Playing to Win

by Sami Lee

  Abbi snatched up her phone and called Sam’s number. “Come on, pick up,” she urged to no avail. The call went to through to his answering service. Was he simply busy or had he read the article and ignored her call because he was furious?

  Abbi’s heart squeezed as she hung up the phone. Sam had told her something in confidence and then two days later that very information appears in The Herald. There was no way Sam was going to believe she hadn’t leaked the story. And he’d hate her for it, especially after the way Tiffani had used the media against him. He’d think she was doing the same thing.

  The granola Abbi had eaten for breakfast swirled unpleasantly in her stomach, and all her excited anticipation over spending the evening with Sam evaporated. This was it. Part of her had been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since she’d started sleeping with Sam. This article was the shoe. Or more like a closet full of heavy winter boots.

  She was going to lose him over this.

  Eyes stinging, Abbi struggled to pull herself together. She couldn’t afford to cry right now, she still had a job to do. She had to go see Larry. Abbi swayed as she stood, realizing now how her boss’s summons and Madeline’s email were related. Larry must have worked out she was not responsible for the story, and he was going to wonder why she hadn’t done her damned job.

  “Well, this is a fine pickle you’re in, Abbi.” She pressed at the corners of her eyes with her fingers, trying to stem the tears that threatened to flow. Then she stepped out of her office.

  And saw Sam Cormack heading towards her like the hounds of hell were on his heels.

  Abbi’s stomach dropped even as her heart rejoiced instinctively at seeing him. The joy was quashed immediately when she registered how angry he looked. He was stalking past desks, making heads turn in shock. The set of his shoulders was tense and his perennial smile was nowhere to be seen.

  In his hand, he held the newspaper.

  Oh God, Abbi thought, please let him believe it wasn’t me. After all the wariness and caution, after all the times she’d told herself it wouldn’t work out with Sam so she shouldn’t get too attached, she was devastated now that she knew she might lose him. Her shields hadn’t worked. Having Sam hate her was going to be an agony like she’d never known.

  Frozen in place, Abbi opened her mouth, ready to plead her case even if it was hopeless. She had to at least try. But her explanations died in her throat when Sam stormed right past her, as though he hadn’t seen her, and made a beeline for Larry’s office.

  Sam bypassed Larry’s stammering secretary and shoved open the man’s office door so hard the knob slammed against the wall with a crash. The sound of paper landing on wood followed. “What is this bullshit?”

  At Sam’s roared demand, everyone in the office went stock still and silent. Phones were replaced in their cradles as people hung up on callers in favor of watching the disastrous scene unfold. Abbi stood where she was, as shocked into silence as everyone else.

  Larry’s answering remark was surprisingly calm. “It’s a story about your efforts in philanthropy.”

  “It sure the fuck is. And you planted it, didn’t you?”

  “I believe it was Holly’s mother who contacted the journalist. She guessed who her anonymous benefactor was and she thought it simply wasn’t right that you weren’t being recognized.”

  “Bullshit,” Sam objected.

  “It’s true. The journalist called here asking for a confirmation.”

  “Which you gave.” There was a rustle of paper as Sam quoted, “A source at Cormack’s publicity company confirmed, blah blah blah.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? It’s great PR material. If it turned out to be untrue, you’d still benefit from the halo effect of the initial story.” Larry paused, his voice turning amazed. “But it is true, isn’t it? You gave a perfect stranger two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and you don’t want anyone to know. Christ. Now I’ve heard everything.”

  Abbi listened with only half an ear as Sam went on a tirade about journalists and dodgy stories and how nobody did anything for the right reasons anymore. All the while, she was moving forward, her feet carrying her to Larry’s office without her express permission. Carrying her towards Sam’s voice.

  “Abbi gets it. She knows what’s important,” Sam was saying as Abbi approached the open door. Her heart thundered. Her mouth dried out.

  Abbi gets it.

  Sam hadn’t jumped to the logical conclusion that she had leaked the story, as she’d expected. He’d gone straight to Larry. Had he lost faith in her for even a moment?

