He’d turned to the realtor. “What’s the asking price?”
The jovial, balding man blinked in hopeful surprise. “$1.5 million.”
“I can write a check.”
As Holly had driven him back to the hotel with her lips pursed, it occurred to him that what he thought was an efficient, practical way to accomplish an errand probably seemed arrogant and cavalier. He glanced at her smooth profile and considered explaining that he’d sold his London house for about seven times the price of the one in Myers Park, that he’d seen enough properties over the last decade to know exactly what he wanted, and that after a few international moves he’d gotten good at making major decisions very quickly.
Then he’d somewhat petulantly decided he didn’t owe her an explanation and didn’t say another word.
The game was resuming now, and the substitute Pittsburgh sent on looked hungry for action. Reluctantly, he shoved Holly’s image to the back of his mind. Then he shook his head to clear it and focused on the messy clamor of men that had formed around the ball.
Suddenly his teammate Tyson burst out of the group with the ball at his feet. He made swift work of the pitch and caught Kepler’s eye just as two Pittsburgh players closed in on him.
Kepler sprang into motion, feinting left and throwing off his nearest opponent before cutting right and smoothly receiving Tyson’s pass.
He had a clear path to Pittsburgh’s goal, but his opponents would be hot on his heels. Adrenaline began to pump through his veins as he threw himself into a sprint, carefully controlling the ball at his feet as he closed the distance to the goal.
His lungs burned, his head pounded, and again he thought of Holly, who hadn’t traveled with the team and was undoubtedly watching the game on TV back in Charlotte.
And he realized that sometimes, the only way to win was not to let anything stand in the way.
A trickle of sweat ran into his eyes as they locked with the goalie’s. The Pittsburgh players thundered up around him. Tyson wouldn’t make it in time to help him. This was his chance.
A roar rose in his ears until it was all he could hear. Darkness consumed his peripheral vision, leaving only the line from the ball to the goal.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The muscles in his right leg contracted, and he heard the satisfying thwap as his toe sent the ball hurtling into space even before his brain processed the kick. The white sphere flew through the air, the goalkeeper leaped to catch it...
Then the net shuddered as the ball landed squarely between the posts.
The noise of the pitch came rushing back, his vision returned to normal, and then Tyson was slapping him on the back. Two other teammates were hooting victoriously in his ear. The small crowd of blue-clad Discovery fans jumped up and down in the stands, chanting the nickname he was disappointed to see had followed him to the States. “Kill-er! Kill-er! Kill-er!”
Kepler looked into one of the TV cameras mounted on the side of the pitch to film the live broadcast. He pointed into the lens.
That was for you, Holly.
* * *
“Yes,” Holly shrieked as the ball hit the net. She jumped up from the couch and punched the air. “Yes, yes, yes!”
The words echoed dully in her empty living room, and although she felt mildly sheepish as she dropped back into her seat, she couldn’t stop grinning.
She took another slug of beer from the bottle sweating on the coffee table and retrieved her notepad from the floor, where she’d dropped it in her excitement. She scribbled her thoughts and impressions hastily. Later she would review them and hopefully derive some strategic ideas.
Kepler’s teammates were congratulating him—a great image. Maybe one of the sports photographers would get some usable shots for their promotional materials. The crowd chanting “Killer” was slightly unhelpful, but she’d have to live with it until she could get some other nickname going. Maybe she could plant people in the audience?
Kepler turned to the camera. He looked so calm and unsurprised, as if it had just been a matter of time. As if he’d known he would make it happen. His eyes were rich, dark pools as he stared into the lens. He offered the hint of a secretive smile and then pointed.
Holly’s pen fell from her hand as she gazed slack-jawed at the TV.
Something in his look burned into her heart like a laser, setting her whole body aflame in a way she hadn’t felt since—well, since he’d kissed her in that house in Ballantyne.
Every logical cell in her body told her loudly and clearly that Kepler was bad news. Even if his reputation hadn’t preceded him, she’d witnessed it herself. Giving out a fake name. Pulling her into some pointless husband-and-wife charade. Throwing his considerable wealth around as though he couldn’t wait to part with it. Plus she’d heard from Sven that he was short-tempered at practice, made no effort to gel with his teammates and routinely ignored the manager’s strategic instructions.
Discovery’s most expensive player and its biggest liability. Unpredictable and uncontrollable. Every PR manager’s nightmare.
And Holly wanted him so badly that she ached.
As did every other woman watching, she reminded herself as she retrieved her pen. In fact, if she could figure out what about him was so appealing, she could incorporate that into her publicity plan. She’d been so focused on the family demographic, it hadn’t occurred to her that Kepler might also be a huge draw for wives and girlfriends otherwise reluctant to attend sporting events with the men in their lives.
The game had resumed on the TV screen, and although Pittsburgh were working hard to score a second goal, Discovery seemed buoyed by their equalizing point and were holding off their opponents with more energy than they’d had since the first five minutes. With one ear tuned into the match commentary, she began jotting down some ideas.
It was time to take the campaign nationwide. After all, Discovery only played in Charlotte every other game or so. She needed people in other cities to turn up to see the boys in sky blue, and Kepler was her best shot at giving the team some national coverage.
