by Zuri Day
Michael wasn’t aware of his serious expression as he watched Shayna go through her paces. His world had felt slightly off its axis for about a week now, ever since her last visit to his home when she heard an unplanned phone symphony that needed an explanation rather than an encore. He was still trying to figure out just how many gods he’d pissed off for events that night to go down the way they had. In all his years of bed hopping, he’d never encountered a cellular traffic jam of this magnitude. But it had happened, with Shayna as witness. To that he’d had only one thought.
There was a first time for everything.
Later he’d learned that Jessica, the flight attendant, had called just after touching down in Los Angeles. She was only going to be there twenty-four hours, which might have accounted for the reason that she called him three times in five minutes. Ashley had broken up with her latest sponsor and even though he’d told her there was no interest in rekindling the relationship, she’d obviously not believed him. Paige and Victoria, well, they’d always been every-now-and-then diversions. While it was true that Chloe was an ex-lover, her call was the legitimate one in the group. She was now dating a football player and was checking to see if there was room for another client on Michael’s roster. Michael had explained this to Shayna, had told her that it would take time to totally break all of his past ties. When her reaction to this statement was skeptical at best, he asked how he was supposed to make people quit calling him. Changing his phone number would only result in their calling the office.
“Just give it time, babe,” he’d gently requested.
“How much?”
“I don’t know, Shayna. You’ll have to trust me.”
“Unfortunately, Michael, from watching my mother’s life and through my own experience, I’m not sure that is something that I can do.”
If there was one thing Shayna was an expert at doing, it was finding her focus before a race. No matter what had gone on in the week, day, or moment leading up to when she stepped on the track, she could bring all of her energy into the singular importance of the moment and force out all distraction until there was nothing but her, the track, and the wind.
Today, this was not happening.
Shayna squinted her eyes as she shook out the muscles of one leg and then the other. She raised her hands high above her head, standing on tiptoe, and then bent at the waist until her palms were firmly planted on the polyurethane track. She let her head hang loosely, turning it this way and that. She forced her breathing to be slow, steady, forced her thoughts to become singular. Or tried to. The truth of the matter was nothing had been quite the same since the phone call last night, the one where she learned that Michael was here. When she’d boarded the plane two days ago, it was with the knowledge that she’d have several days to not think about “the conversation,” that she could put any decisions that needed to be made on the back burner until after the meet. After learning about all of the women still blowing up Michael’s phone, Shayna had not spent the night at Michael’s house, a rare occasion in itself since they’d become a couple. But this revelation had come too close on the heels of the conversation with her mother, had drawn the unavoidable comparison to a lifestyle that she’d grown up witnessing and didn’t want to lead. They’d talked a couple more times since, and then she’d told him that she needed to focus on the upcoming meet and that they’d talk when she got back.
But Michael was here. In Barcelona. And Shayna didn’t quite know how she felt about that.
“Come on, Kim,” Shayna commanded, glad that the race had begun and her focus had shifted. “Keep your head up, girl, let’s do this!” She watched as her teammate gracefully rounded the first curve of the track, fists pumping, legs churning in a fluid motion, her braids flying horizontally in the breeze. Kim reached Brittney and the handoff was flawless, practiced hundreds of times. “Go, Britt!” Shayna forcefully encouraged, her voice low, energy contained, when she really wanted to shout and jump up and down as her girl flew ahead of Jamaica, their primary competition, giving the United States a slight lead as she handed off to Talisha. Talisha took the baton, shifted it to her other hand, and was off like a canon shot. She ran straight up and down, similar to Usain Bolt, her tall frame and lanky legs providing the much needed assist to create more distance between her and the shorter Jamaican running the third leg. The group of eight runners rounded the curve at different intervals and hit the straightaway. The Jamaican runner’s arms swung back and forth in an interesting, staccato motion, her face a mask of concentration. But Shayna didn’t see that. All she saw was Talisha coming at her. She turned and threw back her arm, palm up, feet moving as she waited for the smooth feel of hard plastic to slap against her flesh.
