With a single-minded competitive drive, Spencer focused on the game, ignoring the jokes and groans from her friends as she maintained her first place standing. She tried not to notice the other players’ standings, or the name Liam that kept popping up as her biggest competition. It didn’t matter, as long as she stayed in first place. Winning the game almost made her forget him.
If only he hadn’t been right there, all along.
…
Liam couldn’t get enough. Spencer was relentless, fast, and merciless. He loved it. By far, the best bar trivia game he had ever played. Of course, a beautiful and sexy opponent made the whole thing a lot more interesting.
Spencer’s ruthlessness was sexy as hell and made him want to keep pushing. Like it had been on the football field, another player’s excellence made him run faster, push harder.
Spencer Hightower was his competition. So he decided to even the playing field when the first round ended and everyone took a breather.
Liam called over a waitress, and in a few minutes the waitress delivered an icy cold margarita with a frosty rim of salt to his competition.
Spencer was surprised by the waitress’s offer but accepted the glass graciously, awareness dawning on her face. She held up the glass toward him across the bar and the message was clear. Game on.
Round two brought the heat back. Abraham Lincoln wrote the Gettysburg Address. Liam knew that from high school. Cuban Missile Crisis? 1960. Boom. Oscar for best motion picture in 1983? Scarface, easily. Whoops. What the fuck. Gandhi? Over Scarface? Pacino was robbed. Literally.
Liam glanced at Spencer and the small, triumphant smile on those sexy lips as she pulled ahead. As if she knew he was watching, she picked the margarita up and took a sip. Liam bit back a groan at the sight of her licking the salt from her lips. The sight was distracting enough he missed the next question and Zach shoved him.
Get back in the game, Connelly.
The next question was fine. Charles Lindburgh. Crossed the Atlantic, yadda yadda. But then Spencer put her finger on the rim of the glass. He imagined it wet from the condensation of the frozen drink. Who really cared about the development of musical instruments? Spencer’s finger rubbed the glass rim, slowly pushing the damp salt to the side. He imagined the taste of the salt on her lips, her tongue. Another question ignored, another shove from Zach. “Dude, you should have known that! Poker is your game!”
But Liam couldn’t focus on the rest of the game. He was having too much fun watching Spencer. Her intelligence and drive shone through the dusky lights of the neighborhood bar. She lit up the place, and when she took another sip of her (his) margarita, he was a goner. Liam shifted so that he faced Spencer, the trivia game and television screen forgotten.
In another few short minutes, it was time for the challenge round. Liam finally watched the screen. The topic was sports. Liam smirked. Now he might have a chance.
Spencer took one look at the screen and grabbed her purse. Liam cut her off at the door.
“That’s it? You’re going?”
She was pleasant even though she didn’t stop. “I had a good time. I’m tired. I want to go home.” Liam’s manners kicked in, and he held open the door for her.
“You don’t know sports trivia,” he called after her, following her into the parking lot.
“Nope,” she agreed.
“Come in and play.” He wanted her to stay. He wanted them to face off, on his territory. She faced him, all right, with determination.
“I don’t play if I can’t win.”
“Is that your mantra or something? Is it on the family crest? Let it go.”
“Fine, I’m going.” Trying to avoid him, she side-stepped, and, with an agility from years of playing football, he was back in front of her. He brainstormed something that would make her stay.
“Let’s talk about Troy.”
…
Spencer stopped in her tracks, mad at herself for pausing. He was so transparent. But she couldn’t resist.
“Did he change his mind?” She asked.
“It’s me. It’s my decision, not Troy’s”
That was a new one. Spencer gave Liam her full attention. “So why won’t you tell him to?”
Liam shrugged. “It’s not good business. We say yes to all the paternity claims, it’s opening a flood gate.” Liam paused. “And he’s a virgin.”
Spencer couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re saying that with a straight face.”
“You would in my shoes.”
