Changing the Play
Page 18
She looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. Something was holding her back—something he’d felt in his bones ever since they’d reconnected. Her resistance to the whole interview was strange. Kevin was a quietly charismatic young athlete. There was no reason to hide him away from the media. Unless . . .
Crime. Sex. Drugs. Alcohol. They were the quadrangle of destruction in the NFL, and any of them could get him labeled as a player with “character issues.” But, despite his years in sports stealing away his idealism about athletes, Nick couldn’t make that fit with the Kevin Loder he knew.
It had to do with the shooting. There was something there. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.
For now, though, Rachel needed him. She was his priority.
“You okay?” he asked again.
The vulnerability around Rachel seemed to all at once close in on itself. Her forehead smoothed out its worry lines, and her posture grew just a little straighter and taller. She pulled on the edge of her pale pink jacket and tossed her fiery hair over her shoulder. His girl was back in the game.
“I’m good,” she said with a nod.
If she was back on, so was he.
“Let’s do this afternoon’s shoot, and then we’ll talk about the Mott Haven location,” he said.
For the first time since he’d started pursuing Kevin’s story, Rachel didn’t fight him.
They walked silently through the small side yard to rejoin the others in the living room. Mrs. Loder was already sitting in an armchair as Chris checked his setup behind the camera, and from the sounds of it, they were getting along just fine.
“No, no. If you want really good West African food you go to Patina,” Mrs. Loder said.
“Where’s that?” asked the photog as he peered into the viewfinder.
“One Sixty-Ninth Street and Prospect Avenue,” said Mrs. Loder. “You don’t want to go anywhere else for banga soup.”
Chris gave a snort of disbelief. “I’ve never found good banga anywhere in New York. My mom has to make it for me.”
Kevin’s mother smiled. “Go there. Trust me.”
Nick shook his head. If there was one thing Chris loved more than sports, it was food.
“Okay,” he said to the group. “I think we’re ready to go. Kevin, can you grab your mom a glass of water? Those lights get hot.”
With Kevin out of earshot and Mrs. Loder preoccupied, Nick leaned over to Mindy. “We need to hammer down the walk-and-talk date ASAP.”
“What’s going on?” his producer asked.
“I don’t know, but we’re not getting the whole story. You pulled everything you could find on the police report?”
She nodded. “Every witness said Kevin was an innocent bystander. He’s never had any disciplinary problems. The kid’s record is clean both in New York and up at Syracuse.”
“Then it’s something else. I just need to figure out what.”
This was his job, he reminded himself, no matter how much he liked Kevin. No matter how he felt about Rachel. But would chasing the story mean risking the incredible woman who was a fierce gatekeeper guarding Kevin’s secrets? He suspected he already knew the answer.
Chapter 16
I really don’t think this is a conversation I should be part of,” Rachel said. Somehow her conference call with the Baranovas had devolved into a shouting match between father and daughter, and she was reluctantly stuck on the sidelines.
“You cannot have a boyfriend!” roared Yuri in full-on tennis dad mode.
“You don’t even know his name!” screamed Katerina.
“You cannot win if you are distracted by a boy!”
“He’s not a boy. He’s a man.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Rachel nearly shouted over the fight. “This is a personal discussion that you two need to have off-line. Without me.”
“Miss Pollard, you tell her,” said Yuri.
“No,” she said sharply. “This conversation is not a productive use of my time or yours. This call’s supposed to be about Katerina’s tournament schedule. If you want to talk about domestic issues, that’s your choice, but we are not going to do that on my time.”
Both father and daughter fell silent. She held her breath, wondering if she’d pushed things just a little too far. But then, did she care? When she’d first signed Katerina, the girl had huge potential. She could’ve been the next Martina Hingis. But somewhere along the way she’d lost her focus. What Katerina really needed was to step back and make a plan with a coach who wasn’t her father, but Rachel knew exactly how that conversation would go. Nuclear.
Yuri cleared his throat. “Katerina has matches in Stuttgart and Madrid next.”
Well, that was a pleasant surprise. The man was actually listening.
The tension eased just a fraction, and she looked back at the calendar on her laptop. “I want Katerina to meet with some reps from Chaos Energy. It’s a new company, so they know they’re not going to be able to make as big an impact in the traditional American sports market. The marketing team is turning its sights to Asia. Does Katerina have a rest period scheduled in after Madrid?”
Katerina spoke up this time. “Yes, I’ll be in Cocoa Beach, training.”
“Good. Chaos could be a great endorsement for you. A young, hungry company to go with a young, hungry athlete.”
The rest of the call was all business, and by the time it was over both father and daughter were actually speaking to each other in civil tones.
Just call me babysitter and therapist.
A text dinged on her phone, but Nathan poked his head into her office before she could look at it. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to head out a little early. The assistants are all going for a drink.”
