by Pamela Yaye
“This would be your opportunity to finally set the record straight,” Salem continued. “And imagine what the press could do for you, your team and your charity foundation. It’s a win-win situation for everyone involved, and...”
Angela tuned her boss out. Catching sight of her reflection in the wall mirror, she straightened her shoulders and cleaned the scowl off her face. There was nothing she could do about the hatred in her heart, though. Angela was fuming, her pulse pounding violently in her ears.
Her gaze bounced around the room and landed on Demetri. It was easy to see why fans disliked him. Charming one minute, acerbic the next. Former coaches, rivals and the media criticized him for his conduct on and off the field, and after having the misfortune of meeting Demetri for herself, Angela believed the criticism was due. She only wished he wasn’t so good-looking. He gave her chills—the ones that started in her toes and shot straight to her core—and it was impossible to ignore his raw masculine energy. Everything about him was a turn-on.
“I’ll give it some thought.” Demetri took his sunglasses out of his back pocket and slid them on. “My publicist will be in touch.”
“That sounds great, Mr. Morretti. I look forward to hearing from her.”
“Thanks for your time, Mrs. Velasquez. Have a nice day.” Demetri nodded, then turned and strode out of the small, cramped office.
“Angela, I know you’re upset because I ordered you into my office, but I had no choice,” Salem said, her facial features touched with concern. “You were losing control.”
“Of course I was! Demetri Morretti is a complete jerk!” Gesturing to the door, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, she raged, “Who the hell does he think he is?”
Salem picked up the latest copy of People magazine off her desk and held it in the air. “The sexiest man alive, that’s who!”
“I wonder who he had to bribe to get on the cover.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, Demetri’s a jerk, and in my opinion there’s nothing sexy about him.”
Salem snatched her phone off the cradle and started dialing.
“Who are you calling?” Angela asked, frowning.
“My optometrist.” She was wearing a straight face, but her tone was rich with humor. “I’m booking you an emergency appointment.”
“Why? My eyes are fine.”
“No, they’re not.” A smirk lit her glossy, pink lips. “There’s definitely something wrong with your vision and your hormones because Demetri Morretti is the finest man on the planet!”
Chapter 3
The moment Demetri entered MVP Sports Bar & Grill and smelled fresh garlic wafting out of the open kitchen, his mouth began to water. Located a half block from Skyline Field, the sports bar was insanely popular among young and college-aged sports fans. Every time Demetri stopped inside the restaurant bar, the staff gave him a hero’s welcome.
“Demetri, my man, so good to see you!” The manager, a portly man with a double chin, grabbed his hand and gave it a hearty squeeze. “How are you doing?”
“Good, Mr. De Rossi. How’s the family?”
“My sons are growing up fast and getting in all sorts of trouble.” Chuckling, he bent down and pointed at his receding hairline. “The kids are the reason I’m losing my hair, and the little I have left is turning gray!”
Demetri laughed heartily. The fellow reminded him of his dad, right down to his wrinkle-free pants, buffed leather shoes and thick Italian accent. Shooting the breeze with the jovial bar manager always put Demetri in a good mood. And after the tongue-lashing he’d received from Angela Kelly at the station, he needed something to laugh about.
“I just put your calzone in the stove,” he said, patting Demetri on the shoulder and steering him toward the dining room. “I’ll bring it out as soon as it’s ready.”
“Thanks, sir. I appreciate it.”
Spotting his staff sitting in one of the cushy, padded booths, Demetri acknowledged them with a nod of his head. Nichola Caruso, his savvy, no-nonsense publicist and personal assistant, waved, but his manager and agent were too busy on their cell phones to notice he’d arrived. Every Friday, he met with his team at MVP Sports Bar & Grill, and because Nichola rented out the entire restaurant, they could eat and talk in peace. Demetri didn’t have to worry about paparazzi snapping pictures of him with barbecue sauce on his face or crazed fans hitting him up for autographs or cash. “If it’s not too much trouble, can I have a basket or two of bruschetta?” Demetri patted his stomach. “I’m starving, and I bet the guys finished what was on the table.”
“No problem. I’ll whip up a fresh batch for you.”
Demetri thanked him again and strode into the lounge. Dark wood paneling, vintage sports memorabilia and plush burgundy couches created a sophisticated decor. The tall, oversize windows provided a tranquil view of downtown Chicago and plenty of warm sunshine. It was the perfect weather for gardening or reading out on the deck, and as soon as Demetri finished his meeting, that was exactly what he was going to do.
“Sorry I’m late, but the I-94 was backed up for miles,” Demetri said, taking off his hoodie and chucking it inside the booth. Sitting down, he snatched a menu off of the table and flipped it open. “Did you guys order already?”
His agent, Todd Nicholas, answered with a nod of his head. Buff, with blue eyes and tanned skin, he looked like the quintessential all-American boy. “I have a meeting across town in an hour, but I couldn’t leave here without having Chef Sal’s delicious lasagna. I’ve been craving it all week.”
Demetri stared longingly at the barbecue chicken wings and licked his lips.