  “What I want to know is,” Larry began, his tone turning menacing, “if your publicist, the one I’m paying to improve your image, knew about this, why didn’t she contact the press to begin with?”

  “Because I asked her not to, and her word means something,” Sam said. “Because she’s a good person who didn’t take a photo of me with Holly the first day I sat with her, like she could have done.”

  Abbi’s heart stopped beating. Had he seen her reach into her handbag for her phone that day?

  “Because she respected my wishes as her client, which is what every guy wants in a publicist, so if you even think about reprimanding her, I’ll find some way to fuck up your business. I swear to God, I will.”

  Sam’s threat stunned a gasp out of Abbi, which had both men turning in her direction. Abbi sensed Larry’s displeasure, but she didn’t bother to look at his expression to confirm it. She only had eyes for Sam.

  Sam, who trusted her implicitly in spite of evidence to the contrary. Sam, who wanted a relationship with her, not just a fling. Sam, who was impulsive and hot-headed, but not in the least emotionally stunted. She was looking at a man who had faith in her, in them.

  The least she could do was give him the same in return.

  “I kept Sam’s secret because I knew it was the right thing to do,” Abbi said, a sense of peace washing over her. “And because I’m crazy in love with him. There’s that too.”

  Sam’s expression blanked, as though he couldn’t quite process what she’d said. Abbi cleared her throat, really praying she hadn’t made a tactical relationship error by introducing the L word way too soon. “You don’t have to say anything—”

  “Like hell I don’t,” Sam interrupted. He stalked towards her and lifted her effortlessly into his arms. He looked down at her with wonder and gratitude and fiery passion in his blue eyes. “Because I’m crazy in love with you too, beautiful.”

  Then he kissed her, and the whole world melted away.

  *

  Well, it melted away for a few seconds, a few glorious, heart-lifting seconds while Sam kissed the life out of her. Then Larry cleared his throat pointedly and the two of them reluctantly broke their lip lock. Sam sighed and the breath he exhaled shuddered over Abbi’s cheek. “Holy snapping duck shit, Abs. You’ve made me the happiest man in Florida.”

  “Ditto.” Abbi laughed. “To all of it except the man thing. I’ll even agree to the duck-poop reference, whatever that means.”

  “It’s an exclamation of surprise. In this case, an ecstatic one.” Sam smiled at her and he really did look like the happiest man in Florida. “I was beginning to think you’d never get the L word out.”

  “And I was sure you’d think I blabbed about Holly to the paper.”

  “Nah.” Sam’s smile turned rueful. “Okay, I might have entertained the possibility for eight and a half seconds, but then I knew there had to be another explanation.”

  Larry cleared his throat again. “What I’d like is an explanation for this. The fact you hid this story is bad enough, Abbi, but to find out you’re sleeping with your client… I’m very disappointed. I appear to be the only one here who’s not happy.”

  Keeping one arm wrapped around Abbi, Sam turned towards Larry. “This was all me. It’s not Abbi’s fault I’m irresistible.”

  Abbi snorted and poked Sam in the ribs. He laughed unrepentantly and nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear until
she giggled like a girl. She was so not behaving professionally, but it was hard to care when her heart was so full. If Larry fired her, she’d just have to find another job. Or a new career. She liked her job, but it wasn’t a calling or anything. She’d land on her feet if she fell. There were plenty of career paths a woman with her skill set could take.

  But there was only one Sam.

  “Would you two stop that,” Larry complained. “You’re making me quite ill. I won’t have your work suffering because you’ve temporarily lost your mind, Abbi. Is that understood?”

  “You mean, I haven’t lost my job?”

  “You would have, if I hadn’t gotten a phone call from Anson Cross yesterday afternoon.” Larry flicked a suspicious look at Sam. “Apparently, he’s in need of a new publicist, and he asked for you by name.”

  “Me?” Abbi turned towards Sam. “Did you have something to do with this?”

