Calling It

by Jen Doyle

  * * *

  It was a little after four in the afternoon and Nate was going out of his mind. It had been two hours. Had she run all the way back to Iowa?

  “You planning on joining us?” Pete said from the table. He and Mark had laid out what looked like a hundred different contracts and proposals to go over and Nate couldn’t have cared less.

  “I’m sure she’s fine.” Mark cast a concerned glance over at Pete. They obviously had no idea what to do with Nate pacing a hole in the floor and Nate obviously didn’t care. “She’s a big girl. If she can hold her own against Haney and Pete, I’m sure she can manage not to get lost.”

  “I’m not worried about her getting lost.” Nate ran his hands through his hair. He’d had her; he’d seen it in her eyes. And then the fucking vultures had showed up, killing his whole point and proving hers entirely.

  “So then call her. Text her. Whatever,” Pete snapped. “We’ve got work to...” A smile came over his face as he looked at Nate. “You don’t have her number, do you?”

  Feeling like the biggest fool in the world, Nate just folded his arms. He’d spent every minute he possibly could with her; it hadn’t occurred to him to get her number. Of course this meant she didn’t have his number either, so there was no way she could get him if she needed to.

  “We could call Fitz,” Pete offered, laughter in his eyes.

  Right. Because that’s exactly what Nate needed right now. “Hell no.”

  Pete raised his eyebrows, then looked at Mark. Turning back to Nate, he said, “Okay. Let’s deal. You work with us for half an hour, and if she’s not back by then, I’ll get it from Fitz. No one needs to know.” That was bullshit, though. Nate was never going to live this down.

  Nate looked at his watch. “Fine. Half an hour.”

  It was twenty-eight minutes exactly when the call came from the front desk. “Miss Donelli is here.”

  Great. They let thirteen raunchy guys and one mostly naked ex up without blinking, but Dorie they needed to announce. He refused to acknowledge that was exactly the kind of thing she was talking about.

  “Please send her up,” he said through gritted teeth. “And you don’t have to announce her again.”

  Only half caring that he’d cut Mark off midsentence, he went out to the hallway, pacing in front of the elevator until the doors opened. Dorie appeared amused, which wasn’t the reaction he was going for.

  First things first. “Phone,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Or, actually, that wasn’t the first thing. Reconsidering, he pulled her into a hug, clutching her against his chest and muffling her surprised, “Wha—?”

  He honestly wasn’t sure she’d come back to him. Knowing he still wasn’t out of the woods even though she’d all but admitted that she was thinking in terms of love, too, he breathed her in, ignoring her laughter as she tried to push him away, saying, “I stink. Please don’t—”

  “Come sit in the Tampa Bay dugout in August.” She smelled like heaven as far as he was concerned. He let go and held his hand out again.

  Outright laughing this time—thank God—she eased it out of her arm band and handed it to him. But her tone seemed a little off when she gave him the code. “One-five-three-three.”

  He plugged it in, smiling. 15, 33. Two very good numbers. Then he looked up. “Thurman Munson and Jason Varitek?”

  Her cheeks went from zero to hot pink in less than a second. “What can I say? I’ve always had a bit of a thing for catchers.”

  Tek he got; the guy was career Red Sox after all. But... “You know who Thurman Munson is?” As in, 1970s-era Yankees catcher and captain. Yankees, for one thing. Before she was born, for another.

  With an uncomfortable shrug, Dorie looked at him, clearly unsure of how he’d respond. “He was my babysitter’s first love.” She smiled. “Well, she loved the entire 1978 Yankees infield, and drove my brother crazy about them until he finally married her and made her a Red Sox fan.”

  And that made Nate smile. It didn’t hurt to know that mixed marriages could work—not that he was about to verbalize that thought right now. So instead he said, “Even Lou Piniella?” He could’ve gone with Reggie Jackson, but that would have been a little too obvious for a woman who clearly knew baseball.

