Franklin Mahoney was on his way over to her. For the ten thousandth time, she smiled sweetly at an old man. She’d learned the power of that act from a very early age. Coming from a pretty girl? No man could resist.
Franklin Mahoney was no exception. “You must be bored out of your mind,” Franklin was the very picture of a concerned gentleman. “I’m so sorry I had to leave earlier.”
“That’s fine. Just had some very interesting conversations about the Draft. I never knew it was so complicated to select football players! And so political! My father would be out of his league here!”
Franklin chuckled. “It is. It is.”
“But you have the first pick, right?” Spencer asked. “So all the talk shouldn’t matter to you! What a great situation to be in.”
Franklin may have been pushing eighty, but he was sharp and his hearing was just fine. “What talk? What have you heard?”
Spencer took a sip of her drink. She had switched to club soda with a twist about four conversations ago. She couldn’t afford to let alcohol affect her game. “I keep hearing the name Troy Duncan…”
“The quarterback from Dallas State?” Mahoney clarified. “The one with the three thousand yards last season?”
“Oh, gosh, I don’t know about all that. But what I do know is, if what I’m hearing about this man’s character and work ethic are true? Well, you can’t buy yourself that kind of good publicity. In my line of work, that’s what we call a good investment.”
Mahoney stared at her with a glint in his eye. “You didn’t steer me wrong with the Stadium. All those folks told me, go ahead, Franklin, just buy the land, you can do what you want with it. But you. You were the only one who recognized what the neighborhood was going to do. What the press was going to do.”
“Franklin…” Spencer sat back in her chair. “Like I said, I don’t know anything about football. You have lots of people on the payroll who can tell you about touchdowns and interceptions.”
As canny as ever, Mahoney shook a finger at her. “So why are you here, Ms. Hightower? If you don’t know so much about football?”
Spencer leaned over the table and spoke in a confidential tone. “Just between you and me?” Franklin nodded, sealing the conspiracy. Spencer glanced around. “I have a pregnant client, and the presumed father is here.”
Chuckling, Mahoney sat back. “With you on the case? I feel sorry for that poor bastard. But around here, he’s just part of the club.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Liam stepped outside the busy ballroom to take the call. “Liam Connelly.”
“Mr. Connelly? Um, hi, I was supposed to call Jared? But the secretary gave me your number? When Jared didn’t pick up?”
Liam scowled at the crowded hotel lobby, people surrounding him. Why was he taking Jared’s calls? Where was his intern? He’d better be keeping his eyes on a gorgeous troublemaker named Spencer. “Yeah. Who is this?”
“Um, my name is Maddie? I work at the Dallas State athletic department? Jared asked me to call him if anything weird happened around there.”
Liam’s annoyance snapped to a full attention. “What’s up, Maddie?”
Maddie reported, in a youthful, hesitant voice, that six tailgate spots had been reserved outside the athletic department. During baseball season. When the baseball team was away.
“Do your alumni normally have big tailgates for baseball games?” Liam asked.
“Not when the team’s in Alabama,” Maddie said.
“Maddie,” Liam used the girl’s name in a friendly, soothing way. “Can you tell me what the woman looked like? The one who made the reservation?”
“Yeah…um…she was really pretty, but kinda weird.”
“Weird?” Liam repeated.
“She had some purple hair. And an earring in her nose. I mean, it’s fine if it’s her religion and all.”
Liam threw his head back. He knew one woman in Dallas with purple hair and a pierced nose with an above average interest in getting a big crowd in front of the Dallas State athletic building. And she worked for Spencer Hightower. He thanked Maddie sincerely and hung up, immediately texting Jared. He needed a Spencer update. Stat.
…
Liam opened the hotel room door for Jared and a lean dark haired man.
Liam held out his hand. “It’s George, right?”
The man shook Liam’s hand. “George Clayton. I work in Senator Hightower’s office.”
