The Player Gets Coached

by Janet Nissenson

  She smiled at him a bit guiltily. “Sorry. Guess that’s what happens when you work a sixty-five hour week, plus spend a little too much time in your home studio late at night. And get up early on a Saturday to do chores and run a bunch of errands.”

  “It’s okay,” he assured her with a grin. “I won’t take it personally, especially since the last thing anyone could ever accuse me of being is boring. But I do hope you’re going to sleep in tomorrow and take it easy. You know what they say about all work and no play. Uh, actually I don’t know what they say, but I can’t imagine it’s very good for you.”

  Delilah laughed softly. “Something about making you a very dull person. And I don’t think that’s happened to me just yet, but I will keep it in mind.”

  He reached out and cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing over her lips with a feather light touch. “Darling Delilah, you are the least dull person I’ve ever met. Watching you tonight enjoy that music was the most entertaining thing I’ve done in a long time. Even better than - uh, well, never mind. But it did look as though you were enjoying yourself.”

  She placed her hand over his, her brown eyes sparkling as she nodded. “I did enjoy myself, Finn. Very much. It was really a lovely evening, and I can’t thank you enough for the fabulous dinner and those fantastic seats at the symphony. I just hope you weren’t too bored.”

  He shook his head. “You know, truth be told, I totally expected to be bored stiff, figured I’d have to force myself to stay awake the whole time. But it was surprisingly entertaining. Not that I’m any sort of expert, but I thought the band was really good.”

  Delilah hooted with laughter. “For future reference, it’s an orchestra not a band. And, yes, they are very, very good. World renowned, in fact, and their recordings have won a number of Grammy awards. But I’m glad you enjoyed it and weren’t bored out of your mind. I realize this evening probably took you out of your comfort zone quite a bit, so I’m especially appreciative.”

  “Appreciative enough to agree to a second date?” he asked hopefully. “Or maybe we should think of it as a first date, since you kept insisting that tonight wasn’t a real date.”

  She hesitated for a few seconds, then gave a quick, decisive nod. “Okay. We can do that, yes. And we can even call it a real, bonafide date this time. Just let me know when, though weekends are better for me, of course.”

  “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay? And that’s a promise, Delilah,” assured Finn, trying mightily to restrain himself from jumping up and down with triumphant glee. “I know you probably think I’m one of these assholes who tells a woman he’s going to call or text and then never does. And I won’t deny that I’ve done just that way too many times to count. But none of those women were you, and while I may not be the brainiest guy in the world, even I’m not stupid enough to blow whatever sort of chance I might have with you.”

  And while she was still staring up at him wide-eyed, clearly startled by his impassioned little speech, he threw her another curveball by leaning down, giving her a quick, almost impersonal little kiss on the cheek, and then telling her, “Thanks for one of the best evenings of my life. Sleep tight, Delilah.”

  Finn winked at her, trying real hard not to smirk at the look of disbelief on her face, then gave her a wave as he let himself into his own place.

  Chapter Ten

  “Well, someone must have been a very good girl last night to have snagged a bouquet like this one. And whoever sent these actually gets you, Boss Lady. He knows better than to send you some girly pink roses with baby’s breath. And that red is definitely your color.”

  Delilah glanced up from the new batch of photos she’d been poring over at the sound of her assistant’s high-pitched and very excited voice. But the scowl of annoyance she’d been all set to give him at this unwanted interruption was quickly replaced by a sigh of pleasure.

  “Oh, aren’t those gorgeous!” she exclaimed, rising from her desk chair as Calvin carried the fabulous floral arrangement inside her office.

  She hurried over to the round table in the corner of her spacious, light-filled office where her PA had just set down the hammered copper bowl that held the breathtaking arrangement. Delilah knew without having to look at the card that the flowers were from Finn. None of her past dates or lovers would have known to select such bold, vivid blooms - a stunningly visual assortment of roses, lilies, chrysanthemums, orchids, and gladiolus all in varying shades of red, and without a single stalk of baby’s breath anywhere to be seen. He’d even chosen the exact right container to catch her eye - no crystal vase or white wicker basket could have done such a dramatic arrangement justice.

