I let out a heavy sigh.
“Look, Ren, I’m not much of a fucking girlfriend to talk feelings with, but if something is going on, you can run it by me. I’ve had my fair share of shit storms.”
I knew that to be the truth. Rafe had disowned his dad due to a stunt he pulled trying to strong-arm Rafe into a League team by taking bribes. Rafe’s track record wasn’t exactly clean, but he was nowhere near the target I was. His drama happened even before he threw his first pitch in the Minors. His reputation in the Majors was nothing less than stellar, despite his stance on backing me when my shit hit the fan.
I kept my mouth clamped as Rafe studied my packed suitcase and then me. I couldn’t stand the slight amount of pity in his eyes.
“Right,” he said, shoving his hands in his jeans. “You know you’re always welcome over at my place? I mean, I know hanging out with my family might be weird for you at first, but I didn’t see it as a future for myself until I met Alice. You’ll get used to it.”
I’d been to Rafe’s little piece of paradise in Denver, met his beautiful wife and little girl. It wasn’t weird for me. But it was fucking torture. Because what Rafe didn’t know, what nobody knew, was that I had been a centimeter away from having that life a few years ago. Still, I didn’t want him to think his invitation didn’t matter. Rafe had become one of the only people I trusted. We were professionals on the field, but friends off of it. We fought like hell in the heat of the game at times and even got a little bloody once or twice, but it didn’t mean shit. We were better teammates for it. No one fucked with our dynamic. He was a pitcher worthy of respect, and he had mine.
“I’ll get to your house more when we get back to Denver.”
Seeming satisfied, he picked my buzzing phone off the floor and handed it to me.
“Handle your shit. This is the year we’re going to win it, and you know it.” Rafe wasn’t one to bust balls or make house calls, or in my case, hotel calls, but he had the same dream I had, and he didn’t want anyone fucking it up.
I deadpanned, “I’m just as sure as you are.”
Rafe eyed me carefully, a warning beneath his calm exterior.
“Don’t fuck this up.”
I ran my hands through my hair. “You didn’t have to say shit.”
He shrugged. “I’m just wondering which one of us you are going to listen to.”
Irritation started to simmer. “Tell me how who I stick my dick in changes our game? Tell me why it changes any damn thing.”
He tipped his chin toward the ceiling. “It shouldn’t, but then again, you are a world class dickhead and well on your way to becoming a cliché.”
“Thanks for the talk.” Translation: Get the fuck out. Despite the fact he was one of the very few who I spent my time with, something was gnawing at me, and my patience was non-existent at this point. I didn’t do lectures about self-conduct. There was only one god I answered to, and he reigned baseball.
Rafe read my posture. “See you at camp.” He hit my shoulder with a friendly bump as he passed me.
I shoved my hands into my jeans with a smirk. “You aren’t going to ask me how she was?”
“Hell no, I’m married to my daydream,” he said as he closed the door behind him.
I grabbed my wallet and took the buzzing phone out of my pocket and threw it in my open suitcase. I had no issues with cooling my shit. In fact, last night had been the last hurrah of sorts. I had a series to win and over a hundred games to play to get there. For the next two days, I would pay penance for any misgivings that my game was a gift. Physically, I was ready, but my mental game had to be razor-edged, and that meant I had work to do.
Chapter 2
Erica
“I got your statement. I’m looking at it now,” I assured Larry George, another politician who’d pulled a mid-life moron. An articulately put, yet apologetic stance was my goal when we spoke for the third time in the three hours since a photo leaked of him lip-locked with a busty brunette. A brunette ten years his junior who wasn’t his beloved wife. Instead, I got self-indulgent garbage rolling out of his mouth. But it was my job to twist his mishap into something less than the scandal he had caused when he screwed his tennis coach.
“I just . . . I love her. I love my wife. I do,” he pleaded.
“You don’t have to sell it to me, Larry. I’m not your therapist. In fact, I highly recommend that becomes your next phone call. If I can add in the statement that you and Susan are going to counseling, it would probably be more favorable.”
“How about no comment?”
“We’ve done that before,” I reminded. “Accusations are flying. It’s time to roll up our sleeves. I’ll handle this; you handle Susan. If she talks, we’re looking at a shit storm.”
“I’m on it.”
“Try to stay off of it,” I said with ice in my voice. I knew Susan, and she loved her husband. Larry was a prick for publicly humiliating her, but he was my priority and client, not his wife. We hung up as I used the last half hour before my meeting to twist his philandering-ass story into something a little less scathing. He was guilty. And if I made it look questionable in any capacity, it was a win. Cleaning up the messes of scandalous politicians had never been my goal when I got into public relations, but it was par for the course. I wasn’t in charge, and until that changed, I didn’t have the ability to choose my clients.
My assistant, Rowe, buzzed my office. “Erica, Rob wants to see you.” I picked up my phone, cringing at the thought of a meeting with my boss.
“What about?”
“I didn’t ask,” she piped as I looked out through the large window that separated us and saw she was browsing Gucci.
“I like the red,” I said in monotone. The screen switched to email, and Rowe turned to look back at me with guilty eyes. Busted.