“Go, Shay,” Talisha commanded as she handed off the baton. Her roommate and bestie hadn’t said nothing but a word. Out of the corner of her eye, Shayna saw a flash of green, gold, and black. Jamaica. She shifted her focus, eyes becoming fixed on nothing but the track and the tape. The sound of the crowd receded.
Up in the stands, Michael’s eyes were trained on Shayna. She ran like a machine, all arms and legs and fluid motion, her face holding the same type of intensity he sometimes saw when they made love. By the time she busted the tape at the finish line, he knew what he had to do. And he wanted to do it before the meet ended tomorrow and he took Shayna to the next level of her career.
Back at his suite at the W Hotel, Michael sat gazing at the nighttime view of Barcelona, the lights twinkling from the buildings beyond his hotel, the vast darkness of the sea just beyond them. He’d been walking back and forth from the sitting area to the bedroom area, on the phone for the better part of an hour, trying to do what he’d promised Shayna he would and end the liaisons with all of his other women. It sounded easy enough in theory, but the reality of it was proving harder than he thought. First there was the matter of reaching them and if not, leaving a message for them to call him as soon as possible. Unlike some of the guys he’d heard about, he wasn’t going to send a text message or break up by voice mail. No, a son of Sam and Jackie Morgan would never go out like that.
Michael looked down at his blinking phone. For the umpteenth time he wished that the ringers on his cells had been silenced when Shayna had come over that night. But Michael had never played those kinds of games, never thought to silence his phones unless he was in a meeting. Had surely never thought to silence his phones so that one female wouldn’t know that another was calling. It was probably best that it happened, he thought, seeing that it was Paia who’d returned his call. This had to happen sooner or later, so it might as well be happening now. He touched the screen. “Hello, Paia.” No “baby,” “honey,” or “darling” on these calls. It was time to address each and every one of these women by their first names.
A brief pause, and then she said, “You sound . . . serious.”
Michael attempted a chuckle, but it sounded more like a cough. As confident as he was, and as up to any task that came in his direction, these waters had never been charted and he didn’t mind admitting that it was taking him a while to get used to rowing upstream. He decided to ease into it. “Where are you?”
“Paris. Where are you? Wait, don’t tell me you’re in Barcelona! Was that this week you were going to Spain? How long will you be there? The last show ends here tomorrow night. I could hop on a plane or if it’s too late, take a charter.”
“That’s okay.” Immediately he knew that he’d answered too quickly.
“What kind of call is this?” she asked bluntly.
“Not the type of call I’m used to,” he honestly replied.
“What kind of call is that?”
“One where I’m ending a liaison to . . . focus on someone special.” Silence. Several seconds passed. “Paia, you still there?”
“Yes, and I’m trying to figure out who this imposter is who stole Michael Morgan’s phone. Because this doesn’t sound like the guy I know at all.”
“Yeah, well, the guy you heard
about is turning over a new leaf.”
“Wow. She must be pretty special.”
“She is.”
“What—a famous actor or pop star? Or wait—do I know her? Is it another model and you’re trying to keep things from getting messy?”
“No, none of that. You don’t know this girl.” She would eventually, but Michael knew this fact needn’t be a part of the conversation.
“I’m happy for you, Michael,” Paia said at last. “I mean that. No matter how we play in the fast lane, I think all of us would like to find that one true love, and experience happiness. If I’d known that’s where you were in life, I would have tried harder to be the one you found that with.”
“You’re good people, Paia. I wish you the best.” Three quick beeps sounded in succession. “Listen, that’s my other phone. Take care of yourself, okay?”
“You, too, lover. You, too.”