Maybe an interview in one of the big women’s magazines? Probably not—the interview would have to center around relationships or love advice, and those were topics she wanted to keep as distant from Kepler as possible.
How could she communicate his appeal to women while also keeping his personality under tight rein?
She took a thoughtful sip of beer as she watched him lope up and down the pitch, his long stride making quick work of the distance, his gait smooth and nimble for such a tall man. She recalled the taut muscles in his legs in the medics’ room, the hard curves of his upper arms as she’d gripped them...
Holly took another swig from the bottle, this time in an effort to cool her rapidly rising temperature.
That’s when it hit her.
A fitness article. Facts on his diet and workout routine would give the illusion of getting to know him on a personal level without risking any serious romantic questions.
“This deserves another beer.” She’d risen halfway from the couch when her cell phone rang.
She didn’t recognize the number, which had a New York City area code.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Holly?”
“Speaking.” She glanced at the TV as she muted the sound. Discovery were holding Pittsburgh off at 1-1 with only a few minutes left.
“This is Sharon Gibson, head of communications at LKC Energy.”
Holly’s attention sharpened at the mention of Charlotte Discovery’s main sponsor. The power company had its executive headquarters in New York City, but the bulk of their operations were run from Charlotte.
“Hi, Sharon,” she said with as much professional smoothness as she could muster, regretting that bottle of beer. “What can I do for you?”
Sharon chuckled, and Holly imagined a chic, suit-clad New Yorker spinning her chair to gaze out the window at Central Park. In fact Holly had no idea where LKC Energy’s offices were located—she’d
only been to New York once on vacation—but she held the image in her mind.
“That’s a good question. You can do quite a lot, I hope.”
Holly paused, unsure whether she should speak. Sharon saved her the wonder by continuing, “I’ve been watching the de Klerk campaign with interest. Building the LKC Energy Stadium and sponsoring Discovery was one of our biggest projects to date, and we were all disappointed when the team failed to perform.”
Holly held her breath as her stomach flipped. Was this about the yellow card last Saturday? She thought she’d handled that so well, spinning the coverage to focus on Kepler’s potential as Discovery’s first big European player rather than the incident, although there had been that fairly hostile write-up in the Recorder from Evan Barstow. But that was only one paper and—
“De Klerk came to us with a tough reputation, but so far you’ve handled it brilliantly.” Sharon’s calm tone cut into Holly’s frantic thinking.
“Oh, good,” she breathed, unable to conceal the relief in her voice.
Sharon chuckled again, a sound that told Holly in no uncertain terms who was the suave city director and who was the North Carolina hayseed.
“Has he been hard to handle?”
“He’s a breeze,” she lied. It’s just my libido I can’t control.
“That’s not what I hear from Sven Brock.”
Holly smacked her forehead. Of course, she was probably on the phone to the team’s manager every other day.
“You know what athletes at his level are like,” Holly replied, hoping she sounded effortlessly savvy. “I let him think he’s making the decisions, and we get along fine.”
“I think you could give Sven some lessons on ego management,” Sharon agreed, and Holly closed her eyes in gratitude. “He told me you took de Klerk to look at houses as though that was crazy. Personally I think it was a stroke of genius, and judging from today’s match, it produced the kind of performance we’d expected.”
Holly fought a sudden, irrational urge to remind Sharon that Kepler had a first name. “Like I said, it’s all down to giving him the impression of control.”
“But we know who really holds the strings.” Sharon laughed. Holly echoed her reaction, but she had to force it. Kepler was one of the most fiercely independent athletes she’d met, and as much as that frustrated her, she also grudgingly admired him for it. She knew it was right to tell this woman what she wanted to hear, yet on some level she felt she was betraying Kepler.
“Let me cut to the chase. De Klerk is an asset for Discovery’s potential as a team, sure, but he’s also an investment for LKC Energy. As a result of your efforts both in and out of the press, his public image is already turning around. We’ve had some early offers, but we feel that with sustained good coverage over the rest of the season plus a top-three finish for Discovery in the Eastern Conference, we could sell de Klerk to any other Championship League team—maybe even an overseas side—for a hefty return on what we paid.”
Holly frowned. “But LKC Energy is just the sponsor—the company doesn’t hold any shares in the club.”
“It’s a complicated financial arrangement,” Sharon said dismissively. “LKC Energy is a subsidiary of LKC Group, an investment vehicle with a majority shareholding from Abbott Investors, who also own a private equity firm that trades as Abbott Partners...”
“Who own the majority shareholding in Discovery,” Holly supplied, recognizing the name. “Got it.”
“Point being,” Sharon continued, “that de Klerk is just like any other kind of investment. We bought him cheap, and we aim to sell him high.”
LKC Energy yanked him out of South Africa, dragged him all the way to Charlotte, only to sell him after four or five months?
Holly stared at the television screen as she listened in mute disgust. Discovery had tied with Pittsburgh, and the two teams were shaking hands before filing out of the stadium. Kepler exchanged a quick, friendly word with Pittsburgh’s captain, both men smiling as they each vigorously pumped the other’s hand.