George Clayton was the last person he’d expected when Jared had told him that he’d had a surprise meeting. Liam appraised the politician. Thin, straight, and hard-edged, George was like a ruler. Something about George made one realize he probably hit as hard as a ruler, too.
“Does Spencer know you’re here?”
George seemed surprised by the question. “No, I wouldn’t think so.”
Liam leaned back in his seat. “So? What brings you to the NFL Draft? You didn’t just wander in from off the street.”
Even George’s smile was hard and straight. “No, no. I don’t wander, generally. I had some business in New York, and the Senator and I agreed I should check in on Troy. The Senator was very impressed with him the other night. He thinks Troy has a bright future…”
Possessiveness washed over him. “Troy’s in good hands.”
“Of course he is. But there’s the Dalynn Kay situation.”
Liam didn’t blink. “What’s that?” He fought the urge to glance at Jared. If the kid had opened his big mouth, Jared’s chances at OPM were nothing. His connected father meant nothing.
“The pregnant woman in the hotel? The one Spencer is representing.”
“And how do you know about this…situation?”
George held up his hands, as if to show that his were clean. It was a gesture Liam didn’t trust. “Not Spencer, if that’s what you’re thinking. She wouldn’t divulge such a thing to me. See, she learned everything she knows from the best. Me.” He looked smug. “It only took a few calls, once I knew that Hightower & Associates was keeping her at the Crescent, to find out Dalynn’s connection to Troy. Plus, Spencer did plant the stories in the tabloids. And you know how women can’t help but tell their whole life stories to their hairdressers.”
Liam leaned over, resting his forearms on his knees, hands clasped together. “Let’s just show our cards, George. Put it on the table.”
George nodded, agreeing to the gambit. “Troy Duncan is poised to be a very rare thing in today’s society. A true American hero. A leader on the field and in public opinion. Senator Hightower wants to see that potential managed properly.”
“Senator Hightower wants a piece of Troy.”
George cocked his head. “We wouldn’t say that in politics. It’s a bit crass.”
Liam shrugged. “Hightower wants an endorsement.”
“It’s a win-win. Endorsements. Trips to the White House. American flags, apple pie. Football. It all goes together, in a nice red, white, and blue package.” George’s dark eyes shone with the possibilities.
Liam only heard the phrase “win-win.” One of Spencer’s favorites, as well. What would she think of George’s offers? “But we have a Dalynn Kay situation,” Liam concluded, leaning back in his chair, opening his body language by throwing an arm on the back of the chair. It was a position of casual, cool confidence. Guaranteed to make the other guy feel at ease.
“You do,” George agreed. “And Spencer has spent the day pulling strings and whispering in ears, all in order to ruin Troy’s chances at anything lucrative or high profile.”
Liam nodded at Jared then, giving him permission to chime in. “She spent the morning at the owners’ lounge.” Jared listed the owners, coaches, and trainers Spencer had met with. “Including Franklin Mahoney. And he’s got the first round pick.”
“Spencer has Mahoney’s ear for sure. She helped him with the San Antonio stadium construction,” George added. “She flew to New York in his private plane.”
Liam felt like he’d swallow
ed a lead brick. She hadn’t told him that. What else wasn’t she telling him? If all this was true, she’d been plotting against Troy’s chances, the day after they’d slept together. He’d told her he hadn’t expected her to back down but what a reality check. Spencer was playing for keeps. For contracts. A bad pick in the Draft wouldn’t ruin Troy’s career, but it could damper it, forever. And his career right along with it. She had to realize that, right?
Maybe she did.
Liam shook his head. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would she be doing this? She’s given me an ultimatum for the paternity test. She doesn’t need to ruin Troy’s chances.”
“It’s what we do in politics. We don’t just win. We bury the other guy. We pull out every skeleton, every secret mistress, every misspelled term paper, every undocumented gardener. We leave nothing to chance. We make sure the opponent goes down and doesn’t rise from the ashes in four years.”
“There’s no proof that Troy’s the father.” What George was saying didn’t mesh with the Spencer that Liam knew. That she’d ruin a man’s career just in case…just because she could.