  Dorie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re testing me?” Then she grinned and playfully jabbed him in the chest. “I said infield, Hawkins. Piniella was the right field guy.”

  His heart thudded in his chest. He put his hands down to her waist, drew her in closer. “How can you doubt that we’re made for each other? How can you doubt that I lo—”

  “Uh-uh.” Though she shoved him away, she was back to laughing. “However...” She walked a few steps away before turning back to face him, suddenly serious. And for the first time he realized she was holding shopping bags. “I decided that maybe I wanted a few more dresses. You know, in case I have to go to a benefit or any—”

  He was kissing her before she could finish the thought. And he would have kept kissing her, except there was a cough from the doorway to his condo. He closed his eyes—one last kiss—and then pulled back, letting his forehead come to a rest against hers.

  She glanced over at the door and then back at him, her hand running down his chest, which in itself shouldn’t set off fireworks but did. “Oh, honey,” she said. “You didn’t tell me we had company.” Then she ducked under his arm and smiled sweetly. “Checking up on me, Pete?”

  Pete smiled back. “Never trust a pair of tits is what I say.”

  With that throaty laugh that went straight to Nate’s dick every time, Dorie patted Pete on the chest as she walked by him into the apartment. “Good one, lawyer man. Glad you’re learning.” Turning so she was walking backward down the hall, she held up the bags she was carrying. “Oh, and thank you for giving me all your money last night. I had myself quite the shopping spree.”

  Pete gave a sharp laugh. “Careful there, Dorie. You’re actually starting to grow on me.”

  Her laughter carried as she turned the corner to the master suite. “Don’t get too attached.”

  On the one hand, that wasn’t at all what Nate wanted to hear her say. On the other hand, Nate had known Pete half his life. And there’d never been a woman in Nate’s life that Pete had actually liked. Nate couldn’t help but smile.

  “Shut up,” Pete snapped although he was smiling, too. “Let’s get back to work.”

  She came out of the shower half an hour later, just as Pete and Mark were trying to convince Nate that he needed to hire a manager.

  “Pronto,” Mark was saying. “Or personal assistant, or even just a new publicist. With this week’s news we should have been capitalizing on you being fully exonerated. We managed to hold on to all the endorsements, but just barely. And we tried to keep up with the mail, but we were so busy fielding calls that I have no idea what we missed.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Nate saw Dorie wander through the living room and over to the windows, looking amazingly hot in black yoga pants and a formfitting T-shirt. Boston Red Sox—Pedroia, unfortunately—but he’d let that slide. He didn’t intend for her to be wearing it for very long. He tried to turn his attention back to Pete and Mark. “I have a publicist. Alexis. She called me the other day.”

  “Right,” Pete said, a glance passing between him and Mark. “She actually called you Wednesday and Thursday, but the firm fired her because she wasn’t able to manage the client.”

  “What? Because of me?”

  He’d taken off for less than a week. For just a few days he hadn’t wanted to think about anyone else. And because he hadn’t returned her calls he’d gotten her fired. “Well, then, hire her.” Screw her firm. She’d been at dinner the night he left Chicago and she’d actually held her own against him.

  Mark nodded. “I can set something up. Then
maybe Pete and I can go back to our real jobs.”

  Chastened, Nate looked down. “I, uh...” Damn.

  Hell. He owed them so much. Because they had stuck by him, even though he hadn’t exactly made it easy to do so of late. They were on the payroll, yes, but they’d never wavered in their support. Nate finally had enough distance from it all, that he could see that loud and clear. “This has been a really shitty couple of months. And I...” Damn it. “Thank you.” It came out more gruffly than intended, but there you go.

  A ghost of a smile appeared on Pete’s face. “You are a spectacular pain in the ass,” he said, “but somehow we love you anyway.”

  “He loves you,” Mark grumbled, “because he’s had a crush on your sister since their law school days. I just want to take your money.”