“What about Kepler? What if he doesn’t want to go?”
Sharon snorted, an undignified sound that jarred with her sleek demeanor. “Why would he want to stay at a struggling team if he had a better offer somewhere else? He’s only here because he’s desperate. But you’re changing all that for him.”
“Uh huh.”
“And if everything goes to plan, you’ll not only get a fat slice of the de Klerk pie, there will be a desk in New York with your name on it. If you want it, that is.”
“I do,” Holly said too quickly, her heart racing at the very idea. She had hoped her work with Discovery might broaden her client base to D.C. or Atlanta, but corporate PR at a huge company like LKC Energy, based in New York City? It was way beyond her wildest ambitions for her career.
Although it would mean moving away from everything she had in Charlotte, the life she’d built for herself over the last seven years.
Then again, it wasn’t much of a life. As her friends had gotten married and started families she’d begun to see them less and less. Stumbling out of a taxi after too many Wednesday night happy hour drinks had slowly but steadily transformed into herbal tea on Saturday afternoon with a pause for breastfeeding.
And she had no love life to speak of, nor any real prospects on the horizon. Dating had become a tedious, demoralizing exercise in futility. She hated the way men’s eyes glazed over when she tried to introduce serious topics like politics or business. Hated the way they surveyed her from head to toe when they thought she wasn’t looking. And more than anything, she hated the way so many of them blatantly came to the decision that she wasn’t quite hot enough to be worth putting up with her strong personality. She’d seen that transition from evaluation to contemplation to disinterest so many times that after a while she’d simply given up.
She had to be honest with herself. She would never be low-key enough to have the easy camaraderie of the Russells. And she would never be pretty or fun enough to replicate Gina’s designer family. She was who she was: driven, ambitious and long past the ability to make the necessary compromises for a successful relationship.
Maybe this was her chance to break away from all that. To work hard and play hard in the city that never sleeps. To thrive on stress and glamour and nonstop excitement, and to never spend another baby shower sitting awkwardly in the corner listening to a debate about cloth diapers.
“Then I look forward to seeing more of the same.” Sharon interrupted her reverie. “You help de Klerk push Discovery into the top three, and we’ll be welcoming you to Manhattan. Deal?”
Holly swallowed hard, hoping to banish the unease that swelled in her chest. This was what she wanted—wasn’t it?
“Deal.”
Chapter Six
“What’s this magazine called again?” Kepler asked as Holly pulled her car into the gym parking lot and shut off the engine.
“Women’s Wellness,” she reminded him. “It’s ostensibly about health and well-being, but the articles are more about little life improvements to make you feel less guilty. No one’s going to read it and become an endurance athlete. But it has a national circulation and a big readership.” And their acceptance of her pitch and photo spread had been a real coup. The perfect expansion from local press to national—and hopefully one more step down the road from Charlotte to New York City.
She squinted at the raindrops obscuring the windshield.
“I forgot my umbrella. We’ll have to make a run for it.”
Wordlessly Kepler unzipped his windbreaker, which was red and bore the Archway logo on the left breast, and draped it over her shoulders.
“The photographer will want to do something to my hair anyway, so it might as well get wet,” he said, preempting her refusal as he pulled the hood over her loose chignon.
“Thanks.” The jacket was warm from his body, and the scent of cedarwood wrapped around her like a cloak.
“Pleasure.” At her frown of c
onfusion he explained, “That’s the South African version of ‘you’re welcome.’”
They dashed across the rainy parking lot and into the gym where the photo shoot would take place. Women’s Wellness had hired a Raleigh-based photographer whom Holly hadn’t worked with before, and she crossed the room to greet the slim, attractive woman.
The photographer introduced herself as Laurel, dispatched Kepler to get styled and changed, and then gave Holly a quick rundown on the series of shots she was looking for.
“Women’s Wellness always wants pretty much the same thing. Lots of muscle and a sexy pout. Do you think he can do brooding?”
Holly smirked. “He practically invented it.”
As if eager to prove her point, Kepler emerged from his session with the stylist wearing a much smaller, tighter version of his Discovery uniform and a resolute scowl.
“This is ridiculous.” He gestured to the shorts that cut high on his hard thighs. “This is obviously a fake uniform. And why would I wear it to work out?”
“It promotes the team. This is a lighthearted shoot,” she assured him. “Don’t over-think it.”
He glowered at her but allowed himself to be directed through the first couple of shots in silent compliance.
“You’re very photogenic,” Laurel said warmly as she positioned him with one of the machines.
“These are all looking great,” Holly enthused from her place near Laurel’s laptop, which displayed the photos as they were taken. Kepler barely grunted a response, clearly unmoved by the women’s attempts at flattery.
After a few more snaps, Laurel let her camera rest on the strap around her neck.
“That was fantastic, Kepler. Now take off your shirt and we’ll get started on the second half.”
He froze. “What?”
“Just pull it over your head. Don’t worry, we can fix your hair if it gets messed up.”
Kepler shot Holly a desperate glance. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Laurel looked between the two of them and made a tactful move out to the parking lot. “I need to grab some equipment from my car. I’ll be right back.”
The Striker's Chance Page 6