Spencer’s eyes traveled over Liam from crown to toes, at the tall, male body that was calling to her, even now. “Were you a virgin at twenty-one?”
“No,” Liam admitted. The side of his mouth hitched up. “Were you?”
Just like that, Spencer almost relented. It would be so natural, to stay here and talk, get to know each other, drink and laugh and play trivia. If only they could, maybe she could be comfortable enough to answer that question. The realization made her sad and regretful.
“I’m sorry about this afternoon.” She’d been embarrassed after leaving Liam’s office, knowing she’d acted like an unprofessional harpy at the mere mention of her past.
“It’s fine.”
“No,” Spencer said. “It’s not. You were right. I shouldn’t expect you just to roll over…”
“But most people do?” Liam guessed.
Spencer pressed her lips ruefully. “If you’re known as a badass, most people don’t want to mess with you.”
The crinkles around Liam’s eyes returned. “It’s the same when you’re a sports agent.”
Spencer blinked. Of course. That was it. They were so much alike. He was a male version of her. Except kinder and more patient with unreasonable bitches. She could probably learn a lot from him.
Spencer inhaled a deep breath as she prepared to be reasonable. “I do like you, Liam. But I don’t do messy. I don’t do drama. And I think today proved that we shouldn’t see each other until this Troy thing is over.”
The length of the pause made her worry. Then he said something she hadn’t thought he’d say. “I agree.”
Disappointment flooded through her. The emotion was unusual, and it pissed her off.
Liam smiled down at her. “But I don’t always do what I should.” He took her hand. “Come back. Play another round. Let’s have some fun.”
The warmth of his skin on hers made her want to say yes. It made her want to wrap herself in his arms, take a fistful of his shirt, and plant her lips on his.
“You know you want to keep kicking my ass,” he teased.
God, now she really wanted to kiss him. Then she remembered her behavior earlier in his office. Mixing business and pleasure around Liam was making her dangerously off-kilter. She couldn’t afford to lose focus.
“I think I’ve had enough fun for tonight.”
“Is this about what happened at my office? You were tough. Fine. That was business, but this is fun,” he declared.
Spencer wanted to believe that he meant that. But experience had taught her otherwise—that most people couldn’t handle competition. And they damn sure didn’t like losing. Liam was no exception. They each had their goals, and they weren’t backing down. Ultimately, someone would get hurt, and Spencer wasn’t willing to take that chance.
Spencer sighed. ”It’s still not a good idea.” With regret, she let go of his hand, put one foot in front of the other, and forced herself to walk to her car.
Chapter Sixteen
There were only two options, Spencer concluded on her way to the office the next morning. Quit her client. Or quit Liam. Because trying to juggle both was going to drive her insane. He affected her judgment. She was being entirely too lenient on Troy Duncan. She hadn’t even pushed hard on Bibby’s document. She hadn’t done anything except roll over after Troy’s refusal to take a paternity test. Which wouldn’t be happening if she didn’t want to jump his agent.
But she did have a conscienc
e. Quitting Dalynn would mean she would find someone else to represent her. Someone who wouldn’t be as effective at getting results. So she had to keep Dalynn as a client, to ensure that the situation was resolved responsibly and efficiently.
This was not going to end well. Especially since Rainey had just phoned. Dalynn had gone public…to Scandals Magazine.
…
It took Liam a good hour to calm down after getting a call from Scandals Magazine.
She went to Scandals Magazine. Fucking Scandals Magazine. Of all the weekly publications, she had to pick the one where he knew absolutely no one, had no connections. Spencer had done it on purpose, he was sure. The story was exactly as she had presented it to him: Troy and Dalynn dated, screwed around, and she got knocked up. The reporter had asked just the right questions, probably reading from a script, prepared by Spencer Hightower.
That bullshit stopped here and now.
Liam didn’t like surprises. Or being taken for a fool. But now he knew where he stood—on a battlefield, and he was on full alert.