George tilted his head. “Does he have to be?”
“If Dalynn wants child support.” Liam was blunt, but George’s skeptical expression remained. “What are you saying? That we pay off Dalynn no matter if he’s the father of her baby?”
“It’s a way for the problem to go away.” George’s even voice didn’t help the anger that rose in Liam’s chest at the suggestion.
“Is that what you do in politics?” Liam asked.
“You mean, is that what Spencer is doing?”
Liam hedged. Something told him that George, as influential as he may have been in Spencer’s family, didn’t necessarily know everything about her tactics. “Let’s put it this way,” Liam finally said. “What would be your next step, if you were me?”
The glint that glimmered in George’s eyes alarmed him. “I bury the bodies.”
“You’d give in to a paternity test.”
George made a dismissive noise. “I would prefer not to. Less of a paper trail.”
Liam leaned forward again, forearms on his knees, fingers laced. “Direct deposit, then?”
George mirrored the position. “Cash. Again, no paper trail.”
“And then what? What stops the laundry from being aired?”
George tilted his head toward Jared. “I hear you have done some research.”
Jared sat a little taller when Liam glanced over at him. “And?” Liam asked, with a bad feeling about where George was headed with this.
“In a situation like this, both sides have dirty laundry. It’s only fair that Troy gets a chance to even the playing field.”
“Talking trash about a pregnant mother? That’s how you do it in politics?” Liam asked, with a bitter taste in his mouth.
George cocked his head. “That’s how you win.” He checked his phone. “I have an appointment with the Pastor.”
Liam fought to keep a grimace off his face. “He’s in Troy’s suite.”
George lifted his phone as if he already had that information inputted.
Liam shook George’s hand, and he couldn’t shake the idea he had made some kind of deal with the devil. The door clicked behind Senator Hightower’s chief of staff and Liam turned on Jared. “What have you done?”
Jared looked cocky. Confident. Of course, he’d been copying Liam for the past few weeks. “He came to me, in the bar. I didn’t even know who he was.”
“What research? What was he talking about?”
Jared brightened. “Like you said, boss. We research the competition. So we’re prepared to talk to anyone.”
“So you…”
“Researched Dalynn Kay.” Jared was almost dancing. “I got the dirt.” He went on to list her secrets, the other players on the team she’d been seen with, the arrest for drunk driving, being thrown out of her sorority.
Liam couldn’t get any satisfaction at the news. Because, now, he felt downright dirty. The pregnant exgirlfriend of his client had dirty laundry-so what? Who didn’t? But it was a roller coaster of scandal that he was riding, and he wasn’t sure that anything could stop it.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A good workout always helped take off the edge for Liam. He knew the hotel gym would be packed. It was the NFL Draft, after all.
He thought he’d squeeze in on the machines, work in a few sets. NFL players, past, present, and future, knew how to share. But when he arrived at the large hotel gym, Liam knew he did not want to share.
Ever.
On a treadmill, reflected in every mirror in the damn place, was Spencer, in a white workout jacket and black leggings that showed off every perfect inch, every perfect curve. Her ponytail bounced with her running strides, as if any of the men in the room needed a reason to leer at his perfect woman.
She was the only woman in the room. Looking like heaven. Looking like she didn’t give a damn.
Fierce, ferocious, and fast.
He stood behind a neighboring treadmill, arms crossed like the caveman Spencer accused him of being until the guy using it realized he didn’t need to run, after all. Liam took possession of the treadmill and stood stone still for a moment, watching Spencer in the reflection of the large mirror covering the entire length of the wall. He got a quick, impassive glance. The woman was a warrior. This was no surprise.
With a force that shook the treadmill’s digital display, he punched in a number and gradually increased his speed until his matched Spencer’s. If you’re running next to someone, that automatically makes it a race. And he wanted to be neck and neck with Spencer.
