by Rose, Callie
She narrowed her eyes at me. “This isn’t a vacation for me, Dawson. I’m here to find out the truth about you… no matter what that truth is.”
I leaned forward across the table. Interest flickered in her eyes, and I gestured for her to come closer, then dropped my voice to a low murmur. “It’s okay,” I told her. “You know you want to see me in action, and I’m fine with that. It’s only natural. Come on, tell the truth, you begged for this assignment.” I winked at her, amused at the way her flushing cheeks made her eyes shine.
“On the contrary,” she said coldly. “I tried to turn it down. I have no interest in the chewed up remains of a tabloid smorgasbord.”
Okay, so that actually hurt.
“No worries, doll face. I’m sure once you graduate to full-blown reporter, they’ll give you better stories. They always give the fluff to the intern.”
That hit home. The blood drained from her face and her eyes narrowed into little slits, making her look like some kind of ancient ice goddess. Have you ever seen a smile that was actually a threat? I hadn’t until that very moment. She was intense. It would be fun to shatter that icy veneer.
“I’m not going to sit here and defend my career to someone who’s well on his way to destroying his own,” she bit out. “I’m no intern, Dawson. And you aren’t fooling anybody with this clean-cut look.”
“Destroying my career? Hardly. There isn’t anybody alive who can out-perform me on the ice, sweet cheeks. Come see for yourself. Tonight, seven o’clock. I’ll even introduce you to the team after the game.”
She raised a brow. “I was planning to attend. I find it hard to believe that anybody who lives the way you do can do more than slide on the ice, but we’ll see.”
“Looking forward to proving you wrong,” I said with a grin. “Oh, and we can do your little interview afterwards. Meet me in this room… here, I’ll draw you a map… after the game. It’ll just be you and me, and we can talk. Just go straight there after the game.” I slid the napkin with the map across the table to her.
She looked it over dubiously. “What room is this?”
“Just a conference room,” I said easily. “We do all our interviews there. I’m looking forward to it.” I stuck out my hand for her to shake it, but she didn’t take it.
“Why the sudden change in tone?” She asked suspiciously.
I shrugged. “You’re just doing your job. No hard feelings about all those cutting comments of yours. I’m ready to move on with my life.”
She raised a brow but took my hand and shook it. “If you say so. Tonight after the game. And you’ll answer all my questions honestly?”
“Cross my heart,” I said as I did so. “You’ll get an honest answer to every question you ask if you meet me in that room after the game.”
Her brow furrowed as if she were trying to figure out my angle. She wouldn’t, though. Not until it was too late. I gave her a friendly grin.
“Truce?”
“I suppose,” she said slowly. “Truce.”
“Great. See you tonight! Hey, Millie, my stalker’s coffee is on me. Kidding! Kidding, she’s a nice lady.” I grinned at the fuming Addison and waved as I made my exit.
Mission accomplished. This was going to be fun.
3
Addison
I had to admit, at least to myself, that I was rattled by the encounter at the café. I’d be damned if I was going to let anyone around me see that, though. I sipped my fresh coffee calmly, even though the waitress was giving me suspicious looks every time she passed by, and the gaggle of girls in the corner kept whispering and glancing in my direction.
I took the time to think about the situation from Dawson’s perspective. Obviously, he felt threatened by me, or he wouldn’t have made such a grand attempt at embarrassing me. I assumed that meant he had something to hide, which wasn’t surprising. It was a bit disappointing, though. I really had no interest in regurgitating tabloid news. As a matter of fact, the more I thought about it, the more the whole business felt like a career-killer.
“Then I guess I’ll go out with a bang,” I murmured to myself.
If I was going to be forced to do this clickbait, it would be the most thorough piece of journalism ever printed. Shaking the stress out of my shoulders, I slid easily back into my element. I was on a mission to find the truth, and nobody was going to stop me. Not even a strikingly attractive loose cannon with a silver tongue, and especially not Sawyer Dawson. I smiled at the waitress and gestured for her to come over to me.