  “Let’s see who your latest conquest is, shall we?” trilled Calvin, plucking the little envelope from its plastic holder and drawing out the card before she could protest. Not, of course, that he would have paid her any heed if she had called out. Her quirky, often annoying PA tended to do exactly as he pleased most of the time, giving Delilah cause to grumble out loud about why she put up with his sass.

  “Why, because I’m adorable and make you laugh when you’re working too hard - which, by the way, is all the time, Boss Lady, ” Calvin would tell her cheerfully every single time she complained about his less than respectful attitude. “Plus, I add some panache to this place, as well as do my very best to keep all of your rejected beaus at arm’s length. And as often as you like to grouse about me, you know darned well you wouldn’t be able to cope without me.”

  Delilah wasn’t so sure about that last part, given that Calvin’s secretarial skills could be a little lackadaisical at times, and he could become distracted at the drop of a hat. But there was no denying his complete and utter devotion to her, his loyalty, and the way he could fuss over her and pamper her when she seemed to need such attentions the most. When she was tired from working too late the night before in her home studio, Calvin would quietly keep her steadily supplied with caffeine and sugar during the day. He happily ran errands for her without ever complaining, though Delilah suspected his willingness to do so stemmed more from his desire to get out of the office for a few minutes. He guarded the door to her office like an overprotective dragon, rarely allowing anyone in without an appointment - even Desiree, who might be the only person who actually intimidated him.

  And he definitely kept her bevy of current and former dates under control when they attempted to get in touch with her at the office - usually after she’d already ignored or deleted the messages they had left on her cell phone. Calvin would gleefully tell them all manner of truths or falsehoods in order to keep them from getting ahold of his boss - she was in a meeting or conference call; she was out of town on a last minute business trip; she had a terrible cold and had lost her voice. He’d even had the chutzpah a few times to sweetly inform her callers that she was out on a lunch date with her new boyfriend, and advised the caller to give up and move on.

  No, as annoying and outright sassy as he could be at times, Delilah knew she wouldn’t be replacing Calvin anytime soon - even if he frequently took the sort of liberties he was taking now.

  “Thank you for one of the best nights of my life,” he read in an almost sing-song voice. “You might have even made me a classical music fan. Though don’t spread that news around because it would definitely destroy my image. Finn.”

  Calvin smirked. “And what sort of image would he be referring to?”

  Delilah shrugged, running her fingertips delicately over one of the crimson roses. “I assume he’s referring to the fact he used to play professional football. And he still does some sort of broadcasting thing for the NFL.”

  Calvin gasped, clutching his heart dramatically. “You can’t mean Finn McManus? The same Finn McManus who does the Volcano Vodka commercials? Boss Lady, that man is so not your usual type! He’s - well, kind of a bad boy, you know? A real player. How in the world did he ever get you to go on a date with him? You usually run a mile - and in stilettos, to boot - to avoid guys like h
im.”

  “Yes, I am aware of all of that,” she acknowledged reluctantly. “I guess he sort of wore me down. He lives across the hall from me, and he’s pretty much been making a pest of himself ever since I moved in. I think I’ve received a record number of so-called housewarming gifts from him, not to mention all the other multiple excuses he’s cooked up to knock on my door - he’s out of Advil and has a headache, he wants my opinion on a birthday gift for his sister, a friend gave him all these lemons from his garden and could I use some.”

  Calvin smirked knowingly. “Flimsy excuses at best. But you already know that. Mr. Hottie sounds pretty desperate to score with you, Boss Lady. And judging from the size of this floral arrangement I’d wager a guess that he scored a few touchdowns last night.”

  Delilah scowled at his choice of words. “First of all, so none of your business, not to mention so inappropriate. Second, how do you know anything about touchdowns or football? You, uh, don’t seem the sort who’d be interested in sports.”

