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  “Even after this last, um, thing that happened? You think she’s okay with Lisa?”

  J.D. sighed. “Yeah. I do. She’s learned her lesson and won’t put Gwen in danger again. Which brings me back to my initiating problem. She thinks that because I spent most of the last two weeks with her, helping her and Gwen, that we should get back together. I guess I just snapped and made up the engagement thing on reflex. I still think it’s the only way she’ll back off.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  Despite her best efforts, Kayla was unable not to notice the way the end-of-the-day wrinkled dress shirt clung to his torso and shoulders. She swallowed hard again.

  “But you’ve made your position clear, and I think you might have a point about the documentary.”

  “The optics,” she parroted to him, a tickle of anger licking her brain at his earlier, casual dismissal of her concerns.

  He groaned and reached into the fridge for a bottle of water. He then opened it and drained half of it in one gulp.

  Kayla forced her feet to stay planted where they were, across the room, next to the door as she watched him and tried to shuffle through her thoughts. “Okay, okay, listen, I … I’ll consider it. But I need something from you in return.”

  J.D. straightened and wiped his lips with the back of hand. “Never let it be said I wasn’t willing to give quid pro quo to a beautiful woman.” His grin widened.

  Kayla made herself frown at him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “I don’t have to flatter myself. Plenty of other people do that for me. Or hadn’t you heard?” He made his way back into the great room, closing the gap between them.

  “You are impossible.”

  “Yes. And your point is?”

  “Shut up and listen to me.” She took a long breath. “I didn’t tell you before because I wasn’t ready to share it, but…” She bit her lip and looked down at the floor. “I only made the reserve team this year.”

  “What? That’s nuts. I’ll get Rick on the phone right now.”

  Heart racing, Kayla launched herself across the room and knocked his phone out of his hand.

  “Hey! That’s a thousand-dollar device I’ll have you know.”

  Shaking so hard she had to grip her elbows to keep J.D. from noticing, she sat on the couch across from him, gaze locked onto his. “Don’t you dare. I mean it, Baxter. I’ll earn my own way onto that team. Just … not this season, apparently.” She took a deep breath. “I need that job offer back.”

  “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

  “I need that fucking over-paid, make-work job you offered me originally so you could keep me in the building.” She narrowed her eyes. “And before you get all cocky, you might recall that you asked me for a favor first. A pretty damn big one, I might add.”

  “Touché, my dear. Touché.”

  “Right. So. Here we are. Needing something from each other.”

  “Indeed. That does seem to be where we are right now.” He rose and walked over to her, pinning her with his oh-so-sexy blue gaze. “Makayla,” he said, dropping to one knee. “Will you be my pretend almost-wife for the next three months in exchange for a job at my company, as LeeAnn Thompson’s assistant?”

  “I will. But I want the job to have an end date. Same as when we announce our sad break-up. That should be about as long as it takes me to work my way onto the team’s roster.” She paused, her mind calm in the middle of the storm of this moment. “Oh, and I’ll do the breaking up with you. I’ll make it nice and loud and public so you can walk away with your ego intact. But if Lisa ramps the get-back-together thing up again after that, you’re on your own, buster.”

  “If you’re a temporary worker I can’t offer you benefits.”

  Kayla stared at him, her mouth gone dry at the thought of the benefits she wanted from him. At that moment, the adrenaline rush she’d been riding whooshed out of her and exhaustion rolled over her like a warm ocean wave, making her sway on her feet. She wished she could just lie down and sleep for a solid ten hours.

  He frowned and leaned back in his chair. “One of the many things I like about you is how transparent your thoughts are. It’s cute.” He rose and headed for the kitchen, leaving her panting and wanting him back so badly her entire body ached. “You gonna take me up on that shower or what?”

  “Um, no thanks.” She couldn’t seem to move from her spot on the couch. Her limbs felt as if they were mired in wet sand. Her mind was spinning from exhaustion and the various shocking turns this conversation had taken. All she wanted was to lie down, close her burning hot eyes, and rest for a few minutes.

