by Lisa Rayne
A couple of decades had passed since the man had last lived in Texas, but he wore his southern pride like he was flying national colors. A proud, card-carrying member of the NRA, his favorite hunting rifle hung on the wall below the mounted heads of two bucks he’d shot. The only piece in this office he treasured more was the taxidermied rattler perched next to the stuffed goose on his trophy case.
“Come on in, Dash. Take a seat.” DuChamps coated the words with his heavy twang and gestured towards Naomi. “I know you know Ms. Pellier.”
She looked at Dash, eyes neutral, and nodded her head.
“She came to me with a story idea. Said she’d run it by you, but you weren’t interested.” DuChamps rocked forward and placed his hands on the desk beside his hips. “I thought maybe we all could discuss it.”
She’d gone over his head? Dash took a deep breath and reigned in his annoyance. “I don’t think there’s much to discuss, sir. As I informed Ms. Pellier, I’m not interested in being the center of a focus piece.”
“It seems to me, son, you’re already the center of a focus piece. Once again, your sexual proclivities are at the forefront of Griffins news. Hell, this business about you being homosexual is getting more press than our division standings. We’re still a relatively new franchise, Dash. We can’t afford for the only press about us to be gossip and innuendo.”
DuChamps had located the Griffins on the southern edge of the greater Kansas City area. He’d gotten a lot of flack for doing so. This was Chiefs territory. Many people thought he should have planted the new expansion team further south in Arkansas, a state that didn’t have a league team at the time DuChamps organized the Griffins five years ago.
DuChamps had opted, strategically, to plant the Griffins and their new stadium on the outskirts of the burgeoning Olathe suburb so the team was officially located in Kansas not Missouri. Still, some felt they were too close to Arrowhead Stadium where the Chiefs played. DuChamps insisted the greater Kansas City area had enough people fanatical about football to support two professional franchises, and he was fanatical about not giving those fans any reason to lobby against keeping the Griffins right where they were.
Standing up, DuChamps took one step away from his desk then turned back and slapped a palm loudly against top. “Dammit, boy, I’m still fielding angry looks from the Cheerleading Coach over that business of yours with two of her girls. She’s pissed because you cost her two of her best dancers.”
“I didn’t know they were cheerleaders when they came into the locker room. If they were concerned about the no fraternization policy, I’d think they’d have been a little more discreet about double-teaming a player while still on campus.”
Dash glanced at Naomi who’d broken into a coughing fit. She was trying to suppress her urge to laugh, and he so wanted to strangle her right now.
He’d only recently straightened out the false media claim that he’d entertained two underage groupies in the locker room after the final home game last season. They’d actually both been twenty-one. Unfortunately, they’d also both been Griffins cheerleaders, which meant they hadn’t readily come forward to clear up the accusation. When the truth finally came out, the women got kicked off the squad and the team slapped him with a huge fine.
Despite being cleared of any legal wrong-doing in the cheerleader case, apparently as far as DuChamps was concerned, this recent noise over the kiss photo placed Dash firmly in the middle of another sex scandal. “Sir, I’ve already explained that it’s not me in that picture.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. But you haven’t offered an alternative explanation so speculation’s still rampant. We need to give the public the facts and put this story to bed. That’s where Naomi here comes in.” DuChamps gave Naomi the sweetest smile Dash had ever seen on the man.
Did the woman charm every man she met?
“Sweetheart, why don’t you tell Dash here what you found out.”
Sweetheart? Naomi hated when other men called her sweetheart, especially in business meetings. He waited for her to correct DuChamps, but she simply smiled at the man.
“Sure, Martin. I’d be happy to.”
Sure? That was it? He glanced between DuChamps and Naomi. Martin? She got to call him Martin? He’d been on the man’s team for three years and he didn’t get to call him Martin. What the hell?
Naomi gave Dash an innocent smile. “I’ve traced the origin of the photo to a small journal in Ibiza.”
“Ibiza? Where the hell is Ibiza?” Dash asked.