Michael ended that call and quickly reached for his other phone. “Valerie, thanks for calling me back. There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
Before the night was over, Michael was well on his way to making good on his promise to Shayna. He’d talked to Cheryl for over an hour, including about the suicide attempt, and was thrilled to learn that not only had she joined a professional dating service, but also that a world-renowned therapist was helping her sort out her life. And as he finished taking his shower to spend an unlikely night in his bed alone, he was hit with the most unexpected thought. Jackie Morgan just might get what she wanted. She might get to witness one of her sons stop sowing his oats.
33
“You were amazing out there.” Michael had borrowed the patience of Job and waited more than three hours after the last race for the chance to speak with Shayna. Alone.
“Coach said that you were here. Why’d you come here, Michael?” Usually one to shy away from the presses, Shayna had talked to every reporter, stood for photo ops, and gave an impromptu speech to a group of children, all in hopes that Michael would take the hint and leave. But he hadn’t. And the situation she thought could be dealt with later had to be handled now. She wasn’t ready. Hadn’t had time to think about what she should do, what she could do, considering the truth she’d finally dared admit to herself.
Oh, so we’re going to play it like that? Taking in her cool facade, and the back that now faced him as she gathered her things, Michael’s voice became detached as well. “What, are you no longer my client? Because as of this very moment, I don’t remember receiving a call from your lawyer or yourself that the status has changed. If it has, let me know.” A slight clenching and unclenching of his jaw was the only outward sign of his anger. She turned and glared at him. His eyes held her gaze.
Shayna blinked first. “Yes, I’m still your client.”
“All right, then. As my client, you need to realize it’s important that I witness these major events firsthand, that I have the right PR people in place in order to raise your profile. The magazines, TV stations, and Internet bloggers clamoring for your attention weren’t just doing so because of your three first-place finishes today, as impressive as they were. There are people working behind the scenes for you, Shayna. I’m one of those people.”
Okay, there was no way she could be rude and not acknowledge that more press seemed to talk to her than some of her other teammates, even though there were others with multiple first-place finishes, namely Alonzo Snead, who’d dominated the long jump, triple jump, and the hurdles. “Thank you.”
“I heard of a restaurant that serves a stellar seafood paella. Would you join me?”
“I really should get back to the hotel. We—”
“I spoke with John.”
This got Shayna’s attention. “You what?”
“You heard me.” He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Stalking-basketball-player-slash-ex-lover aside, this was the very reason why he didn’t date the people he represented. Women tended to not be able to keep business and pleasure in their respective corners. True, he’d phoned a friend and “created” the business opportunity with Shayna as a way to get her to talk to him. But this type of beneficial mixing for what he wanted was beside the point. Michael clarified his position. “I tried phoning you, Shayna. When you didn’t return my calls, I contacted John so that he could tell you about the photo shoot happening tomorrow. He didn’t tell you?”
What her coach had said was to call Michael. She hadn’t.
“We’re slated to take a flight tomorrow morning for Rome. Italian Vogue will be doing a shoot with several female athletes on the Spanish Steps near Trevi Fountain. You’ll be modeling Chai’s Fashions, both formal wear and athlete designs. It’s going to be an all-day shoot, then we’ll fly from there back home tomorrow night.”
A thrill of excitement ran down Shayna’s spine. At least that’s what she called it. Since childhood she’d held a secret ambition to be a model, something that because of her height she thought would never happen. She wouldn’t dare attribute the feeling to the way Michael was looking at her, the way his jeans carelessly hugged his lean hips and long legs, the way he absentmindedly nibbled on those thick, capable lips, or the way the dimmed lighting made his eyes glow. Knowing she had to do something to cool this growing ardor, Shayna raised herself to her full five foot four, crossed her arms, and acted way angrier than she felt. “Don’t you think you should run things by me before you commit to my participation? What if I’d had something else planned, or needed to be back in the States right away?”
“John said that—”
“John is my coach, not my spokesperson or my father! You shouldn’t have booked this shoot without my okay.”
“Is that so?”