“Millie, right?”
“Yes, and a good friend of Sawyer’s. So if you think you’re going to pump me for information like all of those other so-called journalists—”
“Not at all,” I said quickly. “I just wanted to be sure you got your tip. He ran out of here so quickly that I wasn’t sure.”
I handed her a folded ten, and she eyed it suspiciously for a moment like she was afraid it was going to bite her. She finally took it, mumbled a thanks, and hustled away to another table.
There. Even if I didn’t need to ask her anything, there was nothing wrong with greasing the wheels around my quarry. He clearly spent a lot of time in that café, and if she was even a little more sympathetic to me, it would remove some of his power. I needed to get him on my turf, and that conference room sounded like just the place to do it. Unfortunately, I would have to watch the game before I could get him alone. With no interest in sports and even less interest in the people who played them, I was beginning to wonder if Edwards was punishing me for something.
* * *
As I took my seat in the stadium, I found myself anticipating what I could expect to see from Sawyer based on both his reputation and my first-hand experience with the man. As far as I was concerned, he was an arrogant douchebag who was only out for himself, and I fully expected that attitude to translate to his performance on the ice.
I searched for him as the teams spilled out onto the ice, expecting him to be showboating and playing to the crowd; as it turned out, I was pleasantly surprised. He was the epitome of focus, communicating with his team as he took his place in the center. An electric stillness fell over both teams as they waited for the referee. The whole stadium tensed in anticipation. Then the referee dropped the puck, and all that pent up energy exploded.
It was almost orgasmic. The Gladiators were a well-oiled machine, and though Sawyer was one of the best players out there, he wasn’t being an ass about it. He and another player worked like psychic twins, shutting out the competition at every turn, weaving in mirror image with one another over the ice. I knew skill when I saw it, and Sawyer had it in spades.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off Sawyer.
That’s fine, I told myself. He’s the one I’m supposed to be watching, right?
But it wasn’t his game I was analyzing. It was the way he moved. When he pinned one of his opponents against the glass, thrust his pelvis to pin the man, and snaked the puck out from between his feet, I was panting. In that moment, I would have given anything to be in that Phoenix’s skates.
I wondered what those moves would look like without the bulky gear hiding his tight, toned muscles. The photo of him in the park flashed into my head, and I mentally photo-shopped his top off. It was a terrible mistake. Within moments I was aching, and there was no way I could keep track of what was happening in the actual game. My eyes were glued on him, watching the way he coiled and sprang like a cat, the way he drifted around corners like a racecar. I wanted to see what that power translated to in the bedroom, and I was irritated with myself for it.
I was so lost in watching him that when the crowd around me jumped to their feet, screaming and shouting, I was taken completely by surprise. I tuned back into the announcer.
“Great play by Dawson! That hat trick puts the Gladiators ahead too far, there is no way the Phoenixes can catch up!”
Sawyer beamed up at the crowd, waving his stick over his head as he skated. Here was the showboating I’d be
en expecting, and my disgusted vindication cooled the heat that had been building in my core.
Here it comes. Self-absorbed superstar behavior.
But he surprised me again. Gracefully allowing the moment to pass, he returned to his position, thumping his teammates on the shoulders as he went. His body language seemed to say that it was their win, not his, and that they were going to finish it together. It was a nice gesture, and one that should have softened me to him; instead, it just irritated me further. Irrational as it was, I resented him for not being more despicable. It meant resisting these building desires would fall on me alone, with no support from an aggrandizing bastard.
He’s not even that hot, I lied to myself. It’s just been too long since I’ve seen a man like that in action. Even longer since I’d touched one, but I tried not to think about that. Being an up-and-coming superstar journalist was kind of a social life killer, and I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d been on a date. But that was neither here nor there, and the game was in its final moments.
