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“We could be in deep trouble here, in case you haven’t noticed.” Harrison snapped his phone shut and scowled at him.
His agent was always the jumpy type, but today he was excessively nervous. He’d been sticking to Brody in full-on babysitter mode, and Brody had taken enough. “Cut her some slack,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended.
“It isn’t her I’m worried about.” Harrison stalked to the far sink and soaped up his hands. “It’s you,” he said over the spray of water. “You don’t seem to grasp what’s at stake.”
“Are you talking about the note cards?”
“I’m saying I’m not sure we can pull this off anymore.”
Brody stilled. Everything in his life depended on them making this race a go. “What is it?” he asked in a low voice.
“You know you’re the center of my business, Brody. You always have been.”
He waited, his heartbeat slowing until it was a dull thudding in his chest.
“I met you when you were what…eighteen?” Harrison continued. “A local kid at a local race.”
Those days were a distant memory. Brody couldn’t go back there if he wanted to. He didn’t want to, but that was beside the point.
“You had it even then, raw talent compounded with charisma. Only a handful of athletes in any sport have those. But because you skied, the big boys were blind to it, agents bigger than me.”
“Why the trip down memory lane?” Brody asked sarcastically.
Harrison wasn’t laughing. “People mocked me when I signed you, did you know that? I was a small-time agent at a big agency, scrounging for crumbs. And you delivered, more than any American skier ever had. The sponsor deals rolled in. Companies signed you who hadn’t known what skiing was until you lit up their TV screens.”
“So what’s the problem?” Brody said, his voice hard. “Just spit it out and tell me.”
Harrison shook his head. “No, because I don’t think you get it. And I want to make sure you hear this from me—You crashed and burned, Brody. You. Everything ended because people don’t like losers or also-rans. They want to see successes.”
Brody felt the ice in his veins. He didn’t care about the successes. Not really. He didn’t even care about losing. That’s not what this comeback was about for him. And he couldn’t acknowledge the anger that Harrison so obviously wanted him to feel.
“You think I don’t know I allowed myself to be manipulated? You think I’m not serious about fixing what happened?” His voice shook. “Everything has changed about me. I’m not that guy anymore, Harrison.”
“You were talking about being a kid today.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“I have as much to lose as you do, which is everything. Not just every deal we’ve made together, but your entire legacy, demolished.”
Brody felt a shudder go through him as if Harrison had sucker-punched him. His name and his integrity were the only reasons he’d come back. To fix the mistakes that he’d made. To make it right this time, in a way he could be proud of.
He walked to the paper towel dispenser, avoiding looking at his reflection in the mirror as he did. To change that feeling—wasn’t that the whole point of this exercise?
“Are you chewing me out because I talked with a reporter?” Brody stared at the wall in front of him, doing his best to hold on to the good he felt about Amanda, the good that Harrison was doing his best to stomp flat. “Are you complaining because I dared to trust somebody, just a little?”
“I’m saying you should trust me. Me, Brody.”
Yeah, he’d ignored Harrison during the interview and maybe that had been out of line. “Okay. I’m sorry about the index cards. I should have told you before I went in that I wouldn’t use them. The last thing I’m going to do this time around is be someone I’m not.”
Harrison took a long breath. “Understood. And I accept your apology, by the way.”
“Good. So tell me what your text message says before I rip that phone out of your pocket and read it for myself.”
Harrison took a step back. Yeah, you should be worried, Brody thought.
“We need to get you out of this hotel, now,” Harrison said.
“Why?”
“Because Jean-Claude texted me that MacArthur Jensen is on his way over.”
“What?” Brody felt his anger flare. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking. There’s a cocktail party scheduled in honor of his daughter’s wedding tomorrow. He’s got one damn daughter, and she has to get married here, of all places. Jean-Claude is following him in the rental car as we speak.”
“You have my equipment manager tracking MacArthur Jensen?” Brody shook his head. “Never mind, don’t tell me.” He paced to the wall and back. It had obviously been a mistake to believe the rumors that his former coach didn’t plan to attend his only daughter’s wedding.
MacArthur Jensen was their wild card. Neither Brody nor Harrison had any idea what he would do when they bumped into one another for the first time in two years. Every nightmare Brody had was related to the knowledge that his former coach could destroy him whenever he wanted.
The goal had been to have the race long over before they crossed paths again.
“Brody, you know I’ll do everything I can to buffer you from the outside pressure.” Harrison touched Brody’s arm, but Brody backed away. Harrison shook his head. “See, you need to trust me when I give you advice. If you don’t trust me, this isn’t going to work.”
“Then what do you suggest I do?”
CHAPTER THREE
AMANDA FINISHED THE EMAIL to her editor, attached the document containing Brody’s five-hundred-word profile, and then pressed Send. The internet connection was slow, so it took a few moments for her email to go through.
