Will peeked over his shoulder at me as a soft swoosh sounded from the coffee machine. Black liquid poured into the Styrofoam cup.
I rolled my eyes at the small smirk that teased his lips. He loved this, and I was about ready to clobber him.
“Maggie, you’re doing the article.” Travis’s voice was thick and powerful. “End of story.”
I rose to my feet and stole the cup of coffee from Will. I needed it more than him. The bitter taste left me wincing. “Here,” I mouthed and shoved it back at Will. I didn’t have any intention of drinking something that tasted like ashes. I’d once dated a smoker in college, and that was enough. No amount of gum or mints killed his ashy breath. It was a shame, though, because up until last night, he’d managed to deliver the most knee-weakening kiss I’d ever had.
But Marco had left that guy in his dust. He’d slayed every kiss I’d ever had . . . but he was a pro-athlete. I’d broken my cardinal rule. If only I had done my homework on him beforehand, or if we had both been open with each other at the bar. Of course, I could understand his rationale for keeping his identity a secret. I got enough grief from people because I interviewed athletes—I bet he was constantly harassed by reporters and paparazzi.
I brushed my fingers over my lips, remembering the kiss. God, he’d lit me on fire.
Of course, once I saw him at the press conference, the fire was extinguished. And fast.
Okay, well, not entirely. If I was being honest.
“Maggie!”
I flinched at Travis’s yell. “I don’t see the point in following Marco around for three weeks if he has no intention of playing this season.”
Silence again.
Will took a seat on the couch and tapped his fingers on his knee, observing me as I moved around the room.
I stopped wearing out the floor as the synapses in my brain began firing—finally. “You knew, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” The word rolled slowly off his tongue.
I rubbed my one free palm against my pants, trying to make sense of the situation. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sending me here for a retirement piece? Why lie? I don’t see the point.” My knees were shaky and I glared at Will, wondering if he’d known the truth all along.
Will flipped his hands palms up and shrugged at me. Mind reader.
“I’m a close friend of Sean Houseman, Marco Valenti’s agent. Sean called me up and asked me for a favor.”
I had a feeling Travis was about to deliver more news to me that I didn’t want to hear. Goose bumps covered my skin as I sat next to Will, my eyes pinned to the floor.
“Sean told me that Marco planned on taking some time off. He’s not sure if it will be permanent or not. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea for his career, and he was hoping we could help him see the light.”
“We?”
“You, I mean.”
My spine rolled at his words. “How in the hell am I supposed to get some soccer player to change his mind? For one thing, I know nothing about soccer. For another, I know nothing about Marco. And, well, it’s just not my business!” I groaned and stood back up, uneasiness trickling through me like water from a leaky faucet.
“That’s one of the reasons I chose you.”
“What?” I gasped.
“Calm down, Maggie. You need to listen to me. This is important.”
I could picture Travis, concern pulling at the lines in his face, his silvery-gray hair parted to the side. His beard would be thick and in need of trimming, his chocolate brown eyes focused through the window, on Central Park across the street.
“Sean’s worried about Marco. He didn’t tell me why Marco is quitting, but he believes it’s the wrong decision. He suggested we write an article on him. Get him to talk about the game, remember his love of it . . . remind him why he plays.” Travis cleared his throat. “You’re the perfect person for the job. Because you don’t know anything about him or the sport, he’ll need to open up more to explain it to you.”
“So, you’re using me to manipulate him?” My mouth remained open, partly in shock, mostly in disgust.
Will’s eyes widened, and I placed Travis on speakerphone so he could listen to the utter bullshit that was spewing from Travis’s mouth.
“You’re the best damn sports writer I’ve ever had at the magazine. You blew me away when you interned a few years back, and I fought like hell to keep you out of the hands of our competitors. The stories you’ve covered ever since . . . you’re a natural. You should write this piece because you’re that good.” He paused. “But I do think you also might be able to encourage Marco to change his mind.”
My hand fisted at my side. “I interview athletes. I’m not a shrink.”
