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“If I’m going to interview him, we have to develop a better strategy. He can’t know he’s being interviewed. I have to find a way to meet him and then get whatever I need from casual conversation.” Angela stood. “He can’t know that this is for a book.”
“Conversation,” Ceci said. “That’s exactly what people do in a bar.”
“I know. But I’ve never been very good at that. I don’t flirt, I have a tendency to babble when I’m nervous, and I absolutely cannot hold my liquor.”
“That’s the least of your problems,” Ceci said. “First, we have to go shopping and buy you the sexiest outfit on the planet. You’re going to have to attract him first. From what I see on his profile, he doesn’t have any shortage of women wanting to sleep with him. What do you think—legs, belly or cleavage? Pick one.”
“For what?”
“It’s my mother’s rule. She always used to tell me that if your outfit only showed one of the three, it was sexy. Two of the three makes the outfit sleazy. And showing all three makes it slutty. The rule of three has served me well. So, legs, belly or boobs?”
“What do you think?” Angela asked, staring down at her rather unremarkable body.
“Legs,” Ceci said. “You have great legs. Let him fantasize about the boobs and the belly.” Ceci grabbed her purse, then pulled Angela along toward the door. “What color?”
“Does your mom have a rule for that as well?”
“No. I do. Black is boring, red is desperate. An unusual color, like chartreuse or tangerine, says you’re a strong, independent woman who doesn’t care what other people say about her weird color choices. And men think that women who wear weird colors are kinky in bed.”
“You have proof of this?” Angela asked.
“Yes.” She pointed to her own mustard-colored top. “I was wearing pumpkin-orange when I met Will. He said he knew exactly what I was like in the bedroom.”
“I’m not going to sleep with Max Morgan,” Angela said.
“Of course not. But in order to get close to him, you’re going to have to make him believe you just might.”
They stepped out of the office onto the noisy bustle of Ashland Avenue. It was barely noon and the heat was already stifling. “There’s this really nice boutique that just opened on North,” Ceci said. “Let’s start there. You’ll need a nice pair of Do-me shoes, too. The dress will be demure but the shoes will say ‘take my body now'.”
“You are not my fairy godmother and I’m not Cinderella.”
Ceci slipped her arm through Angela’s. “Honey, we all want to be Cinderella. Every single girl I know is waiting for that guy to come calling with a glass slipper.”
THE BAR WAS CROWDED for a Tuesday night. Max Morgan leaned over and motioned to Dave, his manager and big brother. “Is this a typical Tuesday night? This is the busiest I’ve seen it in ages. What’s going on?”
“It’s Ladies’ Night. Women drink for half-price on Tuesdays. And when you’re here, a lot of women show up, hoping they’ll get lucky,” Dave said, grinning. “Hey, you’re better than a promotional giveaway. The women want to date you, the men want to talk baseball with you. Just sit yourself down at the end of the bar and be your usual charming self. Or better yet, hang out by the door and take a few pictures.”
Max glanced over his shoulder. This wasn’t exactly how he wanted to be viewed, as some kind of marketing tool. God, since his baseball career had taken off, he’d become a giant marketing machine—selling athletic shoes and luxury cars and expensive watches. He couldn’t buy a pair of socks without having to think about the impact it would have on his endorsements. And every move he made in his personal life affected his ability to make money.
He hadn’t really minded the notoriety that much … until the press showed it could also be nasty. Suddenly his day-to-day life had turned into fodder for media commentators. At first, he didn’t care what was said about him because most of it had just been made up anyway. But when he’d learned his nieces and nephews were hearing about it at school, Max had decided to take a break from the spotlight.
A shoulder surgery he’d been putting off became the perfect chance to get out of the limelight, to give the media an opportunity to focus on someone else. And though he still had a few photographers waiting to catch him at a bad moment, his time in Chicago had given him a chance to really contemplate his future—after baseball.
Here, he could leave the temptations of New York and L.A. behind, the women, the partying, a nonstop glare of the camera flash. And the constant need to be selling something. “I’m just going to make a few calls,” Max said. “I’ll be in the office.”