  “No.” Despite the denial, Sam was grinning from ear to ear. “It’s a good idea though. Bloody Anson. I’ll owe him now.”

  “Anson Cross is a big name who will really add some cache to our client list,” Larry went on. “So it seems you’re my rainmaker now, Abracadabra.”

  “So it seems.”

  Abbi tried to match Larry’s serious expression, but her cheeks still hurt from smiling. Eventually, her boss seemed to give up and his thunderous frown eased into a reluctant almost-smile. “Go on, you might as well get out of here. Take the rest of the day off. I can see I’m not going to get any sense out of you today.”

  Abbi looked at Sam. They enjoyed their matching grins for a heartbeat or two while Abbi considered turning down her boss’s offer. It would certainly do better for her professional reputation if she stayed.

  Ah screw it, she thought. “Okay, thanks. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “You’d better be.”

  Abbi hardly heard Larry’s words as she and Sam erupted into laughter and all but ran from the building, hand in hand.

  The End

  Preview another book by this author

  Manhandling

  Sami Lee

  Chapter 1

  Men Are Hunters

  It’s okay to call a guy, ladies. We like that. It’s gutsy and shows us that you’re interested. But be careful not to become the pursuer in the relationship. Don’t call too often. Don’t pop in for a visit unless he specifically invites you. Men like to hunt. Let them come after you.

  The refrain from Jake McCallum’s obnoxiously titled book, It’s Not Him—It’s You, danced in Libby Allison’s head, as irritating now as it had been when she’d first read it. Even more irritating considering the fact he’d forced her into doing exactly what his advice warned against. She was about to become a pop-in girl.

  She would have loved it if the reclusive mechanic-turned-dating-guru had pursued her—for professional reasons. She would have been ecstatic if he’d even returned one of her calls, or agreed via email to set up an appointment at her office. But no, apparently that was too much trouble for the guy who liked to hunt. Jake McCallum had made it patently clear with his evasive tactics that he thought he didn’t need Libby or her services.

  Well, that was just too bad. Peony Publishing had contracted Image Solutions—the business Libby had started with her friend Miranda Eastwood just over a year ago—to spruce up their latest debut author’s image before his upcoming book launch. A corporate client like Peony could generate the kind of word-of-mouth she and Miranda had been desperately hoping for. If they didn’t get more clients soon, the business might not make it. Given that they’d started the venture after they’d both been laid off from their salary-paying jobs due to economic circumstances, neither Libby nor Miranda relished the idea of putting themselves back on the job market.

  Consulting the map she had open on her iPhone, Libby saw the street she was looking for and executed a swift right turn that elicited a honk from an oncoming sedan. Libby sent the driver an apologetic wave before returning her attention to the road ahead. The sign for Saul’s Automotive came into view and she found a parking space right out front.

  A quick assessment in the rearview mirror told her the peach lip gloss she’d applied still sparkled and her blonde ponytail remained firmly in place, a miracle given the forty-minute drive to the outskirts of Brisbane in her sporty red convertible. Thank heaven for maximum-hold hair products.

  Libby got out of the car and strode into the garage’s front office. No electronic beep went off when she opened the door. “Hello,” she called out. No one came. Glancing at her watch, Libby saw it was a little after five. Maybe the crew had already knocked off for the day. Not to be deterred that easily, Libby followed the muffled sound of male voices filtering into the office through a side door.

  A round of raucous laughter drifted out from the bowels of the garage, covering the sound of Libby’s heels clicking on the grease-stained cement floor. She caught the tail end of a sentence, delivered with utterly masculine conceit. “Took a week for the scratches on my back to heal. So, Rodney, I wouldn’t knock a librarian until you’ve tried one.”

  Another round of guffaws drowned out Libby’s harrumph of displeasure. Charming. Apparently, she’d walked in on an exaggerated tale of some man’s prowess in bed. In her experience, a woman was very unlikely to be whipped into such a frenzy by a man’s abilities that her ardor would cause him physical injury. Libby rolled her eyes. Men and their stories.