Message sent, her laptop screen finally displayed.
She let out a breath and slumped across her keyboard, head in hands. She’d written and edited the piece as if she were in a fever. With every sentence she typed, it became clearer Brody was under her skin, which was confusing. She’d never behaved this way over any interview subject. She felt like a crush-ridden schoolgirl.
She pushed away from the desk and immediately saw Jeannie’s wedding dress hanging on the closet door. Her sister’s wedding tomorrow had to be playing its part in wreaking havoc with her good sense. Just the idea of couples being paired up for tonight’s party had surely put Brody on her mind where he shouldn’t be. The fact that he was a skier—and one of her father’s former skiers at that—should have been dampening her obviously confused libido.
She stood and walked over to lean her hot forehead against the cool glass of the hotel window. Three stories below, a small group of Jeannie’s and Massimo’s friends from the ski tour trickled in and out of the courtyard lounge with drinks in hand. The rehearsal luncheon was finished, and now they looked to be gathering for the evening cocktail reception. Couples would be buzzed, chatty and amorous. Did she really want to meet Massimo’s and Jeannie’s fix-up for her in the state she was in?
I’d rather meet Brody, a rogue voice in her head said.
Stupid voice. Brody was the subject of her work. Her future. That was something she could never risk.
She rose and circled the room, glancing at Jeannie’s clothes spread over one bed and her own papers, briefcase and notes across the other. Practical, the way she needed to be. If she thought rationally, she knew this pull toward Brody wasn’t an attraction of the heart, on either of their parts. Her reaction to him was one-hundred-percent physical, and that was all. She would never invest time in a relationship with him, or he with her, especially once he found out who her father was.
And he would find out. Her background, including her father’s connection to the American ski racers, would be detailed in a boxed blurb below her byline. When Brody saw it, he would never want to see her again.
Her cell phone rang. Brody, was her first thought. Which was crazy. He was leaving in the morning, why would he want to see her again?
Besides, he didn’t have her phone number. His agent was the one she’d confirmed the appointment with, after her editor had set up their meeting.
No, the call was more likely from Jeannie. Amanda leaned over and picked up the phone, checking the caller ID as she did so.
Yes, it was Jeannie, calling on Massimo’s phone.
“I’ll be right down,” she said into the receiver, her heart dropping despite her best intentions to the contrary. “I just sent the profile to Chelsea, so all that’s left is to change my clothes, okay, sweetie?”
“Hi, Amanda!” Jeannie’s voice was tipsy, as if she’d drunk a glass or two of wine at her luncheon party. Loud, happy laughter sounded in the background, intermingled with festive piano music. “How did it go with the interview? I’ve been dying to hear.”
“It went…well.” She settled onto Jeannie’s bed, kicking off the heels and drawing her knees to her chin. To keep her hands busy, she picked up one of Jeannie’s old sweaters and brought it to her nose. It smelled like her baby sister. “Really well.”
“He talked to you?” Jeannie sounded breathless.
“Even more than I’d hoped for. He opened up to me, Jeannie.”
“Oh, my God, you like him, don’t you?”
Like in Jeannie’s vocabulary meant want to hook up with. Which was the last impression Amanda wanted to give her matchmaker sister. “Don’t even say that,” she chided. “We have a professional relationship. Are you trying to get me in trouble?”
“Hold on a sec, Massimo wants to listen in. I need to move someplace quiet so we can both hear you, okay?”
Amanda found herself smiling even as she shook her head. Jeannie and Massimo were so sweet together. She’d landed in Italy a week ago feeling exhausted and weepy, still so frustrated over fighting her mom’s illness and furious over her father’s lack of caring. But Jeannie and Massimo had made her smile again. Amanda had never blamed her little sister for being unable to visit Mom when she’d been sick—those days, Jeannie had been too often hospitalized herself. They’d talked by computer video connection almost every day, though, and Amanda had frequently thanked God for Massimo. This week, especially, he’d brought them around to his big, extended family, fed them pumpkin-filled pasta and goblets of Prosecco, shown her his and Jeannie’s new village apartment, and talked incessantly about their future together.
“You should call him, Amanda.” The line was calmer now, just Jeannie’s voice with no background cocktail chatter. “Since your work is finished, bring Brody down to the party. Everybody else is here, it’s only polite.”
It would be disastrous, only partly because Amanda hadn’t told Brody who she really was. But her sister just wanted to help her.
“And to think, a few hours ago you were setting me up with Massimo’s friend,” she teased.
“Marco? How can I fix you up with Marco when you’re interested in Brody?”
Massimo’s assenting murmur came through in the background.