“In the Mediterranean. Off the coast of Spain.” At Dash’s confused looked, Naomi continued. “The managing editor of the KC Report told me she received a clipping of the article anonymously. With a little research, I was able to track down the freelance photographer who took the photo. The Report paid him handsomely to acquire an original print of the photo for analysis and for rights to run their own story.” She looked back at DuChamps. “As we discussed, they claim to have had the photograph authenticated, and the photographer claimed he shot the photo on the beach outside a resort in Ibiza.”
Dash snorted. “How the hell did he claim to manage that when I’ve never heard of Ibiza until now, and I’ve sure as hell never been there?”
“That’s the million dollar question,” Naomi replied. “The photographer alleged you’re a frequent visitor to this particular resort.” She crossed her legs. “Someone’s playing a pretty interesting game, and I’m curious as to whom and why.”
The surrealism of the moment faded for Dash as Naomi’s shapely thighs peeked from beneath her straight skirt. Her foot dangled and her calves caught his attention.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” DuChamps’s voice broke into Dash’s anatomical distraction. DuChamps leaned backwards over his huge black desk and picked up two envelopes from the desk blotter.
Dash’s eyes strayed to Naomi’s face. Her eyebrows lifted and the edge of her mouth turned up.
Hell. She’d caught him checking out her legs. Could she get the upper hand in this meeting any more securely?
DuChamps handed an envelope to Naomi and one to Dash. “The two of you are headed for Ibiza this weekend. We have our Thursday night game tomorrow and a bye next week. We’re going to take advantage of that scheduling to get this mess cleared up.”
What? Dash scooted forward on his seat. “Sir, I can’t miss that much practice. The next few games are crucial to playoff standings.”
“Don’t worry about practice. You focus on putting a win on the board tomorrow night and we’ll have Wilson run the boys through the plays while you’re gone. I suspect y’all’ll have this all cleared up in a few days. You should be back by the end of next week, which will be plenty of time for you to ready yourself for the next game.”
Wilson? The third string quarterback was going to take his place at practice. Was DuChamps already prepping to push him off the team? “Sir—”
“Lookie here, Dash. This isn’t optional. Need I remind you your contract contains behavior standards and a morality clause? I’ve had enough of seeing your name in the paper.” DuChamps stood and paced a few steps in front of his desk. “I’m from the Lone Star State. Born and bred to be a one-man-one-woman kind of guy. I don’t understand you young bucks swappin’ out women—or, um, men—” He coughed. “—like you’re changing underwear or this business about servicing multiple partners at a time.” He stopped pacing and nodded at Naomi. “Excuse my frank talk, sweetheart. I mean no disrespect.”
Naomi gave him a head bob of understanding.
DuChamps focused his gaze back on Dash. “But here’s the thing. My wife tells me I’ve got to haul my a—” He coughed again. “Myself … haul myself into the Twenty-first Century and learned to be more tolerant. More open-minded, she says.” He huffed disgustedly. “So, right now, I’m gonna put aside what I think about this current mess of yours and tell you I could care less what you or any other player does in his bedroom. That is until your shenanigans in the bedroom—or the locker room—end up a lea
ding news story and become a negative reflection on my team.”
Dash squirmed in his seat.
“I meant what I said the last time you sat in that chair, Dash. Third strike.” DuChamps flicked his fist at Dash with three fingers splayed. “Make no mistake, son. You’re currently up to bat and your count is three and two. So, you can balk at this and take a final out count or you can take the opportunity to settle this matter to my satisfaction. What’s it going to be?” DuChamps crossed his arms across his chest and stared challengingly at Dash.
Yep. Upper hand—check—firmly more established. She’d one-upped him with his boss. His career stood in the balance versus another Naomi Pellier byline focused on his personal life. Dash swallowed the fury rising in his throat and nodded his consent to the owner.
“Good.” DuChamps stepped behind his desk and sat down. “I’ve taken the liberty of booking adjoining suites for you two at the resort Naomi mentioned. I’ve agreed to foot the bill for this little expedition with the understanding that Naomi here will have exclusive access to you for comment purposes, and she’ll give us an advance look at her piece before it’s run.”
Dash’s gaze jerked to Naomi.