Max had purchased the bar in the DePaul neighborhood nearly a year ago, turning it over to his brother to renovate and run. Dave seemed to have a golden touch when it came to business. Whenever Max had money to invest, he turned it over to Dave, who managed to make them both rich.
At least Max didn’t have to worry about how he was going to live after his baseball career ended. With seven years in the majors, he’d done pretty well for himself. Max smiled and shook hands as he walked back to the office, posing for a few photos along the way. When he finally closed the door behind him, he drew a deep breath and leaned back against it.
One day, he would be completely anonymous again. Max couldn’t believe he’d ever been fearful of the moment when no one recognized him. Now, all he longed for was a normal life again. Since he’d been home, Max had quietly observed his three older siblings, all happily married with kids of their own, and wondered how they’d managed to find the key to the happiness.
They weren’t famous, Max mused. Most of his old high school and college buddies envied him. He had everything they’d ever dreamed of having. Hell, he played a game for a living, traveling all over the country. He had more money than he’d ever need. And he was single. The women … well, the supply of beautiful women never seemed to wane.
Max reached up and rubbed his shoulder. There were a few drawbacks. He was in a constant fight with his aging body. And though he was a little more than a year shy of thirty, his body was already beginning to feel a lot older.
One thing always made the aches and pains disappear. Sex. And there were probably five or six girls sitting at the bar right now he could charm into his bed. But the prospect of losing himself in the pleasures of a woman’s body didn’t seem all that exciting right now. Lately, his sexual conquests had always been followed by a juicy story in the tabloids. He couldn’t completely trust anyone anymore, outside of his own family.
And since he’d returned, there hadn’t been a single woman who’d caught his eye. Instead, he’d spent his time reviewing his business investments, rehabbing his shoulder and visiting with family. It’s the injury, he thought to himself. The team doctor warned him he might experience some mild depression, that he’d need to focus more intently on his rehab and his return in the second half of the season.
Max sat down at the desk and pulled out his cell phone, scrolling through the list of missed calls. Even though he was off the media radar, women were still interested. “Sophia,” he murmured. An Italian model he met last month at a charity event. “Christina.” A flight attendant who’d charmed him on his flight home from Tampa. “Helena.” An actress he’d dated in New York during the off-season. Though a night in bed with a beautiful woman would certainly make him feel better, it just wasn’t worth the hassle.
Max cursed softly and shut his phone, tossing it on the desk. What the hell was wrong with him? Making decisions about anything had become nearly impossible. He pushed to his feet and restlessly paced back and forth in the tiny office. “Do something,” he muttered to himself. “Pick a lane and hit the Gas.”
A soft knock sounded at the door and he looked up to see Dave peering inside. “Sorry to disturb, but Greg Wilbern, our liquor salesman is here and he’d really like to meet you. He brought his teenage son. This guy gives us great—”
Max held up his hand. “Say no more. I’ll tell him his son looks like a future major leaguer.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. His son showed me how to reprogram our cash registers. I suspect he has a better chance working for Microsoft than in the major leagues.”
Max followed Dave, closing the office door behind him. He glanced across the bar, scanning the crowd. Suddenly, his breath caught in his throat. She was sitting with a friend, sipping a drink, her warm blond hair softly falling around her face. She looked up and their gazes met and Max had an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu.
He stood, fixed in one spot, staring at her. They’d met before. Or maybe not. Yes, there had been a lot of women, but he remembered all of them—at least he thought he did. But, he’d never forgotten a woman he’d slept with.
“Are you coming?” Dave asked.
“Yeah, just give me a sec,” Max murmured. “I’ll be right over.”
Had he ever touched her … or kissed her? His fingers twitched as he tried to recall the feel of her skin, her hair. What was the scent of her perfume? He had an uncanny memory for smells, but he couldn’t recall hers.
Max smiled and she returned it, tilting her head slightly. Whoever this woman was, he had to meet her. Maybe he did know her. “Think,” he murmured. If he walked over and introduced himself and they’d already met, she’d be insulted. But if he acted as if he knew her, then she might be put off. “Best to be upfront.” He took a step in her direction, finally picking a lane and hitting the Gas.
“Max!”
