The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2)

by Nancy Herkness

Luke wanted to say it wasn’t a competition, but that was crap. Everything in his life was about winning and losing. “You’re comparing apples and oranges. My career will last maybe another four years. You have the best of yours in front of you.”

  The truth of it walloped him in the gut.

  Trevor snorted. “You’ve broken every offensive record there is to break in the NFL. When sportswriters argue about who’s the greatest quarterback who ever played, your name usually settles in at number one. How do I compete with that?” He threw out his arm dramatically.

  “Don’t.” Luke felt a throb start in his left temple as he said something he hated. “I’m the jock. You’re the brain. Our skills are measured differently.”

  “And valued differently,” Trevor said bitterly as he sagged back down on the high stool.

  Yeah, their parents had valued Trevor’s skills over Luke’s. Maybe that’s why Luke had worked so hard at football. To prove that it was worth doing.

  He grimaced at his own introspection on a morning when he had awakened in a surprisingly good mood, considering he was benched. That was Miranda’s doing. And he was seeing her again tonight. “You have any other leads on a job?”

  Trevor hunched his shoulders. “A couple of third tier schools in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. They’re no better than where I am now.”

  Luke considered the idea of pulling strings for his brother. He could endow a professorship or something, but it didn’t feel right. His brother needed to earn this one on his own or he’d never feel good about himself. “Set up the interviews. I’ll get you a car and driver to take you to them. It’s a start, and then you can do some groundbreaking research.”

  “Thanks,” Trevor said in a tight voice.

  There was no gratitude in his brother’s curt word, but Luke needed the conversation to end. “No problem. I have to get to work.”

  “How about we order Tex-Mex tonight?” Trevor said.

  A halfhearted peace offering. “I wish I could,” Luke said, “but I’ve got a commitment.”

  “Business or pleasure?”

  Luke gave his brother one of his patented “none of your business” stares.

  “I guess that answers my question.”

  “How about Thurs—oh, crap, I have a charity thing that night that Doug roped me into. You want to come?”

  “Nah. I wouldn’t be able to make a big enough donation.”

  It wasn’t worth responding to that, so Luke got up and rinsed his glass before putting it in the dishwasher. As he grabbed his jacket and headed for the elevator, he considered the idea of inviting Miranda to the gala. She’d turn him down. Too public. However, he could wring some pleasure out of twisting Gavin Miller’s arm until he showed up and forked over a donation.

  He waited until he was in the limo to pull out his phone and dial the author.

  “If it isn’t the benched quarterback,” Miller said in greeting. “I’d offer you one of my books to read in your free time, but there isn’t a new one.”

  Luke had expected the dig at himself, but not the writer’s sneer at his own problem. “I can provide you with a distraction. I need to fill a table at a charity gala for foster kids tomorrow night.” He reeled off the cause, location, and time.

  “I’ll send a check, but I’m not in the mood for society right now.” Miller’s voice was bleak. “No, wait. Get Trainor to bring his mystery woman and I’ll come.” Now his tone had an edge of malicious glee.

  “Bring a date yourself.”

  “What about you, Mr. All Football All the Time? Will you have a lovely lady on your arm?”

  Miranda’s face leaped into his mind again, but the prospect of Gavin Miller’s presence added yet another reason to keep her away from the evening. “My personal trainer.” Elyssa Lauda often acted as his date when he wanted no complications.

  “Ah, a woman with a killer body, I imagine.”

  “She keeps fit,” Luke said.

  “Let me know what Nathan says.” The writer hung up.

  He dialed Trainor’s cell and got voice mail but chose not to leave a message. He wanted to apply the right pressure to get the CEO there with his date. Luke was curious about her, too.

  Once again Miranda drifted into his thoughts. That reminded him of the need to find an alternative location for their after dinner activities. He speed-dialed the Ritz-Carlton in Battery Park.

  Unlike his brother, Luke made his own arrangements where women were concerned.