“I know what you’re thinking, but Ms. Pellier hasn’t agreed to give us any editorial power. She’s simply agreed to give us a courtesy advance look so we’ll be able to prepare a PR response should it be necessary.” DuChamps clapped his hands together once and rubbed. “Alrighty then. Your flight leaves first thing Friday morning. Happy hunting.” He picked up a stack of papers and began reading.
They’d been dismissed. Dash glanced back at Naomi, hoping she could see the promise of retribution in his eyes.
*
Dash rose from his chair and gestured for Naomi to precede him.
When they stood outside DuChamps’s closed office door, he turned on her. “Really? You went to DuChamps with this? Are you kidding me?”
Naomi leaned against the wall. “Did you really think I wasn’t going to do my job just because you choose not to cooperate?” She smiled. “Come on, Dash, I thought even you gave me more credit than that.” She pushed off the wall and hefted her tote further up her shoulder. “Look at it this way. At least now, you’ll find out what and who was behind the release of that photograph.”
With a flick of her wrist, she checked the time on the diamond and emerald faced watch he’d given her on their first Christmas together.
“Nice watch,” he couldn’t stop himself for saying.
Her eyes narrowed. “It’ll do.”
I’ll bet. His lips tilted left and he peaked a brow.
With a shake of her arm, she covered the watch with the sleeve of her jacket. “I better get moving. Shave will be looking for me.” She turned and walked away. “See you Friday morning.” Without turning around, she lifted a hand in a backwards wave.
Dash watched her until she rounded the corner at the end of the hall, his annoyance over her leaving with Shave festering anew. The feel of paper crumpling in his hand made him look down. He eyed the squished envelope. Flipping open the flap, he studied the contents. His ticket indicated the first leg of the trip took them to Chicago and then London for an overnight layover. They wouldn’t get to Ibiza until Saturday. The total trip would take approximately thirty-three hours. Great. Just great.
He glanced up. The specter of Naomi gliding down the hall to meet Shave Stephens teasing his visual memory. The ticket in his hand crumpled anew. Long, determined strides launched him through the hall, down the stairs, and across the players’ parking lot. Thirty minutes later, he stormed into his agent’s office unannounced and slammed the door.
His eyes locked on Pete Daniels, who sat working at his desk.
Pete tossed down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “Well, come on in, Dash. I wasn’t aware we had an appointment this afternoon.” Pete’s right eyebrow rose.
Behind Dash, Pete’s secretary popped opened the office door and peeked in. “Sorry, sir. He was moving so fast. I couldn’t stop him.”
The look of chagrin on her face triggered a smidgen of remorse in Dash. He hadn’t meant to make the woman look incompetent.
Pete waved off her apology. “Don’t worry about it, Marsha. Men three times your size can’t stop this guy when he wants to get somewhere.” He glanced at Dash. “Dash is sorry he caused you any inconvenience. Right, Dash?”
Dash ran a hand through his hair. The last thing he wanted was to get the secretary in trouble. “Right. Sorry, Marsha. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
Luckily, Pete would overlook Dash’s brash behavior. Dash wasn’t just one of his biggest clients. They were good friends, having known each other since college. Pete had also been a collegiate athlete. He still kept his former-baseball-player physique tip-top, joining Dash without complaint now and then for workouts that made many of his teammates beg for mercy.
Marsha looked between the two men. “Okay, as long as everything is all right.” She stared at Dash an extra second. “Everything is all right with you, isn’t it, Dash?”
“Not really, Marsha. Things aren’t so good at all.”
“Well, if anyone can get things back on track for you, it’s Pete here.” She stepped back through the door and put her hand on the doorknob. “Good luck.” She shot Pete a small smile before the door clicked closed.
Dash stared pensively at the closed door. “When are you going to put that woman out of her misery?”
“You know my rule. T’aint nobody’s business what I do.” A wide smile spread across Pete’s face, showing off a devil-may-care, bright-white smile. Set inside full lips and contrasted against his brown skin, it was the kind of smile that set women atwitter. Unfortunately for them, Pete preferred their opposite sex. Not that anyone could tell if they simply went by outward appearances, which meant he had as many female admirers as male. Add to that a charisma most guys would pay a year’s salary to borrow for an hour, and Pete exuded a leading-man persona, the kind producers would cast in a role even if the script didn’t specifically call for a black guy. “She knows I’m attached.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t know your other half has the same equipment you do. Which means, she’s still holding out hope that you’ll see the light or at least, eventually dump the loser so she’ll have an open field.”