  The last thing she recalled was J.D. touching her face after pulling a blanket up to her neck, and the few words she managed to catch.

  “Sleep, Makayla. I’ll be right here.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  At the end of her first week on the job as LeeAnn’s production assistant, reinstated at that ridiculous salary but given the most menial of jobs—not that she was complaining—Makayla stepped off the bus two blocks from her apartment. Exhausted in mind and body from traipsing around in high heels and playing all happy-to-be-planning-a-wedding around her colleagues, and still facing an hour-long workout plus training with the practice team, the scrum around her building barely registered. Until she heard her name, once, then repeated again and again.

  “Makayla! Over here! Hey, Kayla! Can we get a big smile? Is it true you and J.D. Baxter are…?”

  Her head snapped up. She clutched the strap of her bag in front her. The reporters were jamming phones and cameras in her face, and had her backed up to the street when Marlo appeared.

  She shoved her way through the crowd, grabbed Kayla’s arm, and dragged her past them. “Don’t say anything,” she hollered over the din. “Just keep your head down.”

  They slammed the door in the many faces and stood staring at each other. “Jesus,” Kayla said, grabbing Marlo’s hand. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah. This is bad.”

  They dragged themselves up to the fourth floor only to find a couple of strange guys hanging around their door. “Makayla, can we get a quote about how J.D. hires all his old girlfriends at DSN?”

  “Beat it, asshole,” she said. She heard a camera shutter click, capturing her face in full growl. “I mean it. Get the fuck out of this building.”

  “We can stand in the hallway.”

  “No, actually, you can’t. I’m calling the cops,” Marlo said.

  The two men stood where they were, blocking their door.

  “Hang on a sec. I’ll go one better,” Kayla said, having already sent a text to Frank, one of the company’s guards. She’d been given his number while she was working on Lady Balls and had always wondered why. Now she knew. “Hey, Frank, check this out.” She held the camera eye up to the two jerks in front of her door. “These gentlemen seem to think I owe them a quote or maybe even a photo. What do you think?”

  “We’ll be right there.” The man’s deep voice was clear as day to everyone in their tableau. “Don’t say anything to them.”

  She ended the call, thankful her broke-ass phone had held up during the video chat. The men stared but still refused to move.

  The two women waited. Kayla wasn’t afraid of muscling her way past them, but she knew Marlo tended to shy away from confrontation. Besides, her big, strong, scary personal bodyguards were about to show. She couldn’t wait to see the look on these two assholes’ faces when that happened.

  “Kayla!”

  “That was fast,” Marlo said, as she peered over the bannister.

  “Up here. Fourth floor.”

  Two sets of feet pounded up to meet them. J.D. emerged first. She rolled her eyes. The pseudo-journalists almost shit themselves with excitement. Until they got a load of the hulking dude who followed on his heels. Then they were shitting themselves for a different reason.

  Frank, a former NFL player and inmate, thanks to a marijuana charge, was a head taller than J.D. and almo
st twice as wide. “You gentlemen are trespassing,” he declared. “I suggest you leave. Now.” He crossed his arms.

  Kayla tried not to giggle. They guy was full on Boston accent, fake mafia, tall, dark, and handsome. But she could see the two jerks glance at each other, at her, at J.D., then back up at the huge dude blocking the stairwell. “Fine. But we’ll be back.”

  “I’m sure you will be,” Frank said, taking a step aside so his bulk blocked her and Marlo from their stalkers. They left, mumbling and bitching under their breath. “You ladies all right?”

  Kayla looked up at him and nodded.

  Marlo pushed past him. “This sucks.”

  Kayla sighed, stepped out of her shoes, and picked them up. “Thanks,” she said to Frank. “Although I don’t know why you brought him. It’ll only make them work harder to get to me now.” She jerked her finger over her shoulder at J.D., who hadn’t said a word yet.

  He stood, gripping the rickety banister, his blue eyes wide. Which meant he was concocting something.

  “Don’t even say it,” she said.