“You could’ve fooled me with some of the articles you’ve written. And since when do you ever bow out from a challenge? You didn’t earn the nickname Lois—”
“Why do you care?” I cut him off.
“I care because Sean is a friend of mine. He called in a favor, and I’d like to deliver.”
“I’m sure the man has his reasons for quitting.” Normally I’d be raring to get to the bottom of it, but the kiss . . . did that change my responsibilities, the ethics of the situation? “I’ll do my job like always, but I’m not about to trick him into anything.”
Especially if I couldn’t get Marco to talk to me.
Will trained his eyes on mine, giving me the confidence I needed to stand my ground.
“Maggie, I’ll give you this year’s Super Bowl story.”
I blinked a few times as I replayed his statement in my head, unsure if I’d heard him right. “Excuse me—what?” I almost choked on the words.
“If you get Marco to change his mind and play again, I’ll let you cover the Super Bowl.”
I covered my face with my hand. Was he serious? The Super Bowl was all I’d ever wanted since I started this job. He knew it was my weakness.
“No,” I finally said, and my hand fell back to my side.
“No?” Travis challenged. “What do you mean, ‘no?’”
I inhaled a sharp breath and released it. “I’ll do my job. I’ll interview Marco. I’ll follow him around or whatever the hell I’m supposed to do. But I’m not playing any games. I’ll get the Super Bowl story because I deserve it, not because I did some underhanded, sneaky shit.”
My heart settled at the base of my throat, and I wondered if I’d be sick. I swayed on my feet a little, nervous energy coiling inside me. “If the story is about his retirement, then that’s what it will be about,” I added with a bite to my voice.
A grumbling noise sounded through the line, followed by, “Fine.” Another loud crackle, from a deep, blown out breath. “I’m just asking you to do your job. And if he happens to change his mind, then so be it.”
I frowned and looked at Will.
“Do we need to be here for three weeks, then? I can easily finish in a week. Plus, if Marco doesn’t plan on playing anymore, then why do I need to go to the opening game?”
“Because then it will be final. Will can snap some photos of the Stadio Olimpico, with Marco not there for the first time in years. He’s a hero to the people of the city. The crowd will be devastated without him in in the game.”
Great. A sob story.
Although I’d rather write a mourning piece than influence Marco’s decision. Getting an athlete to open up and reveal their secrets was no problem for me, but career manipulation went way beyond my personal code of ethics.
“I want you to head over to our sister office in Rome while you’re there. Meet with Francesca, the chief editor. She’ll help you out and provide whatever else you might need for the story.”
“Fine.”
“There’s one more thing,” Travis dragged the words from his mouth, and my shoulders shrank. I couldn’t handle anymore from him. It was hard enough that he’d wanted to use me—and bribe me, no less. And I’d always admired him . . .
“Well,” he started, then punched the wo
rds out in a harsh, grating voice, “Marco has no idea about the article.”
Three
Tiny, fiery balls bounced around my stomach. It wasn’t heartburn, despite the fact that I’d shoved some delicious Italian pizza in my mouth a few hours earlier. No, it was my damn nerves.
Will’s hand was on my arm, and I shifted my attention up and to his eyes. “It’s fine, Mags. No worries. It’s just dinner. He may not even show.”
I couldn’t quite make up my mind if I even wanted him to show up. A part of me was dying to see him again, while the other half of me wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground.
Will raised his fist before the bronzed apartment door.
“No, wait!” I pulled his arm back down. “I can’t do this. I don’t think—”
Will cocked his head at the sound of the lock turning and raced a hand over his short, dark hair. “Too late. Must have heard us,” he whispered into my ear, sending a new wave of panic through my body.
“Thank you so much for coming.” Sean Houseman stood alongside his beautiful girlfriend. She was a tall and striking brunette with almond-shaped, blue eyes. Her lips hatched into a smile as she extended her hand.
“I’m Lori. So nice to meet you.”