“Sorry, I have a date tonight.”
“Good for you. I have a press release coming your way. Contact the usual troops.”
Sinking into her chair, she regarded me cautiously. “You need to get out more, ya know?”
“What I need is this press release circulating within the half hour,” I said sharply. Rowe sighed through the speaker. “Yes, boss.”
“And have fun tonight.”
I had been working us both weary, and I knew she deserved a break.
I pulled my blazer on and walked out of my office, curious as to why the owner of my PR firm wanted a one on one with me. It was atypical of him to give me the time of day. Rob Zellner was a force to be reckoned with. I respected him for representing some of the biggest names in sports, corporate, and Hollywood, but that’s where it ended. He was a prick with a god complex. And though it was his job to make his clients seem warm and approachable, he was anything but either of those. I walked down the carpeted hall to his corner office and smiled at his receptionist, Diane, who managed a sunny disposition despite working beneath Rob’s dark cloud.
“Is he free?”
She held up her hand and buzzed him before giving me a warm smile. “Go on in.”
In the two years since I’d joined the firm, I’d only been nervous a few times with my boss. Once during my first interview for the job, and another when I’d screwed up royally and ran a press release without a client’s permission. I stepped through the door of the black-shrouded office. Rob was one of those types who preferred that daylight didn’t exist. He had blackout curtains drawn across his floor to ceiling windows, obstructing his view of the New York skyline. His more-salt-than-pepper hair was greased back, and judging by the number of empty coffee cups on his table, he hadn’t left his office in a day.
“Sit down,” he said as he brought a cup to his lips and tossed back more caffeine. At forty-six years old, Zellner ran a PR empire, and he had no intentions of stopping.
Taking a seat in one of his plush, leather wingback chairs, I looked around his office as he kept an even flow at his keyboard. He had a wife, who never visited the firm, but the photo on his desk suggested she
was every bit of the Park Avenue Princess that candied his arm when the occasion called for it.
“Got something for you,” he said gruffly before he lifted a paper and tossed it onto the far corner of his desk in front of me. “This paycheck comes from the MLB.”
Keeping my disappointment contained, I piped up with false enthusiasm.
“Team?”
“Player,” he said pointedly, finally glancing my way.
“Player?” My stomach began to knot, and I knew the name before he spoke it.
“Catcher for Denver,” he said, nodding toward the paper. “Makavoy.”
Heart racing, I cringed as I looked down at the headline. Ren was making them often, and they were impossible to avoid. I inhaled a deep, silent breath and swallowed before I spoke. “I appreciate the fact that you know I’m capable of handling this. But there is a conflict of interest. I know this client. We were romantically involved.”
A hint of surprise flicked over Rob’s features before he sat back and examined me.
I knew what he was thinking. Compared to Ren’s conquests, I looked nothing like the buffet of women he went through. Ren had acquired a new type. Or maybe I had never been his. I winced at the thought before I met the cold, gray eyes of Rob Zellner.
“I assure you,” I uselessly pleaded. “This isn’t a good fit. It was years ago, but this could get messy.”
He remained wordless for several moments before jutting his chin out toward the paper in my hand. I looked down at Ren, whose smug grin graced the cover while his starlet waited in the back seat of the limo. I used to cry when he began making headlines. His seedy behavior had worn me to the point that it disgusted me.
“This is perfect,” Rob said confidently. “Have you told anyone else about your involvement with him?”
“Only a few people knew we were dating. He was secretive.”
Rob raised a brow. “Things have certainly changed.”
“Yes, they have. Ren’s a PR nightmare, and I have zero confidence he will listen to me. In fact, I’m positive he will be very resistant to this idea.” A thought flickered through my mind. “Unless he requested me?”
“No,” Rob said, clasping his hands, his posture slack in his seat. “Management called on this one. He’s on a tightrope.”
“Really?” I said, leaning forward ignoring the tinge of concern that threatened. For a moment, I briefly entertained the thought of taking him by surprise before I ruined his fun. But even that small amount of satisfaction couldn’t sway me. I didn’t want to see him. I couldn’t face him. “Sir, I don’t want to waste any more of your time. I’m sure you can find a better fit for him.”Straightening the hem of my blazer, I stood.
“Sit down.”
“Sir?”
He can’t expect me to—
The cold, dead look in Rob’s eyes cut me off mid-thought and told me that hell had, in fact, frozen over, and I was now living in my worst nightmare. All I needed now was Pennywise behind me, letting me know “They all float.”
Reluctantly, I sat and tried to maintain my composure. Inside, I was boiling. Rob spoke on as if he hadn’t just ruined my life.
“They are planning on a little tough love before Makavoy’s training starts in a few days. And you’ll be there to greet him. This is his wake-up call.”
It was brief, my fear for Ren’s career: the chance he might lose his dream because he was acting like an untouchable playboy.
I shrugged as the woman in me spoke out of turn. “He’s made his bed.”
Rob’s piercing scowl was enough to make me retract that.
“And now it’s time to clean the sheets,” I offered with a lead tongue.