  Nate ignored the first part of that comment; he did everything possible not to think about Pete and Ella. But in terms of Mark, well, Nate didn’t believe that for a second. Mark had been with him from the beginning, just like Pete. Of course, Dorie didn’t know that. And when she stopped suddenly on the threshold upon hearing those words, Nate could feel the daggers coming out of her eyes.

  Mark could feel them, too. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I come in peace, I swear.” His gaze slid over to Nate’s. “She knows I was only kidding, right?”

  She did now—the daggers had disappeared, replaced by a look of apology. But Nate wouldn’t forget that unbridled fierce protectiveness for him for a very long time. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as he introduced her to Mark.

  “I see what Rico was talking about,” Mark muttered with a grin. “You’re quite the spitfire, aren’t you?”

  “Rico Castillo talked about me?” she said, clearly taken aback.

  “Does she seriously not know?” Mark asked, this time looking at Nate.

  “Not know what?” Nate said, clueless himself.

  Mark laughed. “Check today’s trending topics.”

  “What?” Dorie snapped. She edged closer as Nate looked at his phone.

  #natesnewgirl

  Fuck. “How do they get this stuff already?”

  Though Pete was an expert on a lot of things, Twitter wasn’t one of them. Unfortunately, however, he was studying Dorie in a way that made it clear she was at the top of his list in terms of leaking the news.

  Before Nate could defend her, Mark answered, “Rico and Troy had a bit of an exchange this morning.” He smiled at Dorie. “It appears that if things don’t work out with Nate, you have other options.”

  Nate was happy to see that, though Dorie’s face had gone deathly pale, she had enough wits about her to snap at Pete, “So only the girls have to promise not to talk?”

  Pete, at least, had the decency not to snap back.

  “I’m sorry,” Nate said, shutting off his phone and taking her hand. He didn’t want this; he’d wished for anything but this.

  “It’s fine,” she said with a laugh that had an edge of hysteria laced through it. “Totally fine.”

  It wasn’t fine. And this wasn’t even the worst of it—there would be a whole legion of fans more than happy to weigh in. They tended not to be kind. And there wasn’t a goddamn thing Nate could do to stop it.

  Pete sat back, still watching Dorie as she shot to her feet and ran a hand through her hair. “I, um... Dinner,” she said. “I’ll cook us all dinner.”

  Nate did not want dinner. He most definitely did not want dinner with Pete and Mark. What he wanted more than anything right now was to grab her and wrap her in a cocoon until something much more newsworthy came up.

  “Unfortunately, that’s not going to work,” Pete said, actually sounding sorry; Nate had to give him that. Leaning forward again, Pete looked at Nate. “Bobby and Lou—” i.e., Nate’s former bosses who he’d spent his entire career with up until now, “—heard about your meeting tomorrow morning and they saw an opening. They want you to join them for dinner.”

  Now it was Nate’s turn to sit back. “Tonight?” They wanted to talk to him now?

  “Seven thirty,” Pete was saying. “Morton’s. You, Mark and me.”

  Nate could feel his face tighten with irritation. “Dorie, too.” He wanted to spend the weekend with her. He had until the thirteenth to get it right. Three weeks, and he didn’t want to waste a second.

  But she wasn’t exactly excited about the prospect. “Or maybe I could just stay here and get some work done.”

  Right. That would make the most sense. They could each focus on their jobs and he’d come home after dinner like they were any other couple in the world. Except they weren’t a couple, as Dorie had made clear. And he had a feeling that part of her resistance was because she was trying to talk herself out of the fact that she felt something, too—something a lot stronger than the “short-term” fling she was insisting this was.

  He didn’t want to force her. This was a woman who refused to let him tell her he actually saw a future with her. The last thing he wanted was to let on that she was exactly right about the role people would expect her to play: trot her out for decoration at dinner, and then let her sit there quietly while the serious talk took place.