Pete frowned. “Dash, don’t start.”
Dash thought Pete’s partner Marcus was a tool. The man was an insecure whiney-baby who gave Pete grief every time the agent got a new male client Marcus considered attractive. Dash waved a hand. “Yeah. Yeah. Not why I came.” He took a step and then stopped. “Is that the problem between you and Laramie Mitchell? I sensed a not-so-stellar history between you two. What gives?”
A sigh resonated from Pete. “She was my sister’s roommate and best friend their freshman year of college. We had an unfortunate misunderstanding. One I regret, but Laramie doesn’t seem to be able to let it go.” He waved a hand. “That’s a story for another day. I doubt you stormed in here to discuss my personal life.”
With a stab of his hand through his hair, the angst and anger inside Dash stewed up anew. “Right.” He started to pace back and forth in front of Pete’s desk.
Pete watched in silence. Eventually, he shook his head. “Are you planning to tell me what this is about? Or, do you simply intend to wear a ditch into my carpet?”
Dash stopped his back-and-forth movements. A quick grab at his back pocket lifted a wrinkled envelope. He tossed the crumple onto Pete’s desk as if it contained a contagious disease. “She’s at it again, and now, she’s got DuChamps in on the game.”
“Who’s at what again?” Pete picked up the envelope and pulled out the contents.
“Naomi.” Dash strode to the window. “She wants a story, and she’s convinced DuChamps to send us both on an excursion to scope out the photographer who took my homosexual outing picture.”
Pete chuckled at Dash’s words. “You actually have to be gay to be outed, Dash.”
&nb
sp; “This isn’t funny, Pete.”
Pete grinned. “It’s kind of funny. It’s certainly a laugh a minute at my place.”
Dash whirled. “Marcus?”
“Yep.” Pete nodded, the amused grin giving way to a scowl.
“Ah, hell. I hadn’t even thought of that.” Dash ran a hand through his hair. When Marcus first met Dash, he’d not been happy about Dash’s closeness to Pete. The guy had been convinced more was going on between the pair than friendship and regularly accused Pete of having an affair with the quarterback. With all this recent hoopla about Dash being secretly gay, Dash could just imagine Marcus making Pete’s home life hell with a constantly pointing finger and an I-knew-it! attitude. “Crap, man. I’m sorry.”
Pete pushed his chair back and waved a hand again. “Not your fault. I’m ignoring Marcus. He’ll get over it as usual.” Lacing his fingers, he propped them behind his head. “Now, what’s this about Naomi?”
Dash nodded towards the envelope. “Ibiza! DuChamps is forcing me to go to Ibiza with Naomi. Can you believe that?”
“Why Ibiza?”
“Naomi traced the photographer and original story to some resort on Ibiza.”
Pete sat forward. “What do you know about the island?”
“Only what the brochure showed. Posh resorts. Great nightlife …”
“And known as a gay-friendly travel destination.”
Dash tilted his head. “You’ve been there?”
“Quite a few times. So, if your story originated there, it’s probably not a coincidence that the scandal of choice was sexual orientation.”
“Fabulous.” Dash resumed his pacing. “You’ve got to make this go away. I’m damned if I am and damned if I’m not.” He snatched the morning paper off the coffee table and opened to the sports section. He read the headline out loud, “LGBT Activists Incensed Over Star Quarterback’s Disgust At Being Labeled Gay.” He shook his head. “If I’m gay, I’m some sort of pariah because I hid it from my teammates and fans. If I tell the truth that I’m not gay, and therefore had nothing to hide, I’m homophobic. Either way, pundits keep finding a way to keep this news. DuChamps is furious. And I get the distinct impression that no matter what’s to be found in Ibiza, DuChamps will find a way to use it against me.” He tossed the paper back at the coffee table. The sections flew apart and scattered over the table and onto the floor rug beneath. “I’m not going! I’ll be damned if I let Naomi Pellier profit from me being in the hot seat … again.”