She glanced at her watch. “It’s six fifteen. That’s not early. Aren’t you eight to five?”
The young man shrugged. “I usually leave when you leave.”
It hadn’t even occurred to her but . . . yes. That was right. Nathan was always at Image late, saying he just had a few things to wrap up or claiming he was meeting friends for a late dinner. Considering that her normal night stretched well into the eight o’clock hour on non–game days, that was a lot of extra time.
“Are you claiming that time on your time sheet?” she asked.
Another shrug. “I don’t mind.”
“I do. I want you to get paid. And when was the last time you took a vacation?”
When was the last time she’d taken a vacation? Flying out to Texas to fix Brock’s messes definitely didn’t count.
“My girlfriend and I were talking about going to Greece this summer. Maybe after the NBA and NHL playoffs are over,” Nathan said, but she could hear the hesitation in his voice.
“How long were you planning on going?”
“A week?”
She stared at her own calendar—the one that Nathan so expertly managed for her. “Okay, we’re going to pencil in vacation time for you during the last two weeks of July, after the MLB All-Star Game.”
“Well . . .”
“This business will take over your life if you let it, Nathan. Don’t let it. Take a week in Greece and a week to enjoy being in the city. Go to Greece for two weeks. I don’t care. All I know is that you’re not allowed to email, text, or tweet for work, and you’re definitely not allowed to come in to the office.”
A small smile tugged at Nathan’s lips. “Thanks. Jessica’s going to be really excited.”
“Why don’t you bring her by one day? I’d love to meet her.”
He blushed in the sort of way that only a twenty-four-year-old man cornered by his boss into talking tangentially about his love life can. “I guess I could ask her to stop by.”
“Is she a sports fan?”
He made a face. “Hates it.”
Nathan thanked her and hurried out of her office.
Perhaps it was time to for her to take some time off too. She didn’t want to be one of those agents who only lived for work. It’d be good to give Emma her client list for a week and shut off. Maybe she could go somewhere remote with no cell phone reception. Nick would like that.
The thought pulled her up short. She’d automatically assumed Nick would be there, on vacation with her, like a couple. She rolled the idea around in her mind, examining it from all angles before deciding, actually, she was okay with that idea. Despite her doubts at the beginning, their relationship—for lack of a better term—seemed to be working. The sex was good, the company was great, and soon the hardest part would be over. His story on Kevin would air, the draft would be behind them, and they’d no longer be working together.
She pulled up her email and checked to see if anything had come through from Nick. Nothing. But there was one message from Mindy sent about forty-five minutes ago, confirming the time and place for the walk-and-talk. They’d meet at East 147th Street and Concord Avenue at two on Thursday afternoon.
Rachel replied with her approval and pulled up a press release from a Seattle Marlins PR rep. One of her players, the team’s first baseman, had put together a charity baseball tournament to benefit kids with cancer. The team’s PR department just wanted to iron out the details before blasting it out to the media.
Before she could read a line of the release, Rachel’s phone dinged again. She picked it up, realizing she’d never answered the text that had come in earlier.
She had two notifications, one from Nick and one from Katerina. Her finger hesitated over the screen as she considered who to answer first: the man she was sleeping with or the woman whose career she represented. The fact that she even had to think about it gave her pause, but, remembering the conversation she’d just had with Nathan, she opened Nick’s message first:
Coffee or tea?
She frowned at the screen. Random, but then again, who knew what he was plotting.
She typed back:
Coffee
Clicking back, she opened Katerina’s message:
Thank you. And his name is Brian.
Any annoyance she’d felt toward Katerina dissipated. It wasn’t the girl’s fault that her father was a nightmare. When the pair weren’t yelling at each, Katerina could actually be a sweet, interesting girl. And she seemed to have mostly grown out of her habit of on-court temper tantrums. That had to count for something.
Quickly she typed:
Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Brian deserves a shot. So do you.
She was about to put the phone down when another message dinged through from Nick:
Bacon or sausage?
She laughed.
Everything’s better with bacon. Why are we talking about breakfast?
She put the phone down on her desk and stared at it, waiting for some sort of response. After about thirty seconds, she felt ridiculous. Pushing it to one side, she set to work reviewing the press release.
An hour and a half later Rachel stretched. The lights were off in the main part of the office now that it was after eight o’clock. There might be an agent or two around, but most likely they were at games, dinner, or home. She was hungry and tired and should be heading home too. She’d throw something together fast and watch the third period of the Islanders game. Maybe even have a beer.
She’d just turned to start throwing things into her tote when her phone lit up. She pulled it toward her and swiped.
Look up.
Her head snapped up, and sure enough there was Nick standing at her office door with his hands behind his back. Her heart leaped up in her throat, and she dropped her phone on her desk.
“Hi,” said Nick.
She started to stand, ready to jump up and kiss him hello, but stopped. One, she was at work. And two, a security guard was standing next to Nick.