Max blinked and looked at his brother motioning him toward the bar. He glanced back and the connection was broken. A strange sensation came over him. It was déjà vu. This had happened once before. When? Where had it been? He recalled the odd sense of loss he’d felt at the time.
Frustrated, Max approached the bar. Dave made the introductions, then handed Max a baseball from the stock they kept handy. “See that woman over there in the green dress? Send her a drink from me.”
“Champagne?”
“No,” Max said, as he scribbled his name the ball. “Never mind. That’s too cheesy.” He handed the boy the baseball, then shook the liquor salesman’s hand. “I’ll just go talk to her. Do I look all right? How’s my breath? Shit, I shouldn’t have had onions on that burger.”
“What is wrong with you? Since when do you worry about your appearance?” Dave looked over his shoulder. “That girl? She’s not your type.”
“What’s my type?” Max asked.
“There’s a ten sitting at the end of the bar. Fake hair, fake boobs, fake nails. She’s your type.”
“Shut up, Dave.”
Max walked away from his brother and circled the bar slowly. Keeping his gaze fixed on her. Since the connection between them had been broken, she’d gone back to chatting with her girlfriend, a petite dark-haired woman with trendy glasses perched on her nose.
When he finally reached them, Max slipped into a spot next to her at the bar. But the patrons standing around her thought he’d come to socialize with them, wanting to shake his hand and pose for pictures. When the celebrity posturing was finally finished, he turned back to her.
“Hi,” he said. Max waited for her to respond and began to think that she hadn’t heard him, but then she slowly turned and faced him. She was even more beautiful up close. She had the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. And her shoulder-length hair, the color of honey, smelled like peaches.
“Hello,” she said.
“Do I know you?”
She paused, then smiled quizzically. “I don’t know. Do you?”
Max frowned. “I’m not sure. I can’t believe I would have forgotten you if we’d met before.” He held out his hand. “I’m Max. And forget what I just said. It sounded really lame.”
“Angela,” she said, resting her hand in his. She had beautiful fingers, long and slender, tipped with pretty red polish. No, Max thought. He’d never had those hands on his body. Though they might have met, they’d never been intimate. “And this is my friend, Celia. Ceci.”
Max reached around to Ceci and shook her hand. “Hello, Ceci. It’s nice to meet you.” He turned back to Angela. “Can I buy you two a drink?”
Angela held up her margarita. “I have a drink. But thanks anyway.”
“And I have to go,” Ceci said. “I—I have to drive my mother—I mean, my brother to—shopping. I have to take my mother grocery shopping. She’s completely out of … bananas.” She forced a smile as she slid off her barstool. “Sorry, I forgot.”
“Stay,” Angela whispered, grabbing her hand. “How will you get home?”
“I’ll grab a cab,” Ceci said. “You just enjoy your drink.” She picked up her purse, then gave Max a clever grin. “It was nice meeting you, Max. She likes her margaritas unblended, no salt. And she can’t hold her liquor, so make the next one a virgin, all right?”
Max watched as Ceci hurried to the door. In any other instance, he would have been glad to have Angela all to himself. But he felt strangely nervous. What the hell was that all about? Max Morgan never got nervous around women.
2
ANGELA TOOK A QUICK SIP of her drink. This was not part of the plan. Ceci wasn’t supposed to leave the moment Max noticed her. They were supposed to stay together until Angela felt comfortable. They’d even worked out a series of signs and a plan to escape to the ladies’ room to regroup if things got too complicated.
And they were already way too complicated. Her heart was slamming against the inside of her chest and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. And as she tried to calm herself, she felt light-headed and unable to think. Oh, God, she was having a … moment.
No, this wasn’t supposed to happen! Angela knew exactly what Max Morgan was—a smooth operator. And yet she was allowing herself to be overwhelmed by his obvious magnetism. Get a grip, she scolded silently. You’re a grown woman with a job to do. This is no time for silly fantasies.
But if she couldn’t even think of something clever span>to say, how would she keep him interested long enough to get all her questions answered? What if he decided to move on to someone else after just a few short minutes? She’d be left sitting alone at the bar feeling like a fool, humiliated in public.
But then, maybe that would be for the best. If he dumped her for someone prettier, it would only prove her point—Max Morgan was a class-A jerk.