I shook her hand and smiled. I hadn’t been sure what to expect, but I didn’t anticipate I’d be standing in front of two twenty or thirty-something-year-old British folks who looked like they’d stepped off the covers of Cosmo and GQ.
“You have a nice spot here,” Will said after shaking Lori’s hand.
“Thanks.” Sean stepped back and allowed us entrance to their home.
Sean flashed his teeth my direction. He was handsome. I mean, he wasn’t Marco Valenti handsome—but he was Bradley Cooper handsome. Dirty blonde hair and blue eyes that cut right through you.
I cleared my throat and gripped the strap of my Italian leather handbag—no, it wasn’t a Louis. It was a little cheaper. Okay, a lot cheaper. To be honest, it wasn’t exactly real.
“Did you tell Marco we’d be here?” My voice sounded pathetic as I followed the Hollywood couple down the narrow hall, which was lined with images of Catholic holy figures alongside framed photos of soccer players. Of course one of them was Marco Valenti. He was in the air with his leg out in front of him kicking a ball, looking like he had ninja skills on top of a great body.
I paused in front of the photo for a second, unable to take my eyes off him. His semi-long dark hair was slicked back from sweat, but it was his tanned and muscular legs that made me falter.
“I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell him. In fact, I still haven’t told him about the magazine article. He’s already a little upset with me, and I was worried he wouldn’t show for dinner if I mentioned you,” Sean answered, his voice echoing as the group drifted farther away. I got my legs moving and entered the brightly lit kitchen.
Lori smiled at me and reached for a checkered apron, slinging the strap around her neck. “Marc will show.” She shook her head at Sean. “He knows I’d kill him if he stood up my cooking.”
I faked a laugh because everyone else broke into a smile, but God if my heart didn’t thunder obnoxiously in my chest at the idea of eating with Marco. Could I slurp spaghetti or whatever in front of him?
Oh, hell no.
“Why’s Marco mad at you?” Will propped his hip against the kitchen table.
Sean lifted his shoulders, cringing under Lori’s glare as she turned away from the boiling pot of water. “Because I’m insisting he doesn’t quit.” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and handed one to Will. “Beer or wine?”
“Wine. Thanks.” I needed something to take the edge off. Of course, alcohol had gotten me in trouble the last time I was around Marco. Well, maybe it wasn’t fair to blame the alcohol entirely, but the only other explanation was that I’d lost my damn mind.
I came up next to Lori as Sean uncorked a bottle of red. “Do you need any help?” I decided to dodge my normal inclination to press Sean for more information.
“Sure. You can help me slice the onions for the sauce,” Lori responded.
The cutting board was on the counter with a sharp knife and two yellow onions. I washed my hands and preemptively narrowed my eyes against the tears that I knew would soon spring to life. “I don’t agree with the plan, by the way,” I said while slicing the first onion in half.
“What she means is that she’ll write a great story about Valenti’s career, and if it happens to be a retirement piece . . .” Will explained.
“Maybe he’ll change his mind, but for now, let’s keep that hope between us,” Sean agreed.
The ringing of the bell caused me to flinch, and a sudden pain shot into my finger. I reacted slowly, shocked at first at the sight of the blood. I stared, watching the blood trickle onto the onion. Then I dropped the knife and pulled my hand to my chest. “Shit.”
Sean had already disappeared from the kitchen, but Will and Lori came to my side.
“Are you okay, Mags?” Will reached for my hand as Lori ducked away. She came back with some ointment and a bandage.
“What’s going on?” Sean strode quickly over when he returned to the kitchen.
“Just cut . . .” The words died on my tongue when I saw Marco standing in the doorway. His mouth was tight in disapproval, but there was a warmth in his eyes I hadn’t expected to see.
He squinted at me, and I forgot all about the pain. I could only focus on Mr. Tall D. Handsome. “Are you okay?” he asked, moving with slow steps toward me.
I released a breath and looked down at my hand. Marco took it into his own, studying it.