The calmness of his tone sent another shiver down Shayna’s spine. “Yes, that’s so.”
“Well, I did. And since I know you’re the consummate professional and all, able to control any feelings you have for me, I know that you’ll be there. Isn’t that so as well?”
Shayna couldn’t disagree with a thing Michael had said. Which is why later she’d question why in the heck she kept arguing with him. Insecurity? The lack of feeling in control? Mistaking his confidence in her as condescendence to her? All or none of the above could apply. No matter, at the moment she felt that she’d gone too far to turn back now.
“I’ll be at the shoot, Michael, but you need to remember that I’m your client, not your employee. You work for me, not the other way around. You sought me out to represent; I didn’t come looking for you. Now, I realize that we’ve crossed some boundaries, but since you’re the consummate professional and all, able to control any feelings you have for me, I know you’ll keep what I’ve said in mind for the future, and not make any more decisions about my life and career without my input. Is that so?”
“Did anyone ever tell you how fine you are when you’re angry?” Shayna’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Yes, Ms. Washington. Your observations as to the workings of this business relationship are duly noted. Now, can we have dinner?”
Shayna had a feeling that dinner might be in a restaurant, but dessert would take place in Michael’s bed. It had taken all of her energy to stand up to him—something that happened only because her feigned anger had turned to real chagrin—and if he hit the panties, she wasn’t sure she’d have the energy to do it again. So, she gave him the only answer that made any sense. Short. Simple. Unmistakable. “No.”
34
Almost twenty-four hours had passed since their heated exchange, but the two had had little to say to each other and even now barely spoke two words during the short walk from the Spanish Steps to the five-star Hotel Rafael. Reaching the door, Michael opened it to let Shayna pass. As she did so, she could have sworn she felt the heat emanating from his body. She’d certainly felt the heat of his stares during the shoot—desire palpable and untamed as she stood in her mini and five-inch heels. She could understand the desire—she was feeling the same. Which is why she couldn’t fathom the range of her emotio
ns, and why she was acting immature and irrational. Michael had done a wonderful thing in arranging this shoot and additionally had secured an interview with the Italian press. He’d done nothing but act professional, just as she’d asked, nothing but focus on business, the way she’d said she wanted. Except right now, with them enclosed in the small space of the elevator and her body on fire, she knew that there was something else she wanted—something primal and untamed, something beyond the calm restraint Michael had shown her since they landed in the Eternal City. And as much as she knew what she wanted, she knew that he wasn’t going to offer it to her. He’d tried once, this morning when they’d checked into the hotel, and her rebuff had been instant and absolute. Yeah, how’s that working for you right about now, Miss Shayna? That’s just it; it wasn’t working for her. Not at all . . .
As soon as they entered the suite, Michael turned toward his room. “Good night, babe.”
Just like that? Seriously? She watched his proud, straight, receding back. What did you expect him to do after turning him down this morning—beg for it? You wanted professional, and that’s what he’s giving you. “Good night.”
She walked into her room, began to undress, and moments later heard water running from down the hall. A mischievous smile formed on her face as she tossed aside the nightie in her hand and walked bold and buck naked toward the shower.
Michael snatched the hand towel off the rack and angrily soaped his body. Here he’d worked his behind off setting up an amazing shoot and interview for Shayna and what had she done? Basically ignored him all day. Here he was in one of the most romantic cities in the world, where no less than half a dozen women had come on to him (and he had a couple hotel room numbers to prove it) and here he was with a woman tripping because of a few phone calls. Hadn’t he told her that he wasn’t seeing anyone, that it would take him a minute to untangle from years of living like a consummate bachelor? And even after he’d handled the women he’d seen in the past, there would be others. In the world of high-caliber celebrity sports management, it came with the territory. I need someone who is confident enough to not trip out every time there’s a female nearby. He’d thought that woman was Shayna. Now he wondered if he’d thought wrong.