Still, she didn’t spare him a second glance. It was frustrating, but he remembered how angry she’d been the day before, when he’d pulled her out of the bar in front of potential clients. And their ground rule number one. Leave it in the bedroom. So he didn’t say anything, respecting the new rules they were living with. For five long minutes, they ran in silence, their shoes hitting the deck at exactly the same tempo.
One, two, three, four. Left, right, left, right. Liam used the mirror to survey the room. He knew a fair number of guys in here, either through his football days or through his agent position. With a sharp eye, he zeroed in on the players. The ones who had a girlfriend after every game, in every town, and didn’t repeat names. Liam made mental notes. The ones who weren’t watching Spencer could live. The ones who were glancing up at her rear between sets were going to have to answer to him. Unfortunately, that meant a lot of bodies would not be showing up at the Draft. Oh, well. Liam cracked his neck.
Then he noticed. The tempo was off. His steps and Spencer’s were no longer in unison. Liam glanced at her display. She had upped her speed. His fingers reached for the button and the steps were in sync again.
In another three minutes, she did it again. Now he knew she was doing this on purpose. To kick his ass. To win the race. Did she know who she was dealing with? Faster, but nothing he couldn’t handle. In fact, peeking at her screen, he was surprised she was handling it so easy. She’d been running for thirty minutes longer than he. Liam knew he’d win this race. She’d tire out and he’d stop, get her a towel, and a cool bottle of water. He’d let her get her breath back. She would pat her warm, damp body with the towel, press the cool water to her flushed neck, letting small drops of condensation fall down her collarbone, down into her running top.
A sound jarred him. The tempo was off again. She was running faster, sprinting almost. Well, he could sprint, too. Then he matched her again, stride for stride, arms pumping, breathing hard.
At this speed, he had to concentrate now. It wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t easy. After all, he hadn’t played pro ball in almost eight years. His two-a-days were long behind him. And there was a gym full of his past, present, and future competition that would notice a lithe, beautiful blonde outpacing him. Liam set his mind to winning and willed his body to keep the pace.
He was so engrossed in his
task, when Spencer suddenly stopped running, the surprise nearly threw him off his rhythm. Liam had to keep going, for another few minutes at least. Momentum and pride demanded it. But he could watch her, as she went and picked up a towel. The cold bottle of water. A tall, dark haired man said something to her and she smiled. Liam could tell it was an automatic, polite kind of response. But the tall, dark haired man made Liam’s to-be-strangled list anyway.
When she wasn’t looking—and she wasn’t, but again, pride demanded that he make sure—Liam adjusted the speed slightly to a less breakneck pace. It was because he wanted to watch her, he had to admit to himself. He couldn’t concentrate on her and break a world land speed record. That was just ridiculous.
Spencer found a quiet spot to cool down. Good, she was alone. Liam watched her and tried to get himself together, running through his script in his head. He would say, “Hey Spencer, good game.” Good game? What was this? The NFL West playoff? But that’s what it was like. They’d both played their hardest, done their best. And the clock had run out. Time. The scoreboard spoke for itself.
Spencer zipped off her running jacket, wearing only a tank top and leggings. Then she was stretching. Simultaneously, both Liam’s brain and cock snapped to attention as she reached her arms behind her, linked her fingers, and pulled back, the action causing her breasts to jut forward, making his mouth water with memories of the night before.
Liam’s toe caught and he tripped slightly, only saved from a complete fall by quick reflexes honed by years of agility training. He caught his tempo again, and his attention immediately returned to Spencer, who had released her hands, thank Heaven.
She pulled one heel to her ass, stretching her quad and hip, and then the other heel. Liam tried not to notice the way the fabric pulled across her low belly, exposing a thin line of taut, smooth skin. She released her heels and shook her body loose, emphasizing her long, flexible limbs. Then she turned away from him and gripped each elbow with her opposite hand. In a languid move, Spencer’s head fell forward to the ground. Her legs were in a wide stance, and her ass was pressed high up in the air. It was a normal stretch to any other athlete in the room.
Know When to Hold Him Page 20