He’d dealt with the reporter and went straight into crisis mode, preparing for the onslaught of television and print journalists that would surely follow. The ambush had begun and he had to be ready to defend Troy and knock down whatever lies they came up with.
The next few hours—nothing. No CNN. No Good Morning America. No ESPN.
What kind of strategy was Spencer Hightower playing? Because someone like her? Didn’t stop at Scandals Magazine.
The clock ticked by. The phone stayed silent, until her caller ID popped up.
“You went to the press,” Liam snapped on answering.
“No, I didn’t,” came the equally sharp response.
“Why am I getting calls from a reporter who’s asking a lot of questions about the father of your client’s baby?”
“A reporter from Scandals Magazine?”
“See—you know about it.”
“I never said I didn’t know about it; I said I didn’t do it.”
“So how does he know to even connect your client to mine?”
“People talk.”
“People talk?” Liam was flabbergasted. “That’s all you have?”
“It happens every day. A woman talks to her best friend, her mom, her hairstylist, and then things get around.”
There was a pause. “You’re saying your client’s hairstylist went to the press?”
“No, I’m saying I didn’t. I’m saying we still want to find a win-win situation for everyone.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’ve shut it down, okay? I told you we weren’t going to the press, we didn’t, and right now my firm is working hard to stop this. For now.”
There was another pause, and then Liam couldn’t help but chuckle in disbelief at her unmitigated gall. “For now,” he repeated.
“I can’t guarantee there won’t be a press strategy ever.”
“Of course not,” he interrupted, not hiding his sarcasm.
“But there’s not now. Win-win. Please let your client know.”
“I will,” Liam answered with a sigh. “Spencer…” His voice dropped a little huskier, a little more intimate. “Scandals Magazine isn’t your style.”
“No, it’s not.”
There was silence on the line. Liam flexed his hand, watching the Big 12 championship ring sparkle as he did. How in the hell was he supposed to handle this? Every muscle in his body tensed, ready for action, for war. But the sound of her pleas melted something inside his chest. As stupid as it was, Liam wanted to believe her. As much as he hated to admit it, she’d been right at the restaurant—they were opponents. His reaction to the reporter’s call had proven that. Leave it on the field, Connelly. Could he do that now? Or maybe he just couldn’t stay away from Spencer.
It was a first. And it wasn’t smart. Surrendering to her meant saying yes to her client’s paternity test. Then the floodgates were open. And he’d be the drowned, lovestruck dumbass, representing minor league badminton players instead of first round NFL Draft picks.
He made his decision. They were done. He was going to hang up this phone, put an “L” in the Spencer Hightower column, and move on. No woman was worth his career.
Then she asked, “How’s the house?”
It took Liam a second to remember. “It’s new. I’m a guy and there’s a bunch of boxes. JT said I need to decorate or something.”
“JT would know.” God help him, he loved that wry note in her voice.
“He said beige always works.”
There was a labored sigh on the other end of the line. “Please don’t listen to JT. If you need decorating advice, I can help.” She paused. “You could even call it a second date.”
Well, hell. How could he pass this up?
“Tonight?” He suggested, and then she agreed. For better or for worse, he’d just won a second date.
Chapter Seventeen
As soon as Liam gave her directions to his new house Spencer’s palms grew sweaty. Her heart rate went up to a thousand beats a second. She’d never acted this way before about a second date. Second dates were par for the course. Routine. Expected. Another dinner, more polite conversation, maybe some fooling around. Been there, done that, a thousand times. Okay, maybe a hundred. Fifty.
And it wasn’t even a second date, officially. All of her resolutions to stay away, to create distance between their personal and professional goals, had just fizzled into nothing as soon as he had lowered his voice and talked to her about a paint color, of all things.
So she drove herself to his new house. This way, she had an out if things grew intense. If she couldn’t stop herself from wanting to see him, the most she could do was give herself opportunities to control the situation.