Rob kicked back, his leather seat bouncing with his weight. At that moment, I saw a whisper of a smile that indicated just how much he was enjoying my discomfort and the situation he was about to throw me in.
“You will leave tonight for Scottsdale, and you will rep him through the entire season.”
“Sir, I have twelve priority clients—”
“Oh, yes,” he deadpanned, “I forgot about the part where this is negotiable.”
“I understand, Mr. Zellner, but—”
“Pass your clients out to the capable.” He tapped a finger on his desk. “I don’t have time to reminisce with you about your ex. He’s gone through four reps, and he needs one to stick. You will be that rep. The commission alone is worth your sacrifice. Make no mistake that this job is a test of your abilities at this firm, Ms. Wild. The club is fed up with Makavoy. Be on that plane, play nice with him, and make him the new golden boy of Major League Baseball or I will redecorate your office.”
“Understood, sir.”
“This will be good for you,” he said, dismissing me. “It’s time to get your feet wet in sports.” It took everything I had not to roll my eyes at the irony.
“Agreed,” I conceded as I deflated before I stood with dread-filled limbs.
Zellner peeked over his screen, satisfied with my misery. “This could mean something for your future here. The opportunity is yours to make or break.”
I was close to pulling a Jerry McGuire with a “Who’s coming with me?” But unlike Jerry, I didn’t even have one loyal client to get away with a stunt like that, not to mention the media connections. As long as my name was associated with Zellner Public Relations, I had the devotion of the press. Going at it alone would inevitably end my career. It was a laughable notion at the moment. “Thank you, sir.”
I closed the door behind me, my entire frame rattling in trepidation. I was going to have to face Ren for the first time in two years, and not only that, babysit him. I sighed as Diane gave me a sympathetic smile before I walked defeated back down the hall, shut my door behind me and leaned against it before I finally let my anger take hold.
“FUCK!”
A sharp knock at my back seconds later had me jumping out of my skin.
Rowe pried the door open an inch against my weight. “You okay?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yes. I just like to scream fuck,” I said dryly and pressed my ass against the door to shut it on her.
“Open this door,” she snapped in a muffled order.
I opened it to face her. “Go away, Rowe. I can’t talk right now, okay?”
“Do we still have jobs?” she asked as she weighed the look on my face.
“Yes,” I said as I fought against threatening tears.
“How bad can it be?”
I stared at the paper clutched in my hand and Ren’s smirk.
“The apocalypse.”
Chapter 3
Erica
Baseball, the bane of my existence for so many reasons. The current one being I was about to be uprooted from my comfortable corner of the universe in New York to face the desert and my ex.
Rowe’s mouth was still hanging open from my admission.
“You dated Ren Makavoy?!”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me?!” She was sitting on my bed in our shared loft next to my open suitcase as I began to pluck clothes from my closet.
“Yes,” I answered softly. Shoulders slumped, I stared at the shirts in my hand.
This cannot be happening!
“We’ve been roommates for a year! How could you not tell me?!” The amount of hurt in her voice had my eyes drifting to her.
Rowe was a godsend after my first year alone in New York. I adored her, everything about her, from her sandy blond, sleek-cut bob to her ruby red pumps. Inside and out the woman had class, confidence, and she was exactly what I needed to pull me out of my slump. She was also inappropriate and crass at times, which only made me love her more. She was the sister I never had growing up in a house full of brothers. I’d wandered around New York my first thirteen months a zombie, and she helped to bring me back from the dead.
As if she could read my mind, she nodded. “Ren is why you wore yoga pants the first few months after I met you.”
“I’d already be
en through the worst of it and I just wanted to forget about it. Move on and start a life here.”
As far as living in New York went, I finally felt I had everything I needed. Leave it to Ren to screw me out of a comfortable place without him, even if it was temporary and unintentional on his part. Still, his shitty behavior is what landed us both in this situation. It was no real surprise the MLB reached out to the best PR firm in the country. It wasn’t just a coincidence; it was also my shitty luck.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” She sat patiently on the bed, her petite frame taking up only a quarter of it. She was manicured for her date but was making him wait for her in the lobby downstairs while seeing me off.
I tucked a few shirts in my suitcase and grabbed her hand before I sat down next to her.
“I’ve told you all about him. I just left out who he was.”
“That’s a pretty fucking big detail, Erica. Woman, he’s the most beautiful man on the planet! Like the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life,” she said, placing her hand on her chest. “I don’t know how you handled that.”
“His looks were never an issue for us. He used to hate being labeled a pretty boy,” I said ironically. “I guess he’s finally using it to his advantage.”
“It all make’s sense now,” she said, piecing it together. “Why you hate watching baseball.”
“He’s one of the reasons, now. My mom is the other.”
Rowe nodded. She knew enough to put the pieces together. “So exactly what happened between you two?”
“I didn’t wait around to see,” I said with a thickening throat. “I couldn’t, Rowe.”
“In a way, I get it,” she said thoughtfully. “But, Ren Makavoy! Tell me he was as good as he looks.”
“Better than anything you can imagine,” I said softly.
“Do you regret it?” she asked carefully.
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