Amanda poked at her one pedicured foot. The truly ridiculous part was, Jeannie and Massimo had bugged out of their own party to huddle over a mobile phone, plotting Amanda’s potential hook-up. “Have you two thought of starting a dating service? Because you’d be really good at it.”
“You have his number, right? Or do you need me to get it from Massimo? He has it right here.” Another murmur of agreement.
Amanda crushed Jeannie’s sweater closer. It was apparent Jeannie and Massimo weren’t going to let this one go. “Actually, Jeannie,” she admitted, “there is a small problem. Brody doesn’t know who my father is.”
“You didn’t tell him?” Jeannie fell silent. Because, as a consequence, Amanda had also hidden the fact that Jeannie was her sister.
Jeannie’s hurt radiated across the phone line, even without speaking.
“You need to talk to Brody and tell him who you are,” Jeannie said quietly, “because Dad just called me, and he’s on his way over.”
Amanda’s palm slipped on the silicone sleeve of her phone, nearly dropping it. Dad was coming here?
“Amanda? What’s going on?”
Cold beads of panic broke across her forehead. I don’t want to see him just yet. I can’t see him just yet.
She wasn’t prepared. Hadn’t thought this far ahead, because she hadn’t wanted to think this far ahead.
Amanda stood and paced the carpet. How could she explain the situation to her sister? It wasn’t fair to drag Jeannie into her problems. Above all, this was Jeannie’s big day, and it wasn’t Amanda’s place to ruin it. If anything, the bastard owed Jeannie an appearance on the night before her wedding, especially after causing her accident.
“I’m…sorry I couldn’t tell Brody who you are to me,” Amanda said. “He…quizzed me about my last name. Dad must have left a horrible taste in his mouth, because I could tell that if he knew who I was, he was going to shut down. And I couldn’t have that, Jeannie. Above all, I couldn’t have that.”
Her voice sounded pleading, and she felt ashamed of herself. If Jeannie hung up on her, she wouldn’t blame her.
“I understand,” Jeannie said firmly. “What you need to do is call Brody. Meet with him, tell him the truth, and then give him a chance to react. Afterward, you and I will get together and talk.”
No, they wouldn’t. This whole situation was too embarrassing to discuss with anyone.
Still, Jeannie was giving her a perfect excuse to skip the close encounter with their father.
“Are you sure you won’t mind if I miss your party?” Amanda asked. “How’s the dessert bar? Do they have the lemon cake and biscotti you wanted?”
“They do. Massimo’s mother smoothed the way between the pastry chef and the restaurant manager. It worked out perfectly.”
“I should have been there. I’m a horrible sister.”
“You’re the best sister ever. You deserve all good things. And right now, you deserve time on your own, without us. You’ve been smothered by me and the Coletti clan all week, now that I think of it.”
“I haven’t. They’re so adorable, they make me want to cry.”
“I’ll see you when I get back to the room tonight, okay? Call him, Mandy. Please.”
She murmured her assent, knowing full well she wouldn’t follow through. Jeannie disconnected the call.
Lovely. Now, in addition to skipping out on her sister, she was also lying to her. Because no matter what Jeannie said, or what Amanda had agreed to, there was no way she could call Brody. Her job was simply too important to risk.
On the other hand, there was no way she could face Dad tonight either, and of all the minefields she needed to avoid this evening, that one was the most important.
Her phone beeped, letting her know she had a text. It was from Chelsea, her traditionally terse, “Got it.” Not a phone call, not a make-these-changes-now directive.
From experience, Amanda knew that meant she approved of the profile. As of this moment, her assignment was officially over.
Amanda flopped back on Jeannie’s bed and let out her breath with a whoosh. At last, some good news. After all the hassles of the day, all the worry about the layoffs at work and coming face to face with her father, now she had one less thing to stress about. Maybe she should call room service and order champagne so she could celebrate her one small victory in private.
Closing her eyes, she dared to let herself remember the low, sexy timbre of Brody’s voice, his interview responses that she’d played over and over as she’d drafted her article. When she thought of him, she felt as warm and comfortable as when she’d held Jeannie’s familiar sweater.
She was on vacation now. No one from her office was present. Who would ever know or care if she did call Brody Jones?
Forget the champagne—what if she arranged a short drink with him in the hotel lounge, at the other end of the resort from her sister’s pre-wedding party, just to get her through the night and away from her father?
Rolling onto her side, she scrolled through her contact list before she could talk herself out of it. H for Harrison, his agent’s name…
The house phone rang insistently beside her, that jolting, Italian ring tone she still wasn’t used to.
The front-desk clerks were the only people who’d ever called them on this phone. She tucked the receiver between her ear and her shoulder. “Hi,” she said to the staff member before he could launch into his business, “are you serving drinks at the lounge yet, or do I have to go to the restaurant to get served?”