“Want some?” Nichola picked up the basket and offered it to him. “Go ahead, Demetri. They’re all yours.”
“Are you sure? I know how much you love Sal’s wings.”
“I’m sure. I shouldn’t be cheating on my diet anyway.”
Demetri plucked a wing out of the basket and took a big bite. “Thanks, Nichola. I can always count on you to give me just what I need.”
“Just make sure you remember that when my birthday rolls around in August!” she said, swiveling her neck. “I want shopping money and Porsche Cayenne in pink just like Mariah Carey!”
Demetri released a hearty chuckle. Small and petite, with a short, funky haircut, Nichola looked more like a high school student than a Princeton graduate. A friend of his family for years, he’d hired her as a favor to his father, Arturo, and in the twelve years Nichola had been working for him, he’d never once regretted his decision.
“You’re moving a lot better today.” Nichola wore a concerned expression on her face, but her tone was upbeat and bright. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Not bad. It’s only been a couple weeks since the surgery, but my surgeon and physiotherapist are pleased with my progress.”
“Is that where you were this morning? At your doctor’s office?”
Demetri glanced to his right. His manager, Lloyd Kesler, may have needed a haircut, and an extreme fashion makeover, but when it came to negotiating deals, he was the best in the business. “No, I’ve been around. Just maxin’ and relaxin’.”
“Around, huh? Doing what?”
“You know, this and that.” Demetri continued eating the barbecue chicken wings. They were onto him. He was sure of it. He couldn’t do anything without this terrible threesome finding out, but he wasn’t going to let anyone make him feel guilty for confronting Angela Kelly. The television newscaster had it coming to her. Or at least that was what he told himself when guilt tormented his conscience.
“Why are you giving me the third degree for being a couple minutes late?” Demetri said, choosing to stare at the mounted flat-screen TV instead of at his chubby, high-strung business manager. “I said I was sorry, man, so let it go. It’s no big deal.”
“You disregarded my advice and went down to WJN-TV station, didn’t you?”
Demetri shrugged. “So, what if I did?”
“I told you I would handle it.”
“You were taking too long,” he said, shrugging his shoulders once more.
Nichola pointed a finger at him. “You went down to the TV station dressed like that?”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“Nothing if you’re a street sweeper!” she quipped, laughing. “Why didn’t you wear a suit? You look gorgeous in Armani, and you have the entire fall collection in your closet. I should know. I hung everything up when it arrived last week.”
Demetri opened his mouth but quickly closed it. His team wouldn’t understand. Every time he left the house, he felt as if there were a giant bull’s-eye on his back, but with sunglasses, a baseball cap and workout gear on, no one recognized him. He could go about his business without pushy fans or sports reporters breathing down his neck. “To be honest, I didn’t think much about what I put on,” he lied.
“Well, you certainly fooled me.” Todd snickered as he draped an arm along the back of the oversize booth. “I didn’t recognize you when you walked in, and I’ve been your agent for more than a decade!”
“I didn’t even know you owned sweatpants.” Nichola’s short strawberry-blond curls bounced all over her head as she laughed. “I thought you were a delivery guy!”
Good—my disguise worked, Demetri thought.
“I’m scared to even ask what happened down at the studio.”
Lloyd looked stiff, like a statue in a wax museum. His eyes were narrowed so thin, Demetri couldn’t see his pupils.
“What did Ms. Kelly say when you confronted her?”
A picture of the titillating newscaster flashed in Demetri’s mind, and despite himself, a grin tickled his lips. “What didn’t she say? The woman reamed me out, and at one point things got so heated, I thought she was going to give me a Chi-Town beat down!”
Todd chuckled and then said, “I really wish you hadn’t gone over there, Demetri. You’re supposed to be focusing on rehab and restoring the strength in your shoulder, not...”
Demetri’s eyes wandered in the direction of the open kitchen. He spotted the waitress sashaying toward him, bread basket in hand, and licked his lips in hungry anticipation. When their eyes met, she stumbled and her legs buckled out from underneath her, sending the bread basket into the air. Dozens of buttered rolls shot across the shiny tiled floor.
Everyone at the table laughed, except Demetri.
“Are you okay?” Demetri slid out of the booth, clasped the waitress’s forearm and slowly helped her to her feet. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
“No, no, I’m okay...just really embarrassed.”
“Here,” he said, bending down. “Let me help you clean up.”
Demetri gathered the discarded rolls, tossed them into the wicker basket and handed it back to her. “Be careful. These floors are slick,” he warned, offering a reassuring smile. “I almost fell flat on my face the last time I was here!”
“I—I—I am so sorry, Mr. Morretti. It’s my first day on the job, and I wasn’t expecting to see you seated there.”
“Baseball players have to eat, too, you know.”
The redhead giggled. “Sorry again. I’ll be right back with your order, Mr. Morretti.”
“Call me Demetri. And good luck with the new job.”
Smiling from ear to ear, she dashed back through the dining area and into the open kitchen.
“Don’t forget the rolls!” Todd hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth. “And hurry up, tootsie! We don’t have all day.”