  “Miranda, would you please come to my office?”

  When Orin’s nasal voice came through the phone’s speaker, Miranda made a face. She’d been savoring the happy hum of her body as flashes of the night before flitted through her mind. Not to mention the anticipation of sitting across from Luke at a fine restaurant in a few hours. And what would happen afterward. Her nerve endings did a little tango.

  The situation was so far beyond anything she’d ever experienced that she couldn’t make herself worry about the risk of being seen with Luke. She’d been keeping her nose to the grindstone and holding her expenses down so she could help her brother out. She needed—deserved—this brief, spectacular fling. Her expectations were realistic, as in zero, so why shouldn’t she let go just this once?

  “I’ll be right there,” she said to Orin, wondering what it was this time. Probably some complaint from a client because she wasn’t at the Pinnacle yesterday. Orin hadn’t been happy when Luke had arranged for Miranda to be away the entire day. He couldn’t say much because Luke was such a high profile client. But her boss could still take it out on her.

  “Close the door,” Orin said from behind his desk as she entered his office.

  That was ominous. She eased the door shut.

  “What is this?” He slapped a folded tabloid newspaper down and jabbed his finger at a photo.

  Miranda leaned over to see what looked like an amateur cell-phone picture of herself and Luke standing in front of a Van Gogh painting at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The headline read: QUARTERBACK CULTIVATES CULTURE WITH CONCIERGE CUTIE. Miranda relaxed and straightened. “It was just part of the tour I took Mr. Archer on.”

  “You’re holding his hand.”

  She bent again to see that the photographer had captured their hands in a way that highlighted how intertwined they were. A cold finger of concern drew a line down her spine. “I was escorting him to the next painting.”

  “Do you think I’m a fool?” Orin jabbed at the photo again. “You’ve got your fingers knotted around his.”

  Miranda thought fast. “It was camouflage. People were starting to notice Mr. Archer, and he said they were less likely to approach him if he looked like he was on a date.” She shrugged. “It worked for a while.”

  Orin looked unconvinced. “How did the paper find out who you were?”

  “Maybe they looked up his residence and checked out photos of the staff. We’re all on the website. They’re reporters—they know how to track down information.”

  Orin’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Archer will be very upset.”

  Now she was on more solid ground. “It was his idea. Do you want to speak with him about it? I’m certain he will reassure you.”

  “Of course not. I don’t want to bother him any further than he already has been.” Orin was still huffing, but her confident tone had undermined some of his righteous indignation. “I want your assurance that there will be no further incidents of this nature.” He tapped his finger on his desk to emphasize each word. “We do not socialize with our clients.”

  In fact, there was no rule, written or implied, stating that. “I understand,” Miranda said, as nerves squeezed at her throat.

  What if Orin found out about tonight’s dinner with Luke? Her boss would go ballistic. Maybe she couldn’t afford this fling, after all.

  “If I receive any complaint from Mr. Archer, we will discuss this further,” Orin said.

  Luke wasn’t going to complain, so Miranda allowed herself a tiny smile. “Of cours
e.”

  Her boss gave her a look of such venom she nearly took a step backward. Then he turned to his computer. “You may go.”

  Miranda’s knees felt like jelly as she left Orin’s office and walked across the lobby to her own. Dropping into her chair, she blew out a breath.

  Her boss seemed unusually upset. Was it just envy that she got to spend time with someone famous? Or was it the tip he imagined she was getting?

  She choked on a laugh devoid of humor. That would be the ultimate joke, since she had refused to let Luke tip her after their day together. She had to charge him for her hourly working time because it went to the concierge company, but she had stopped the clock when they left the ballet.

  She needed to cancel dinner with the quarterback. The moment she thought it, every cell in her body screamed, No!

  As Miranda’s sense of responsibility waged a battle with her desires, her phone rang.

  “Hey, Miranda, it’s Erik at the Dartmouth.”