The Gladiators beat the pants off their opponents, unsurprisingly, and I found myself caught in a hurried crowd of sports reporters who had shown up to the game. Fortunately, I was able to split from the herd after our press passes got us into the back. They all went one way, and I followed Sawyer’s map down a long hallway.
“Right, left, and right again,” I murmured to myself. The area I had ended up in seemed unused. Above, only every other light was turned on. Below, the carpet had given way to a concrete floor, and for the first time I began to wonder if Sawyer had sent me on a wild goose chase. But I had come this far, and the unmarked door he had indicated on the map was directly in front of me, so there was no point in turning around now.
Besides, I wanted my story. Steeling my resolve, I pushed through the door—and instantly regretted it.
“Woah! Girl, you need to wait outside.” A very tall, very naked hockey player wrapped a towel around his waist while the rest of the room broke out in catcalls and shouts of indignation. Through the chaos, I saw Sawyer sitting topless with a grin on his face.
“I’m so sorry, Dawson told me—”
“Yeah, I’m sure he did. Go outside.” The man’s tone cut through my professional veneer and I turned on my heel and ran. As I flew through the doorway, I collided with the broad, padded torso of one very flustered Alistair Brannigan.
“Hey, little lady! What are you doing in here? You shouldn’t be here at all! How did you get past security?” He looked more distressed than angry, and I wondered if this was the first time Sawyer had allowed a woman to infiltrate the sanctity of the locker room.
“I, um… I’m so sorry, Mr. Brannigan.” I straightened up and tossed my hair back, pretending to be put together in spite of my compromising situation. I stuck out my hand. “Addison Beyers, In Deep magazine.”
“Hm? Oh, that’s Mary’s rag, isn’t it? She said she was sending someone. I thought her staff would have more respect than the average tabloid.” He gave me a disapproving look that was only emphasized by the impressive mustache on his face.
My cheeks heated in a flash of intense embarrassment. “I assure you, sir, it was my mistake. Mr. Dawson and I had arranged to meet after the game, and I must have misinterpreted his directions. He told me he was sending me to an unused conference room, but I… .” I pulled the napkin out of my pocket and gestured to the map. “I must have gotten lost.”
Brannigan frowned and took the napkin from me, looking it over. “Mm, I see. Unfortunately, Ms. Beyers, we don’t have any unused conference rooms down here. The one we do have is currently full of reporters and disheartened Phoenixes.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment melted under the fires of fury, and my spine went rigid. “Well then. Would you give Dawson a message from me?”
“Depends,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “If you want to cuss him out, lady, you’re gonna have to do that yourself.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said innocently. “Please just let him know that when he’s ready for an interview, he can reach me at this number.”
I handed him my business card, but he held up a hand.
“No, ma’am. If the boy promised you an interview, you’ll get one. Would you wait here a moment?”
I didn’t want to. I was so furious I couldn’t breathe, let alone think. But Brannigan’s eyes were warm and apologetic, and I really did need to get started on this process, so I acquiesced.
“Very well,” I said pertly, tucking the card back into my purse.
“Thank you. One moment.” He patted my shoulder in a fatherly fashion, then pushed through the door. It hadn’t quite closed all the way when his voice echoed back to me, louder than I thought possible for the soft-spoken man. “Dawson! Damn it, son—!”
Damn it son, indeed.
I smiled to myself, relishing the sweet feeling of vindication. Muffled shouts trickled through the walls, then a roar of laughter that made me blush. I didn’t like to be embarrassed; it made me angry, and Sawyer had managed to do it twice in a single day. I wasn’t going to stand for this much longer.
Apparently, neither was Brannigan. He reappeared with Sawyer in tow, scolding him like a child as he dragged him into the hallway. “And furthermore, enticing women into the locker room… any woman, but especially a reporter… is in bad taste, and tells me your ‘new leaf’ is unsustainable. You better shape up, Dawson. I’ve had so many sponsors pull out over your immature stunts that I would have traded you already if anybody had been willing to take you.”