“Relax, man. She’s new.”
“Finish telling us about what happened at the station,” Lloyd demanded, leaning forward in his seat. “I hope you kept your cool, because the last thing you need is any more bad press.”
“Oh, I was as cool as an alley cat. Can’t say the same for Ms. Kelly, though.”
Nichola glanced up from her salad bowl. “You let her ream you out?”
“I let her rant and rave for a few minutes, and then I said my piece.”
Todd gulped. “It sounds like your conversation was anything but peaceful.”
“You can say that again,” Lloyd mumbled, shaking his head.
Demetri finished chewing the food in his mouth and then continued. “I told Ms. Kelly if she didn’t go on the air and apologize, I was going to sue her.”
“You know that would be a waste of time and money, right? Not to mention—”
“Todd, I don’t care,” Demetri snapped, using a napkin to clean the sauce off his sticky fingers. “I’m sick of the media taking cheap shots at me and my family. If I don’t take a stand now, the abuse will never end.”
Nichola agreed. “I’m with you, Demetri. I think you should sue Angela Kelly. She’s a bully, and you’re not the only celebrity she’s bad-mouthed on her show.”
Demetri shot his publicist a grateful smile. He could always count on Nichola to go to bat for him. She went above and beyond her job description, made sure his day-to-day life ran smoothly. She kept the gold diggers—in his family and on the streets—at bay during the regular season so he could concentrate on his game. Nichola was more than just his publicist; she was a real, true friend.
“Once we finish up here, I’ll give the station a call and see what they’re willing to do.”
“Don’t bother, Lloyd. I met with the producer of Ms. Kelly’s show, and she invited me to come on and do a live one-hour interview—”
“That’s great!” Lloyd cheered, pumping his fist in the air. “You can set the record straight about all those crazy rumors floating around on the internet and plug your sponsors.”
“And your charity work,” Todd added. “That will get you the sympathy vote.”
“I’m not doing the interview.”
“What?” Lloyd made his eyes wide. “Why not?”
Nichola jumped in. “Because Angela Kelly’s a vulture! She looks all nice and sweet, but she’s cutthroat. Last week, she interviewed the pregnant girl on NFL Wives, and by the time the interview was done, the chick was in tears!”
“Yeah, probably because she felt guilty for screwing her sister’s husband.” Lloyd made a disgusted face. “I represent her ex, so I know the scoop. Trust me, she’s no wallflower, and those tears weren’t real. That woman was just playing it up for the cameras.”
“Back to the matter at hand,” Todd said, stealing a glance at his gold Rolex watch. “Demetri, please reconsider doing the interview. Angela Kelly isn’t going to double-cross you. And just to make sure she doesn’t try to pull a fast one on us, I’ll be on set watch—”
Demetri cut his agent off midword. “Still not interested. Drop it.”
Todd held his hands up high in the air like an unarmed man surrendering to the police. “All right, all right, you’re the boss. I won’t mention it again.”
“Good.” Demetri leaned back in the booth and calmly addressed Nichola. “I want you to call Salem Velasquez at WJN-TV and politely decline her offer.”
Nichola gave a thumbs-up sign. “I’ll call her when I get back to the office.”
The food arrived, and their discussion came to an abrupt halt.
Picking up his utensils, Demetri bowed his head and said a quick word of grace. He was starving, but he ate his food slowly, savoring each tasty bite. The conversation turned to his weekly agenda, his newest sponsorship deals and the upcoming Caribbean cruise he was planning for eighty-five of his family members and friends. He traveled with his family every year, and eve
ry year, the trip caused Demetri enormous stress. Thankfully, Nichola was overseeing all of the pertinent details of the three-week vacation in August and keeping his most unruly relatives in line.
“There are a few things I need to run by you.” Nichola set aside her salad bowl and retrieved her iPad from her designer purse. “As you know, the Demetri Morretti Foundation is having a Fourth of July extravaganza this summer, but so far I’ve only heard back from a handful of celebrities. You’re going to have to call some of your superstar friends and extend a personal invitation.”
“Nichola, why can’t you do it?”
“Because I’m not the slugger with the golden arm. You are!”
Everyone chuckled.
“We’re doing it real big this year,” Nichola declared. “We’re having magicians, flamethrowers, a dunk tank and even circus performers. To keep everything on track, I booked celebrity event planner Claudia Jeffries-Medina. And award-winning photographer Kenyon Blake will be on hand to capture every heartfelt moment.”
“It sounds like the Demetri Morretti Foundation is throwing one hell of a party!” Todd said with a grin.
“The more press we get to cover the event the better.” Nichola rested a hand on Demetri’s forearm. “I’m going to need you to be nice to the media from here on out. No more arguments with Angela Kelly or anyone else who rubs you the wrong way.”
I’d let that sexy newscaster rub me the right way all night long. Demetri shook his head in an attempt to remove the insane thought from his mind. Angela Kelly was the enemy, a woman who took great pride in humiliating him, and he wasn’t even remotely interested in her.
