shell-shocked. “Shall we?” Amy gestured toward the door, then stepped around a still seething Kirby. “Move,” she barked the word at Kirby’s rattled friend, who backed up and cowered against the opposite wall while Amy opened the door and let Grace precede her out of the restroom.

  “You’ll be sorry you talked to me like that,” Kirby called out, her voice laced with venom.

  Bracing her arm against the door, Amy looked over her shoulder and met Kirby’s furious gaze. “Honey, I’ve faced much worse than whatever you can dish out, so I doubt I’ll lose any sleep worrying about it.”

  Ten minutes later, Amy was kicking herself for letting anger cloud her judgement. The smart thing to do would have been to walk out of the restroom with Grace and not say a word. Instead, she’d opened her big mouth and added fuel to the fire. Kirby was already pissed because Rick and Trey had blown her off, and now, judging by the hostile glares Kirby and her friends were shooting in her direction, Amy had risen to the top of Kirby’s shit list.

  As much as she hated to apologize to a bully like Kirby Ferrara, she had to do it. For Danny’s sake. She couldn’t lose her job and jeopardize her son’s future. Turning, she picked up the tray of drinks for the table next to Kirby’s and balanced it with both hands. After she delivered the drinks, she would stop by Kirby’s table and give an apology worthy of an Oscar.

  Taking a deep breath, she glanced at the alcove where Rick and Trey were sitting. Their friends had returned, but Rick’s attention was on her instead of his fellow ballplayers. She wasn’t close enough to read his eyes, but warmth still surged beneath her skin. His interest didn’t seem lascivious, but it unsettled her. It had been a long time since she’d had any reaction except disinterest towards a man.

  Acknowledging him with a slight nod, she moved away from the bar. As she passed in front of Kirby’s alcove something hard jammed against the back of her right knee and it buckled. She pitched forward, letting out a gasp of surprise as the tray flew out of her hands. Then everything seemed to happen at once. Instinctively, her arms went out to brace her fall, but she wasn’t quick enough and she landed with a hard thud on the carpeted floor. Clattering glass and startled screams echoed in her ears all but drowning out the thundering of her heart.

  Embarrassment flooded her, but before she could move someone was by her side, crouching next to her.

  “Are you all right?” It was Rick Taylor.

  Mortified, Amy tried to push herself up from the floor.

  “Don’t move. You may have broken something,” he said, resting his hand gently on the small of her back.

  “I’m fine.” Fighting embarrassment, she scrambled to her feet and shrugged off Rick’s assistance. She brushed her mass of hair back and looked at Kirby’s table. It was covered with broken glass and shallow puddles of alcohol, but Kirby and her friends hadn’t moved. Instead, the gaggle of them watched her with thinly veiled satisfaction.

  “What the hell is going on?” Brock strode toward them, his face contorted with anger.

  In the blink of an eye, Kirby’s triumphant expression morphed into one of indignation. “Your klutz of a waitress dumped a tray of drinks all over us.” She pointed a glittery pink-tipped finger at the table. “There’s broken glass everywhere and our dresses are ruined.”

  “I—I’m sorry.” Amy could barely choke the words out. “I’ll be happy to pay your dry cleaning costs.” She moved forward, intending to clean up the mess, but Brock gripped her upper arm, pulling her back.

  “I’ll get someone else to take care of this.” His angry gaze swept over her. “You’re a mess.”

  Amy looked down to find her fishnet stockings had torn just above the tops of her boots. “I have another pair in my locker. I’ll go change.”

  “Don’t bother,” Brock said tersely. “You’re fired.”

  2

  “Fired?” Amy’s mouth fell open and her knees began to tremble. Oh, no. Not again. “But...but it was an accident.” Yeah, right. More like sabotage. But she didn’t dare accuse Kirby’s friend of causing her fall when she couldn’t prove it. Her heart raced as horrible memories flashed through her mind. It was like Barstow all over again. Paying the price for something she didn’t do. It wasn’t fair, damn it.

  Brock sliced his hand through the air to silence her. “No excuses. I want you off the floor right now,” he said, then directed his attention to Kirby. “Please accept my apologies, Ms. Ferrara. The club will, of course, compensate you and your friends for this unfortunate incident by paying your tab this evening. And we’d be happy to reimburse you for the cost of dry cleaning your garments.”

  Now that she’d gotten what she wanted, Kirby’s smile held a hint of triumph. “Thank you. That’s so kind of you,” she said, her voice so sweet it could have dripped honey. Amy clenched her fists in an attempt to control her shaking limbs.