His new house was easy to find, in one of the most charming neighborhoods of Dallas, filled with wide streets, large trees, and early twentieth century homes. Yards were littered with swings and tricycles, signs supporting city council races and the local schools.
Approaching from the sidewalk, Spencer loved Liam’s home at first sight. A hybrid of Tudor and Spanish styles, it was well-kept and lovely. The lights on the porch showed a hanging swing and it made Spencer remember their first kiss, at the Buchanan pool. She had a flash of how nice it would be, to sit with Liam on that swing in the evenings as the street lights flickered on, waving at the neighbors walking their dogs, chasing after their kids on bikes.
Spencer knocked on the door. A few minutes passed. She knocked again. She was just about to leave when Liam finally answered.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, I have a ton of splotches and I have no idea what to do with them.”
Typical.
Spencer cocked her head. “Splotches?” She wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. He nodded with confidence. It appeared she had. “That sounds…personal.”
“Lane brought them over. Zach’s exgirlfriend? Or was that Liddy?” Liam led Spencer through the house into the kitchen. It was clear he had just moved in, as there were stacks of brown cardboard boxes in each room.
Spencer laughed, seeing the sample books on Liam’s counter. “I think Zach’s been with both of them,” she said. “But Lane is the interior decorator. And these are swatches.” She enunciated the word clearly and slowly, enjoying the confusion that washed over Liam’s face. He didn’t seem to see the problem.
“Swatches,” Spencer repeated, “are something the decorator gives you. Splotches are something the doctor gives you a prescription for.”
As his understanding grew, Liam laughed at himself. “Okay, this is why I need you.”
Warmth spread over her at his words. His clueless maleness was charming and strangely irresistible. She reached for the sample books as the doorbell rang.
When Liam returned with a steaming pizza box, his kitchen counter was hidden under the swatches and paint color squares Spencer had spread out in a fan position.
“Who picked out all the stuff at your house?” he asked, carefully placing the pizza box on a section of countertop that was not currently covered in slices of carpet, strips of upholstery, and paint chips.
“I did,” Spencer answered offhandedly, still flipping through a fan of paint colors.
“I loved it.”
The sincerity in his voice almost made her heart stop. Was it the simple compliment? Was it the L-word?
Liam nodded at what Spencer had laid open. “I like that. Let’s do it.”
Spencer’s heart jumped again. She pressed a hand against her chest. Maybe she needed to get it checked out. This irregularity couldn’t be normal. And all because he’d said…
“Let’s do it,” Liam repeated, opening the pizza box. Spencer noted the name of the restaurant on the white cardboard.
“You’ve only been in town for two weeks, and you’ve already found the best in the city,” she observed.
“Absolutely,” Liam said, with a burn in his eyes that did things that would make a cardiologist call for a cart.
“Liam,” she breathed. “What are we doing?”
He handed her a paper plate with a slice of pizza on it. “Having dinner. For now.”
Spencer reached out and took the plate from him. “I thought you said you cooked on the second date.”
Liam screwed up his face. “I know. I don’t even have a place for us to sit.” Spencer pushed a swatch book out of the way and hopped on the counter, surprising him before he continued. “I did want you to see the place.” After taking a bite he paused. “Do you feel deprived of the full second date experience?”
Spencer shook her head. She sat on a kitchen counter top, eating pizza off a paper plate, surrounded by boxes, with barely any furniture in the place, and she was having the time of her life. Maybe she did need to see the doctor. Or maybe it was just this man that screwed up her head and heart so much.
When they finished their slices, Liam grabbed her hand. “Now for the tour. Was I supposed to do that first? Is that proper etiquette?”
At the reminder of etiquette, Spencer apologized. “I should have brought you a housewarming gift.” She did a mental inventory of the space, wondering what he needed. Liam was definitely not a houseplant kind of guy. Maybe he’d like a cactus.
Know When to Hold Him Page 12