“So,” Max said. “Do you come here often?”
Angela swallowed hard. How many times had she heard that line? He was supposed to be an expert at seduction and that was the best he could come up with? “You really need to work on your pick-up lines.”
The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to think. Oh, hell, she’d just insulted him. And given him an excuse to move on to the redhead at the end of the bar.
At first, he seemed a bit taken aback by her comment. But then Max laughed and slid onto the stool vacated by Ceci. He thought she was teasing him. She could use that to her advantage. Keep him off balance. He was obviously used to having women agree with everything he said. She’d do the opposite. Reverse psychology.
“I do,” Max said. “And that was really bad. Maybe I should move right on to astrological signs. Wait, here’s a good one. I think I need to call heaven because they’re missing one of their angels. How does that work for you? “
Angela had to admit, he’d gone from cheesy to charming in a heartbeat. Max had a way of looking at her with those dark and dangerous eyes that made her feel as though she was the most captivating female on the planet. But that was all part of the package that was Max Morgan, Sexy Devil. He could tempt even the most steadfast of women. “Sweet and not at all suggestive. A good effort. I’d give it a seven out of ten.”
“Oh, you want suggestive? You must be the reason for global warming because you’re hot.”
“No,” Angela said, shaking her head. “Not good to reference the looks. It makes you appear shallow and desperate. That one deserves a two.”
“I lost my number, can I have yours?”
“Clever. Not as trite as the previous attempt.”
“If I followed you home, would you keep me?”
Angela groaned. All right, he was impossibly charming. But she certainly wasn’t going to let that affect her in the least. “Do you have a database of these? Or is your memory really that good?”
He leaned closer. “I have more. Maybe if you’d tell me what would work, I could choose more wisely.”
He was obviously interested. But how far was he planning to take this, she wondered. Was he simply having a little fun or was he looking for something more. Angela gathered her nerve. “Sorry. Pick-up lines don’t work with me,” she said.
“What’s the worst you’ve ever heard?” he asked.
“If I had a garden, I’d put your tulips and my tulips together? Just how is that supposed to work?”
Max leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers, lingering there for a brief moment before stepping back. “I think it worked pretty well.”
Stunned, Angela stared at him. Yes, it was an innocent kiss, so quick it barely warranted mention. But she hadn’t had a chance to prepare herself. Max Morgan, the man of her teenage dreams, had just kissed her! That simple touch had a startling effect on her body. Her pulse began racing and a warm flush crept up her cheeks. She opened her mouth, then quickly snapped it shut. Any attempt to put together a clever comeback would result in a string of incoherent babble.
His expression shifted suddenly and she thought she saw a flash of regret cross his deeply tanned face. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by that. Really.” He grabbed her hand. “Maybe we could start over? I’m Max Morgan. And the reason I came over here was to tell you that you look incredible in that dress. The color is … amazing.”
Angela cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. Rewind. Begin again. Gather your composure and act as if the kiss meant nothing. It didn’t mean anything at all! “That was a pretty good line. Honesty. I like that.”
“I was an Eagle Scout. We’re big on honesty.”
“I know,” she said. She knew every arcane detail about Max. “I mean, Eagle Scouts are supposed to be trustworthy, right? You should have probably led with that instead of the angel line.”
He held out his hand. “Hello, I’m Max Morgan, former Eagle Scout.”
“Angela Weatherby,” she replied. “Former …” What could she say. Wallflower? Introvert? Stalker? “President of the Latin Club.”
“Really?” he asked. “So, you’re smart and beautiful.”
“And you’re cheeky and charming,” Angela replied.
Max pushed away from the bar. “Would you like to get out of here? It’s a nice night. Why don’t we take a walk?”
She felt a tremor run through her. This was the moment of truth. She could turn and run or she could hang in there and get her interview. Angela pointed to her shoes. “I’m not going far in these heels.”
“I know the perfect place, then,” he said.
She wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle Max on her own, without the distractions of the bar to fill the silences. But this was her chance, to figure out this guy who’d had such a hold on her. And to rationalize her crazy reaction to him. “Sure,” she said. “That sounds nice.” In truth, it sounded impossibly romantic.