  He sniffed as though insulted. “You don’t know everything about me, you know. And there are many different layers to me, many different personas. Haven’t you realized that by now?”

  Delilah bit her tongue, not really sure how to answer that rather provocative question. It was certainly true that Calvin was nothing if not an enigma, constantly changing up his appearance, and loving nothing more than to keep everyone in the office guessing as to who was the real Calvin Booker.

  One day he would show up wearing his trendiest, most mod outfit from one of the cutting edge men’s boutiques on Polk Street he loved to shop at. The day after that he would be wearing a suit with skinny pants and short, slim-cut jacket, his hair severely slicked back, giving him a definite androgynous appearance. Another day he might sport more of an edgy, punk look, in artfully ripped jeans and statement T-shirt. And then the next day he would re-invent himself yet again, arriving at the office in a sedate pair of tailored khaki slacks and button-down shirt, looking no different than the hundreds of other young tech and office workers in the city. His hairstyle also changed frequently, and while some days he wore lots of jewelry other days he sported none at all.

  And of course Calvin himself was what he jokingly referred to as a mongrel or a Heinz-57, with a widely diverse ethnic background. According to him, he was equal parts Irish, Chinese, Filipino, Mexican, Jamaican, and Greek. Delilah wasn’t quite sure about a couple of those, but with his black hair, dark olive complexion, and overall exotic appearance his mixed racial background was obvious. He was less than medium height for a man, not a whole lot taller than Delilah in her stilettos, and was slender to the point of being almost too thin.

  When questioned about his ever-changing looks. Calvin would coyly refer to himself as a younger, male version of Madonna, and teased that he liked to keep everyone around him guessing as to which persona would show up each day. Personally, Delilah thought her PA to simply be quite insecure, and still on a journey to discover who he really was. That quest extended to his personal life as well, since no one really knew if he was gay, straight, or bi. He would swoon over a good-looking guy he’d seen at the coffee shop, and then in the next breath mention the hot woman he had dated the previous evening. Delilah found the confusion and questions about his sexuality to be deliberate on Calvin’s part, and wondered if even he knew the real answer any longer.

  “Yes, I’m well aware that you’re a man of mystery, Calvin,” she replied drolly. “But I’ve never heard you discussing sports before.”

  He shrugged. “No big deal. Stepdaddy number two was really into professional sports, mostly football and NASCAR, and watching games and races with him was a way to try and bond, I guess. Little good it did in the end, though, since he and my mom split up when I was thirteen and she moved on to the next victim.”

  Delilah knew that his mother had been married and divorced multiple times, and that Calvin and his two half-siblings had moved around a lot as a result. It didn’t take a licensed therapist to figure out that his less than stable childhood had likely contributed to his adult insecurities. He wasn’t, thought Delilah sourly, the only one in that particular camp.

  “I see. Well, you obviously know a lot more than I do about sports, in particular football. But given that I know pretty much zilch that’s not saying a lot. Now, if that’s all Calvin, I promised our photographer I’d get back to him today about what photos we’re going to use so he can edit them for the website.”

  She tried not to sound too abrupt, but Calvin tended to get distracted easily, and would be all too happy to remain in her office chatting for the next half hour. Both of them had far too much work to get through today to allow time for a gabfest.

  He grinned at her none too subtle attempt to change the subject. “Okay, Boss Lady. I can take the hint. But don’t think the subject of Finn McHottie is going to go away that easily. Sooner or later you’re going to spill all the details. Especially how you merited a bouquet like this.”

  She glared at him darkly. “Not that it’s any of your business - as usual - and not that you’ll believe me, but nothing happened the other night except for a kiss on the cheek. I was all set to give him my “let’s take this slow” speech when he stole my thunder, pecked my cheek, and told me good night. And trust me - I’m as shocked as you are.”

  “Losing your touch, maneater?” teased Calvin. “Maybe he didn’t like your perfume. More likely you scared the man off. You might be tiny but I’ve seen you practically tear the flesh off a man with that sharp tongue of yours.”