  At the same moment, he said, “Pack a bag. I’ll send someone for everything else you … need.”

  “You’re crazy. No. This is my home. I’m not—”

  Marlo had hesitated in the door after she opened it and now leaned there, her brow furrowed.

  “You too,” J.D. said to her. “I mean it. I’m not about to expose either of you to this … this…”

  “I do not require being rescued. Not by you or anyone else, thank you very much.” Her voice was tight thanks to the fury closing her throat.

  He ran a hand through his hair.

  A nervous tic she loved.

  Stop it, Kayla. He’s railroading you again. Forcing you to do what he wants just to prove he can.

  “Maybe he’s right,” Marlo said. “I mean … look at them.”

  “Get the fuck out of this building,” Frank bellowed to the crowd milling in the lobby below them. A few heeded him. Most of them didn’t.

  “No. I’m not giving into this. I won’t.” Tears of frustration and exhaustion filled her eyes. She blinked them back.

  J.D. cupped her elbow. “Calm down. It’s fine. We just need to get you guys out of here for now, okay?”

  She leaned into him for a second, then pulled away, mad at herself for being weak.

  “Pack a bag,” he repeated. “Bring what you need. You too, Marlo. We’ll wait.”

  She refused to even look at J.D. on the drive back to the DSN building.

  A similar crowd of vultures awaited them at the front doors. “What the fuck,” J.D. yelled.

  Frank parked and jumped out. His cohort, Ted Hamilton, was striding out of the sliding doors. The two men met in the middle of the crowd, dispersing it with a few words.

  J.D. made them wait until the sidewalk was clear before he’d let them out. “I need a key card for ten-fifty,” he said to Gloria, the lady security guard. “For Marlo.”

  “Here you go, honey,” the woman said, passing the card across the desk.

  Marlo took it, then glanced over at Kayla.

  “And for me?” She glared at J.D.

  “You’ll be with me,” he said, grabbing Marlo’s bag with his free hand, since his other was already occupied with hers.

  “Like hell I will.” She turned to Frank. “Take me back home, please.” She stomped to the door and waited for the doors to slide open. They refused to cooperate. She stomped on the metal grid a few times then cursed and let her work bag slide to the floor. Face burning, she turned to face the group—Marlo, J.D., Frank, Ted, and Gloria all stared at her, like she was some freak show. “I need to get to practice,” she said before she barreled past them all. “You okay here, Marlo? With this?”

  Marlo nodded. “I know he rents some places out to some other employees. It’s not like it’s something new.”

  “Right. See HR about the payroll deduction,” J.D. said to Marlo while staring at Kayla. “Standard stuff.” He held on to both suitcases without breaking a sweat.

  “Great. Fine. Super. Glad everyone’s a-okay. Now I need to get ready and run my ass over to the stadium.” She hit the up button on the elevator and stared at the wall, unwilling to let on how rattled she was at this turn of events.

  They stopped on the tenth floor and got out, approaching the apartment number that was now assigned to Marlo.

  Marlo opened her new apartment door, took her suitcase from J.D., and gave Kayla a peck on the cheek. “Go on. We’ll talk after your practice. Thanks for this, J.D. Really.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said with a smile. “I was going to do this for you guys anyway, if you must know. We just sped things up a little … I guess.” He shifted Kayla’s suitcase to his other hand.

  Kayla saw the classy, subtle furnishings in the space behind her friend. This was it then. This was them, selling out. Or something like it.

  “Go on,” Marlo said. “Get to practice.”

  She whirled around from the two of them and stomped—she was doing a lot of stomping—back to the elevator. J.D. got in with her and they stood at opposite sides of the lift. Her seething. Him humming under his breath. The doors opened onto his foyer. She took a deep breath and walked inside.

  ****

  “I am not sleeping here, J.D. I don’t know what made you think I would be.” She stood in the foyer after practice, wrung out on so many levels she couldn’t begin to name them all. He was in a pair of sweatpants and a soft Broncos T-shirt, holding a beer and grinning at her like a cat about to consume a cageful of canaries. “Back away, mister.”