  “Great to hear from you. What can I help you with?” Erik was the concierge at another luxury condo, and they swapped favors regularly.

  “It goes the other way this time, sweetie. I just heard through the concierge grapevine that your evil genius of a boss is spreading nasty rumors about you getting involved with clients. He’s saying you’re behaving unprofessionally. He e-mailed Christine a photo of you and Luke Archer holding hands.” Erik gave a whistle of admiration. “Honey, if it’s true you’re dating him, I am green with envy.”

  Miranda managed a shaky laugh. “I was giving him a tour of some museums at his request. The whole hand-holding thing was to keep people from bothering him for autographs.”

  “The media is so irresponsible,” Erik said.

  “At least they didn’t say I was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”

  “Just let them get their hands on another picture of the two of you together and that will be the next headline.”

  She rubbed her forehead in an attempt to ease the tension headache forming there. “I don’t understand why Orin’s so bent out of shape over this. Luke Archer just wanted a private tour guide.”

  “I’ll get a little countercampaign going for you,” Erik said. “If I categorically deny his accusations, the opinion of the concierge community is going to come down on your side.”

  Unshed tears clogged Miranda’s throat. Erik’s offer of support warmed her heart. But it also brought a stab of guilt. She couldn’t allow him to deny her involvement with Luke because she was involved, no matter how briefly. “You are the best, but I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

  “You’re not asking, sweetie. I’m offering.”

  “That makes it all the more special, but I need to fight this on my own.”

  “I hate to let that nasty little worm Spindle get away with smearing your reputation.”

  “He won’t.” Miranda tried to inject a confidence she didn’t feel into her voice. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  “By the way, I have two tickets to Hamilton for Friday night, if you could use them.”

  “I know exactly who would want those. Send them over.” She paused. “I just wish I knew why Orin dislikes me so much.”

  “Because you are so much better at the job than he is. It’s not just the clients who prefer to deal with you, it’s us concierges, too. You watch yourself, sweetie. And I’ll do the same.”

  Miranda disconnected and sagged back in her chair, staring sightlessly at her computer screen.

  She thought of Luke explaining the hieroglyphics to her in his warm Texas drawl, of his gaze intently focused on the Morgan’s manuscripts, of his patient willingness to sign autographs for every fan who asked, and of how his skin and muscle felt against and inside her body.

  Then she pictured Dennis trudging to the barn before the sun came up to milk the cows so he could make the next batch of cheese with the equipment she was paying for. She thought of Patty growing flowers to sell at her roadside stand to make a little extra money. She thought of Theo’s agile brain and the price of college tuition.

  A long sigh dragged itself from her throat. Orin’s poison was bad enough with that one photo to support it. If the paparazzi caught Luke and her together again, her boss would have proof positive, and he would use it mercilessly.

  He could ruin her chances at the head concierge job in the new luxury condo going up. The building wouldn’t be finished for another couple of months, which gave Orin far too much time to make trouble for her.

  Disappointment filled her with a dull, gray fog.

  It was better this way. She was already captivated by Luke. Spending more time with him would just make it worse when he went back to football.

  With dragging steps, Miranda got up and shut the door to her office before she dialed Luke’s cell phone. When it went to his voice mail, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

  The beep sounded. “Luke, I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel our dinner plans. I have a conflict with work. Thank you for a wonderful day yesterday.” She wanted to add something about the pleasure of getting to know him, but decided it could be misconstrued as sexual. Of course, it was, but she left her message at that.

  The hours that had been bright with the anticipation of seeing him again now stretched before her in dreary, colorless succession. In addition, the shadow of Orin’s ugly allegations had destroyed any joy she might take in her job today.

  To cheer herself up, she dialed her favorite resident to offer him the Hamilton tickets. At least someone would be happy with her.

  Twenty minutes later, a deliveryman walked into her office carrying a vase of sunflowers so large that Miranda could barely see his face behind it. “Miranda Tate?”