  Delilah scowled. “It wasn’t like that at all, smart ass. We actually had a very nice evening - dinner at Jardinière, then pretty much the best seats in the house to hear a Saint- Saëns program. With selections, of course, from my namesake opera Samson and Delilah.”

  “Ooh, the man does know how to impress, doesn’t he?” gushed Calvin. “And I’d be willing to bet he suffered through the symphony just to please you. He, uh, doesn’t seem like a classical music aficionado to me.”

  “He did and he’s not. And, yes, it was very sweet of him to take me someplace he knew I’d like, especially since he would have preferred to go to a club or sports bar instead. Though he did seem to enjoy the music. At the very least he didn’t yawn or fall asleep.”

  Calvin winked at his boss conspiratorially. “Probably all part of his master plan to seduce you, boss. That’s why he settled for a kiss on the cheek last night - to throw you off your guard. Then, when you’re least expecting it, he’ll swoop in for the kill.”

  “Oh, trust me. I’ll be expecting it, all right,” retorted Delilah. “Finn is not the first smooth talker I’ve been around, after all. I can anticipate any move he might make, and be ready to counter it.”

  “Well, this should be fun to watch unfold,” chortled Calvin, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “And expect him to make a move sooner than later, hmm? After all, I’ll bet Finn McHottie hasn’t settled for a peck on the cheek since he was twelve years old.”

  As Calvin mercifully returned to his workstation, leaving Delilah in peace, she mused wryly that his parting words were oddly similar to what her sister had told her on the phone yesterday.

  “Della, you’re a smart cookie, and frankly it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize this guy is just softening you up a little,” Desiree had cautioned. “The next time you agree to go out with him - something I really, really hope you won’t do - he’ll make his move then. He’ll seduce you, gloat about the fact that he finally wore you down, and then callously move on to fresh prey. It’s what guys like Finn do all the time. It’s what he does all the time.”

  Delilah hadn’t been in the greatest of moods yesterday morning, especially since her sister had called at eight-thirty on the dot. Desiree was an early riser even on the weekends, especially if she had a training run or bike ride on her schedule that day. When she’d called Delilah, she had already run five miles and biked twice that distance, while
Delilah’s much-needed first cup of coffee of the day hadn’t even finished brewing yet.

  “Desi, is there a point to this very early wake-up call?” Delilah had asked sleepily. “A new point, by the way, and not one of the dozen or so you’ve already run into the ground?”

  Desiree had sounded a little miffed at her sister’s rather snarky tone of voice. “Well, excuse me for being concerned for you, Della. I would have thought you’d appreciate a call to find out how things went last night. But it sounds like one of us got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Thank God you at least had the common sense to wake up alone. For now, that is.”

  Delilah had muttered under her breath, “And here we go again”, before calmly saying out loud, “Desi, do you mind if we continue this discussion another time? Like maybe after I’ve had a chance to wake up, have some coffee, feel able to think clearly? Not all of us are as perky as you are first thing in the morning.”

  “Maybe because some of us got to bed at a decent hour,” Desiree had retorted. “But, fine. Have your coffee and get your act together, and then call me back. But make sure you call, Della. I uncovered several new stories about your neighbor Finn that you’ve got to read. Complete with loads of racy photos, of course. Actually, I’ll just send you the links and you can read them over before calling me back.”

  “Actually,” Delilah had stated firmly, “don’t bother, Desi. I know you mean well but at this point I’d really rather form my own opinion about Finn, and not let a bunch of tabloid stories influence it. So, please. No more links, no more gossip, no more warnings, okay? “

  There had been silence for a few seconds before Desiree had replied, and this time the hurt in her voice had been immediately apparent. “I’m just trying to look out for you, Della,” she’d muttered quietly. “Trying to spare you a broken heart, or the humiliation of getting dumped by that gigolo. But if you don’t want my advice - “