“It’s a small cut. We should get some cold water on it,” Lori suggested.
I gulped, pulled my hand free from Marco’s, and turned toward the sink. Lori already had the water running.
I breathed a sigh of relief once the blood was washed clean. The cut didn’t look too bad. If only I could so easily wash away the memory of the other night with Marco . . .
“Why is she here?” Marco asked.
“I invited her,” Sean answered without hesitation. “I’m the reason why Maggie’s in Italy, Marco. I asked her and Will to cover your retirement.”
“Merda,” Marco accused.
There was that word again. Why did I seem to attract it from him? What was it about me that made him say, “Shit”?
I groaned on the inside.
Lori pressed a paper towel to the cut, and Sean offered me the wine glass I had set down next to the cutting board. “Drink,” he commanded.
My brows pulled together as I dragged my gaze up. Marco was back near the kitchen door frame, and I wondered if he was planning an escape. He was looking down at the floor, which gave me a chance to study him, unobserved.
He was dressed in fitted jeans and a navy, long-sleeved shirt. I noticed a black leather band wrapped around his wrist before he shoved both hands through his thick wavy hair. Then his eyes lifted, and he caught me gaping at him. I immediately looked away and brought the red liquid to my mouth, allowing the blackberry flavor to warm my throat and chest.
Lori lifted the paper towel from my hand, and we both observed that the blood had slowed. “Good.” She slathered on ointment and slapped the bandage over the cut. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she announced shortly after. “We’ll be skipping the onions in the sauce tonight.” She looked back at me with a wink.
“I’m so sorry.” Humiliation burned my face as I found a seat at the table next to Will. He was observing me with mild amusement, and I wondered if he knew that my heart was beating faster than horse hooves at the Kentucky Derby. But did he know why? No—only Marco and I knew about the kiss.
“I should leave,” Marco said as Sean thrust a beer his direction.
Sean shook his head and pointed to the table. “Sit,” he ordered. Would that work?
Marco glared at Sean, but then Lori came up next to him. “Please, Marc,” she coaxed.
His chest rose and fell in one, lon
g breath. “For you, I will.” He rolled his eyes and sat at the table directly across from me.
I averted my attention to my empty plate and reached for the fork, rolling it between my fingers.
“There will be no story,” Marco—or maybe he preferred Marc—said after a few awkward minutes ticked by.
Lori had already served us pasta and salad, but I had yet to feel confident that I could swallow anything I put into my mouth. My finger still hurt, and I was too damn nervous.
A small part of me was sneering with disgust at my meekness. I’d sat at the dinner table with some pretty notorious NFL quarterbacks and their supermodel wives, and I’d never so much as experienced the flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach.
Tonight, my stomach felt filled with lead, and my throat as well. It was a miracle I could even breathe.
“Marc, let’s have dinner. We can talk business later.” Sean raised his beer bottle in the air. “Salute,” he said while clinking the bottle with Lori’s glass and Will’s beer.
“Cheers,” Lori responded.
Lifting my glass, I brought it to meet Sean’s, Will’s, and Lori’s. Marco finally held his bottle out. His eyes caged me in his gaze as his beer touched my glass.
“Salute.” His voice was about one octave above a whisper, as if the word had gotten stuck in his throat. The rim of the bottle touched his lips, but he kept his steely gray eyes locked on mine.
Thick waves of tension hammered the air between us.
Will nudged my side and I shook my head, freeing myself of the Italian’s spell. “Dinner is amazing. Thank you,” Will said.
I pulled a few threads of pasta between my lips and found myself chewing. “Yes,” I agreed.
“What brought you two to Italy?” Will asked. I kept my eyes lowered on my food for a few beats longer, afraid to look up at Marco.
“Sean has been representing Marc, exclusively, for years now. Marc keeps him busy enough that he doesn’t have time for anyone else, huh?” Lori answered.
No wonder Sean was pushing for Marco to change his mind. Without Marco, he was out of a job.
Forever Rome (Forever #1) Page 3