  At the same time, he wanted her there, more than just a little bit. He hated dinners like this. She may be the decoration, but he was the commodity. A thing to be sculpted and trained—sometimes supported, sometimes not—and used until his body gave out. It was all part of the job and he made sure not to complain about it, especially when he had it better than most—when he was paid a whole hell of a lot to put up with it. But having Dorie there would make it bearable. Given the way she surprised him with how her mind worked, how she made him laugh when it seemed impossible to smile, it might even be enjoyable. Plus, to be completely honest, he didn’t want to waste a minute he had with her.

  Hell. “What if I just meet them for a quick drink? Or maybe coff—”

  To his surprise, though, Dorie cut him off. “Can you make sure no one gets any pictures of me?”

  He looked up as she came to stand in front of him.

  No one? Meaning the mob that was always lying in wait?

  “Yes,” Nate answered before Pete or Mark could intervene.

  Her eyes narrowed, which was a good call since Nate had no idea how to make good on that promise. But he would stop the freaking Earth from turning if that’s what it took. Still...

  He took her hand and tugged her closer. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. We can just stay here.”

  The fact that neither Pete or Mark contradicted him wasn’t necessarily a good thing. It was an important meeting and neither would be happy if it had to be canceled. The silence meant that he was in for a big talking-to when all was said and done. But it also meant they were aware this wasn’t negotiable. Dorie came first no matter what anyone else said.

  There was a moment of silence as she considered it. Then a big smile came over her face as she leaned down and kissed him. “Okay,” she murmured.

  As she pulled away, though, Pete said, “Hey, Donelli. Just one thing.” He rested his elbows on the table and made a steeple with his hands. “Don’t pull a stunt like you did last night. It won’t go over well.”

  Irritation flashed through Dorie’s eyes. Demonstrating exactly the kind of thing Nate wasn’t allowed to say he loved about her, she let go of his hand and glared at Pete. “Fine. Two things right back at you. First of all, I’m a grown-up. I know what’s appropriate and when, which is something some of your baseball player friends could learn a thing or two about. Second of all...” She pulled back her shoulders and drew her entire being into what Nate now knew was a five-foot-five-inch don’t-fuck-with-me tower of strength. “I have to tell my family about, um, us—” She was clearly uncomfortable with the term as she glanced over at Nate then back at Pete. “Whether you like it or not. I need to
prepare them.” Then she spun and left the room as Nate watched Pete’s and Mark’s mouths practically drop open.

  “She hasn’t told anyone about you?” Mark asked, looking at Nate in clear disbelief.

  “She thinks it’s just a fling.”

  “It is just a fling,” Pete said.

  “No,” Nate said. “It’s not.”

  Pete, knowing when not to push it even though he wasn’t happy about it, just sat back in his seat, his arms crossed.

  Mark asked, “No pictures? Not even just of you?”

  “I’m trying not to take it personally.” Nate smiled. “Can we be done for now? I’m beat.”

  With a sharp laugh, Mark started gathering up papers. “I’ll bet.”

  Pete was just staring at him, though. “Please tell me that you at least considered the fact that she could be taking you for a ride.”

  He hadn’t, not seriously. Not even after finding out she’d known who he was all along. So he did as Pete asked and considered it.

  Went with the gut instinct that had gotten him to where he was and dismissed it entirely. “You guys will see yourselves out, right?”

  Shaking his head, Pete turned his attention to the rest of the papers and waved his hand distractedly. “Seven thirty. Morton’s on State. Don’t be late.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thank God she’d gone shopping. Thank God she’d done well at the poker game the night before or she wouldn’t have been able to go shopping. She hadn’t been exaggerating about the car payments.

  Dorie looked at the array of bags she’d spread out on the bed in front of her. What she should have done this afternoon was hop on a bus and head straight back to reality. Yet here she was, completely violating her only-about-the-sex point by going to his dinner with management.

  With a sigh, Dorie reached into one of the bags. The dress was fine—maybe not Morton’s fine, but nice nonetheless. The shoes, though? Not nice. Not nice at all.

  Do-me shoes? Claudia had texted when Dorie’d sent her pictures of the pairs she was considering.