  “I’d take his advice if I were you, Rod,” one of the men said. “He is the love doctor, dating guru to the masses, a legend in his own time.”

  “You mean in his own mind,” another man snickered. He let out an anguished yowl as his comment earned him a hard punch on the shoulder.

  Libby’s focus zeroed in on the man who’d delivered that punch, the librarian-loving dating guru. So this was the man she’d come looking for. Her initial assessment—based on her view of the back of his head—was that he badly needed a haircut. Fashionably styled long hair on a man was one thing. Recalcitrant curls that had been allowed to grow scruffy purely from inattention was quite another. From the back, Jake McCallum reminded her of a stray dog that hadn’t been properly clipped since pup-hood.

  “Aw, don’t knock him. Somehow this chump hit the jackpot. Fame and fortune and lust-crazed women throwing themselves at him. That’s what Jake can look forward to. I wouldn’t mind being in his position at all.”

  “Are you nuts? More likely the feminists are going to put a price on his head when they get a load of the chapter called—what is it, Jake? How to Keep Your Man from Straying Without Leashing Him?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Someone else laughed. “I think the crux of it is a blowjob is worth a hundred cooked dinners. No word of a lie, Jake. A guy can always order pizza, but he can’t always dial a—”

  “Enough already,” Jake growled at the other men. “I don’t want to hear another word about that stupid book. I wish I’d never agreed to have the thing published.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. McCallum.”

  Libby’s casual announcement had all four men swiveling toward her in surprise. The man to whom she’d directed her remark regarded her over one wide shoulder, his eyebrows raised.

  He looked her up and down, a sweeping assessment that told her nothing about what he thought. At length, he drawled, “Honey, if you’re looking for your car, office hours are over for the day. Everything we’ve got left is up on a hoist or in pieces, so you’re all out of luck.”

  “I’m not here about a car. I’m Libby Allison, from Image Solutions. I’ve been contracted by Peony Publishing to work with you. We’ve spoken on the phone. Several times.”

  Taking a step forward, Libby stuck out her hand. Jake glanced at it. He took his time getting to his feet, unfurling his toned body inch by inch and turning to face her. Libby’s breath faltered, something about the way he moved making her picture what was underneath the old jeans and grubby grey T-shirt. There were muscles in that body, hard-worked ones.
He gave the impression of vitality tightly leashed by a deceptively casual demeanor.

  Her pulse gave a leap of awareness. Wow. He was kind of…magnetic might be the word. Scruffy as hell with an air of insolence that was bound to grate on her nerves in no time. All the same, he wasn’t bad to look at. Not at all.

  “Miss Allison.” Jake McCallum lifted his hand to show her the grease-marked state of it, and Libby dropped her arm back to her side. “You look a lot different than I pictured.”

  Libby forced herself to breathe normally, although the notion that he’d imagined her at all did odd things to her heart rate. “What did you expect?”

  He smiled. “Someone bigger.”

  Being barely five feet two, Libby had heard every short joke known to womankind. She didn’t feel like suffering through any today. “I’ve come to set up an appointment for you to meet with me and my partner at our office in Toowong.”

  “You drove all the way out here to bug me about that again?”

  Where did he get the nerve to act like the injured party here? “I wouldn’t have had to go to these lengths if you’d agreed to make an appointment over the phone.”

  “I already told you, you’re wasting your time.”

  “I’ll decide what’s a waste of my time or not. Your publisher wants you to have an image overhaul in time for your book launch and the host of interviews and public appearances they’ve set up. It seems clear to me you’re in dire need of one, Mr. McCallum. So, no, I don’t think this is a misuse of my time.”

  “Well, frankly, I think it’s a waste of mine.” His voice now carried the thread of exasperation Libby recognized from their few fruitless telephone conversations. “I have no intention of having a makeover just to live up to some fabricated standard of what I’m supposed to wear or how I’m supposed to act. With me, you get what you see.”