  Brock turned and scowled at her. “What are you still doing here?” He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and pulled her away from the table.

  “Get your hands off of her.” Rick Taylor’s words were softly spoken but there was underlying steel to them. Brock immediately released her arm. A flush crept up his neck then spread slowly to his face.

  In the heat of the moment, Amy had forgotten about Rick Taylor. She turned and found not only him, but Trey Gentry standing directly behind her. Both of them, tall and muscular, were imposing figures.

  Brock took a step back and lifted both hands in a defensive gesture. “Calm down, I wasn’t going to hurt her.”

  “Really?” Rick cocked his head, a frown creasing his brow. “It didn’t look like that to me. Where I come from you don’t treat women like that. And you don’t fire them without hearing their side of the story.”

  “California is an at-will state which means I have the authority to terminate an employee anytime I want,” Brock said, his tone defensive. “For whatever reason I want.”

  “I’m not familiar with employment law, but I’d say firing someone after they were deliberately tripped isn’t going to go over well if —” Rick turned to her, his expression questioning.

  “Amy,” she supplied quickly.

  “If Amy decides to take you to court.”

  Brock’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean deliberately tripped?”

  Amy pointed at the blonde who’d been in the restroom with Kirby. “He means that she shoved her foot into the back of my knee and caused me to fall.”

  “I did no such thing,” the blonde declared in academy award winning outrage.

  “You’re lying,” Rick snapped. “I saw you do it.”

  “I saw it, too.” Trey crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the woman as if daring her to deny it.

  Kirby’s friend flipped her hair back and suddenly became interested in the modernistic artwork on the wall. As for Kirby, she didn’t seem to be too concerned about the scene she’d instigated. She was the center of attention. Something she probably lived for.

  “Well…” Brock shifted uncomfortably between the rock and the hard place Rick and Trey had placed him in. “It appears I acted in haste. Amy, I’m sorry for misjudging the situation. And Ms. Ferrara, it’s not uncommon that when alcohol is involved things can get out of hand. We consider you a valued customer here at Stylus and I’d still like to offer you the compensation I mentioned earlier.” Remaining silent, Kirby stared at him, which encouraged Brock to add a little more grovel. “In addition, I’ll provide free premium bottle service the next time you visit Stylus.”

  “If there’s a next time.” Kirby reached for her small evening purse, then, being careful to avoid the shards of glass on the table, she slid off of the leather sofa. “I’ll be in touch about the dry cleaning,” she said, motioning for her friends to follow her before strolling toward the elevator. Amy watched them sashay after Kirby like sheep. If their fearless leader asked them to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge they’d probably do it, no questions asked.

  “Way to go to bat for your employee,”
Trey said, giving Brock a look of contempt. “We weren’t lying about what we saw.”

  Biting her lower lip, Amy clasped her hands in front of her. Although grateful for Rick and Trey’s intervention, she had to come clean. It wasn’t like she was entirely blameless. “To be honest, Ms. Ferrara and I had words in the ladies’ room. She and her friend insulted another customer and I got involved. I was going to apologize but I never got the chance.”

  “That doesn’t excuse what she and her friends did,” Rick said quickly. “If they were angry about what happened in the bathroom they could have lodged a formal complaint.”

  Brock held Rick’s steady gaze for a couple of seconds then averted his gaze. “I overreacted and I’m sorry,” he said, turning toward Amy. “I shouldn’t have fired you. You’ve been an excellent employee. If you still want the job, it’s yours.”

  “I do.” Amy nodded, relieved she still had her second source of income. “I’ll get the table cleaned up right away.” She glanced around the room. The customers that remained were no longer interested in what was happening now that Kirby and her entourage had left.

  Brock consulted his watch. “Why don’t you go change your stockings? I’ll get someone to clean up.”

  Amy gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

  “Again, I’m sorry,” he said with genuine regret in his eyes. “Especially about grabbing your arm like that. I had no right,” he added, then nodded at Rick and Trey before heading toward the bar.

  Still unnerved by the incident, Amy watched him retreat. Tonight was the first time she’d ever seen Brock lose his cool. And it was unusual for him to discipline his employees in public. She knew he was under a lot of pressure from the club’s investors to make Stylus a success. Maybe the thought of alienating an influential customer like Kirby Ferrara had caused him to fly off the handle.

  “Are you okay?” Rick’s voice penetrated her thoughts.

  She met his questioning gaze and nodded.