Sawyer at least had the decency to look chagrined. On the outside, I remained cool and collected. Inside, however, I was gloating.
“Sorry, Al.”
“Don’t apologize to me, son, apologize to the lady!”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Beyers. It won’t happen again.”
“It’d better not,” Mr. Brannigan said. “Now, you promised this woman a private interview, and that’s exactly what she’s going to get. Ms. Beyers, if you want to meet the team afterwards, I will allow it. Once they’re dressed, anyway.”
“Thank you, Mr. Brannigan, I appreciate it.”
He nodded. “Follow me. You can use my office.”
Sawyer scowled, and I suppressed a grin. Score one for the away team.
4
Sawyer
Okay, so maybe that prank had backfired, but it was worth it to see the look on her face when she realized where she was. It wasn’t like Al had never yelled at me before. Last year it was all he did. Besides, it all worked out. Al’s office was the best one in the building. It was big and comfortable, with windows that looked out over the ice and a full bar for bribing all those sponsors he was so worried about.
“Make yourself comfortable, Ms. Beyers,” Alistair said, gesturing to one of the overstuffed chairs. “Would you like me to stay?”
He shot a glance my way that clearly told me to behave myself, but he shouldn’t have worried. I had no intentions at all of pursuing anything with the icy Ms. Beyers, no matter how good-looking she was. She really was, too. Those long legs and perky breasts made my imagination go places it probably shouldn’t have gone.
“That shouldn’t be necessary,” she replied with a warmth I hadn’t known she was capable of. “Thank you, Mr. Brannigan.”
“My pleasure. Give a shout if you need anything, and feel free to help yourself to the bar. Just you,” he added with a pointed look in my direction.
“Hey, I gave it up, remember? Booze and everything else.”
“You better have.” He shook his head and heaved a sigh. “Well, I’ll leave you kids to it.”
“He seems like a nice guy,” Addison said as the door closed behind him. “How is he as a boss?”
“Oh, you know.” I shrugged. “He’s a big ol’ teddy bear. Total pushover. But he likes his money.”
“I guess he wasn’t real pleased when your sponsors started pulling out over your shenanigans.” She paused long enough to pull a voice recorde
r out of her purse and press a button on it. “Why do you think Mr. Brannigan kept you on the team? Doesn’t he have the power to trade or fire you?”
“Sure he does,” I said with a grin. “But he loves me. Everybody does. He wouldn’t let a little money get between us.”
She raised a dubious brow. “That’s one way of interpreting it,” she said. “But the rumor is that he can’t give you away for free. What are your thoughts on that?”
I shook my head. “There are plenty of teams who would take me on. All press is good press, right?”
“Not necessarily. Moguls are becoming increasingly aware of the social shift. ‘Boys will be boys’ doesn’t fly anymore, and there have been several boycotts against the companies who supported you during the height of your partying.”
“That’s true,” I said. To be honest, I wasn’t really paying attention. I was more interested in watching her supple mouth move than listening to the words coming out of it. “Some of us are talented enough to press on in spite of all that.”
“You think your talent is going to save you if you cost your team more than you’re worth?”
That caught my attention. I bristled. “Who are you to decide what I’m worth to my team?”
“Somebody who knows how to read a financial report,” she said wryly. “Over the last two years, your name has made the team ten point five million dollars.”
“Exactly.”
“However,” she continued, “Sponsor losses directly associated with your behavior have cost the team ten point six million dollars. At this point, Mr. Dawson, you’re in the red.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I hadn’t heard it laid out like that before, and I actually hadn’t been aware that the damage was so severe. “Well you can’t really boil my worth to the team down to pure finances,” I argued. “My value lies in my teamwork.
All of that matters just as much as… no, more than the money. I can definitely say that my contributions to the team are more valuable than the money.”