  “That’s me.”

  The man plunked the flowers down on her desk. “Jeez, lady, that arrangement is bigger than your office.”

  Miranda pulled a five-dollar bill out of her drawer and handed it to him, turning his grumpiness into gratitude.

  Luke had sent her Van Gogh flowers! A sigh of combined delight and regret welled up in her throat. He must have sent them before she left her message.

  She pulled off the business-size envelope stapled to the plastic wrapping and ran her finger over the letters of her name in his handwriting. She loved the fact that he hadn’t called the florist and dictated the card. He must have had it messengered in.

  She opened the envelope carefully and pulled out a single sheet of stationery with the Empire logo at the top. In a bold scrawl, Luke had written:

  Dear Miranda,

  Yesterday was surprising in more ways than one, all of them good. I figure if you like Van Gogh, you’ll like the flowers. I’ll find out what other things you like at dinner and afterward.

  Luke

  Miranda couldn’t help smiling, although her pleasure was laced with wistfulness. The last sentence sent a little shimmer of heat through her body. She wondered what “afterward” he had planned.

  Now she would never know.

  Chapter 14

  Luke sat in the darkened room, trying to keep his focus on the video of last week’s matchup of the Jaguars and the Buccaneers. But he kept drifting back into memories of the day before with Miranda, and they weren’t all about the sex. He remembered moments like when she was impressed with his knowledge of Egyptian hieroglyphics. Or the way she looked at him as though he’d said something smart when he commented on the Van Gogh. And then there was the sex.

  “Archer, what do you think?” The coach’s voice shattered Luke’s mental image of Miranda draped over the massage table, naked and gasping.

  “It’s my week off. I don’t have to think,” Luke said.

  His teammates chuckled, while Junius looked annoyed. But Luke wasn’t worried by the coach. He was more concerned about his own inability to concentrate. You didn’t win Super Bowls by daydreaming.

  “Fine, how about you, Burns? You got any comments on how to keep Terrance Fairley from knocking the shit out o
f you and taking the ball away?”

  Luke studied the clip as the Bucs’ giant linebacker put on a surprising burst of speed to slam into his opponent’s star wide receiver, causing a fumble and turnover. Junius cued up another play where the linebacker danced around a guard and a tackle to sack the quarterback. Luke let his lips curve into an evil smile as he flicked a glance at Brandon Pitch. The backup quarterback looked queasy. Luke shifted to test the condition of his bruises and felt the twinge.

  Junius showed another play where Fairley flattened a tight end to create a turnover. Luke sat forward. “Can you show that one again, Coach? I might have an idea.”

  As he was explaining his strategy, he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, indicating a missed call and voice message. As they discussed and refined the counterattack, impatience swelled in his chest. He was sure the message was from Miranda, because the flowers must have arrived by now.

  Finally, the coach released them from the film session, and Luke ducked into an empty office to check his phone. Sure enough, Miranda’s number came up. He punched in the code to check his messages. As he listened to her regretful recording, anticipation turned to fury. That scumbag Spindle was involved in this somehow.

  He gave the metal leg of the desk a good, solid kick before he dialed Miranda’s number.

  “Luke, thank you so much for the sunflowers,” she said before he could speak. “I feel like I’m in Arles with Van Gogh.”

  He could hear both sincerity and constraint in her voice. “What’s the problem with work? I’ll fix it with your boss.”

  There was a beat of silence before she said, “It’s a scheduling issue. It can’t be fixed.”

  “Look, I want to see you tonight.” The truth of that surprised him. “I’ll work around your schedule.”

  Another moment of hesitation before she sighed into the phone. “One of the tabloids published a photo of us holding hands at the museum, and that’s creating some, um, ill will here.”

  He was right about Spindle. He’d like to unleash Terrance Fairley on the head concierge. “If I guarantee that no one will see us together, would that work for you?”