  He backed up until he was at the bank of windows. The lights of Canada twinkled behind him.

  She lifted her chin. “I need a shower, something to eat that doesn’t involve syrup, and someplace horizontal.”

  He raised an eyebrow, put the bottle to his lips, and sipped.

  She shut her eyes. She was not going here. Not now. Not ever.

  “Shower’s over there,” he said, pointing to a half open door. You’ll find the horizontal space on your way.”

  “I am not, I repeat not, sleeping with you. This is a business arrangement. I’m helping you by keeping your ex off your back. You’re helping me through an … interim period of life. I know your rules about dating the women you employ, so I understand where we are. Excuse me, please.”

  He moved aside so she could get to his bathroom, complete with a tub that would hold a party of five, and a giant shower boasting heads above and on both sides.

  She sighed and slumped in the doorway.

  ****

  After one the best showers she’d ever had in her damn life, she wrapped herself in a thick terry robe she found hanging on a hook and emerged, pulling the cap off her hair. J.D. was standing at the window, his back to her. She took in that view, appreciated him from the span of his shoulders, down his back to his luscious ass and long, lean legs. She appreciated it so much, she felt her legs turn to jelly.

  Dear God. The man was turning her into a walking cliché.

  “See anything you like?” he asked. He turned to face her, his blue eyes shining.

  “Shut up. Where can I sleep?”

  “I told you. The bed’s in that room you were just in.”

  “And I told you, I’m not doing that.”

  He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “We are supposed to be engaged.”

  “We are pretending to be engaged. If you want to pretend to have sex, I guess we can give that a go. But I need sleep, after I eat.”

  He walked toward her. She took several steps back until her butt hit the handle of the door next to J.D.’s bedroom. When he leaned into her, reached for her, she shut her eyes and lifted her face, readying herself for the inevitable—dare she say welcome—resolution. She heard a click behind her.

  When she opened her eyes, J.D. was a good four feet away again, one corner of his lips raised in a smirk. “For a woman with such strong resolve about not sleeping with me, you
sure look like you’d like to be kissed.”

  Unable to conjure a response, she took a breath, then turned to find herself staring at a room right out of her childhood, but for the double bed, where she’d only had a twin. She put a hand over her mouth, her brain refusing to take it in at first. “This is…”

  “Gwen’s room,” J.D. said, now standing at her shoulder. “At least the one she inhabits one or two weekends a month, depending on my travel schedule.” He drained his beer and draped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sure she won’t mind if you use it when she’s not here. You should feel pretty comfortable in it, I’d say.”

  She nodded, hand still over her lips. From the soccer ball duvet cover, to the giant, round, black and white fluffy rug on the hardwood floor, the room was definitely a place she’d feel comfortable. Posters similar to the ones she’d once had graced the walls, but these action shots of Mia Hamm, Michelle Akers, Marta, Abby Wambaugh were encased in tasteful frames instead of taped directly to the wall.

  She walked farther into the room and ran her fingertips across the cherry wood dresser. Small photos were placed at perfect angles. She picked up one of J.D. crouched down beside a little girl who could only be his, decked out in a soccer kit, her smile wide, her arm gripping his neck.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered.

  “I thought you said you were hungry,” he said. “I’ve got some salmon. You like salmon? Come on, roomie. I’ll cook.”

  She put the photo down, unaware her hands were shaking until the frame rattled against the wood surface. She stared at her trembling fingers, clenched them into a fist, tightened the robe’s belt around her waist, and headed toward the kitchen.

  Business. All business. Eat. Get some sleep. Get up. Go to work. Practice. Make the team. Then you’re out of here and away from this man for good.

  Good.

  She watched him move around his fancy kitchen, prepping the salmon, putting it on the fancy grill top on his stove. She slid onto a bar height chair, uneasy, yet comfortable at the same time. He was so … fine. So hot. So perfect. Why was she here? She was the opposite of all of those things. What in God’s name did he see in her anyway?