“Did you get arrested trying to come up here?” she asked.
“This is Darren,” he said with a nod at the security guard. “Have you two met?”
“We go way back,” she said. “How are your kids, Darren?”
The tall, intimidating man broke into a beaming smile. “They’re good, thanks for asking. Lena just started playing soccer. Team’s not very good, but they’re only six, so they kind of just run after the ball.”
“Field position comes with age,” she said.
“I tried calling because I knew you were still here, but no answer,” said Darren.
“Nathan must’ve put my calls through to voice mail,” she said.
“You know this guy?” he asked with a jerk of the head toward Nick.
“I do.”
“I guess that means you won’t have to throw me out in the street,” Nick said with a grin.
Darren narrowed his eyes in jest—probably. “There’s still time. You let me know, Rachel.”
“I’ve got you on speed dial.”
She watched Darren walk down the hall until he was out of sight. Then she turned her gaze to Nick. “How did you talk your way up here?”
“Charm.” He grinned. “And I promised to get one of the Knicks to sign something for him if he’d walk me up.”
“But what are you doing here?”
He brought his hands out from behind his back and held up two brown paper bags. “What are your thoughts on Chinese food?”
Her stomach growled at the faint scent of garlic that now filled her office. “Generally positive.”
“Good. It was between that and Thai food. Thai can be another night.”
She watched him move to the small table in the corner and pull out containers.
“What’s going on, Nick?” she asked.
Straightening, he fixed her with a considered stare. “I was thinking about you today. Actually, I’m always thinking about you, Rachel. I can’t seem to stop, so I thought I’d do something nice and really self-serving and bring you dinner so I could see you.”
“Oh.” Her chest began to contract. No one had ever thought to bring her dinner before, but then again no one was quite like Nick.
“But this isn’t just dinner,” he said.
“No?” she asked.
He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to wonder when I get to see you. I want to be able to just show up because I miss you, and I’d like you to be okay with that. I want it all. The labels and the time and the right to do things like bring you dinner because a couple days ago you told me this was going to be a long day.”
“Nick—”
“I want to know that you think I’m good enough for you. I’m not just some guy who’s a good time.”
“Nick—”
“You make me want all of those things and more.”
His conviction filled the entire room. It made her want what he was promising, despite the scariness of all the things that went with what he was asking. Vulnerability, trust. Committing herself, offering up the parts of herself that she’d never told a soul meant he could turn around and use those very things to hurt her. Still, she wanted to believe it could work. That maybe someone might care for her enough.
“What does more look like?” she asked in a near whisper.
He braced his fingers against the table as though gathering strength. “Sunday mornings in bed before I go to work. Coming home to you late at night after sixteen hours of reporting. You coming home to me after a long business trip. Phone calls just because I want to hear your voice. Texts about what you had for lunch.”
“What I had for lunch?” she asked with a little laugh.
“Every mundane detail.” He spread his hands before hi
m. “This is my line in the sand, Rachel. This matters to me.”
Her heart pounded as she stared at him standing next to a bag of half-unpacked Chinese food. Everything about him looked calm except the tightness around his eyes. She knew he was telling the truth—that he didn’t want to walk away—but that it was her decision. He’d passed her the ball. Now the question was, was she going to play?
Everything had changed as soon as Nick had pulled her into a hug in the Loders’ backyard. It had been so simple a gesture, but it said so much. He understood. He cared. He wanted to comfort her even though he didn’t understand what frightened her so much. This was not the behavior of a man who’d cut and run at the first sign of bumpy roads.
“What’s in the bag?” she asked.
He looked down as though he’d forgotten entirely about the takeout. “Twice-cooked pork, chicken with broccoli, shrimp fried rice, wonton soup, and a couple of egg rolls. I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“Well, if my boyfriend brings me dinner, I suppose I’d better thank him for it.”
“Boyfriend, huh?”
For the first time in a long time, Rachel blushed hard, red spreading across her neck like a forest fire.
“Well, if you want the whole thing—labels and all—I guess I’d better start getting used to it,” she said.
He tilted her chin up with one finger so he could press a kiss to her lips. It was nothing more than a brief touch, but Rachel couldn’t help the little tremble of anticipation. That kiss sealed things between them.
“I know there’s a lot of history between us and a lot of reasons why you might not trust me,” Nick said. “I’m just happy you’re willing to give me a shot.”
A long time ago, Coach Callahan had told her that sometimes you can strategize, and sometimes you just need to take the ball and run with it. This was her running with it, and it felt pretty good.
Chapter 17
The buzzer sounded at Madison Square Garden, and all around, the press box reporters stood up to stretch at the half. It wasn’t crowded for a Friday night game, thanks to the Knicks’ mediocre season. Only the beat reporters, wire service writers, and dedicated New York City TV reporters were there.