A whole new playing field of passion

Fiery newscaster Angela Kelly wants nothing more than to take the Windy City by storm. But with her show’s dangerously low ratings, she stands to lose everything. The pressure is on to save her career, and a tantalizing exposé on wickedly sexy professional baseball player Demetri Morretti might be her last shot. That is, if she can handle the irresistible desire brewing between them….

Demetri sets out to teach the sensual broadcaster a lesson, and doesn’t think twice about trying to seduce her. And then a secret about Angela’s past is revealed. Now Demetri is determined to gain her trust and prove to her there’s more to him than just his playboy status. Because when it comes to love, he always plays to win.

“So all those tabloid stories about

you dating various Hollywood

starlets are lies?”

“There’s only one woman I’m feeling right now. She’s a tenacious TV newscaster with beautiful eyes and a gorgeous smile, but unfortunately she thinks I’m a complete jerk.” Demetri bent his head low and dropped his mouth to her ear. “Don’t know if I can change her perception of me, but I’m going to try. Starting right now…”

Then Demetri covered her mouth with his lips.

Stunned, Angela felt her eyes widen and her breath catch in her throat. She couldn’t describe the feelings that washed over her when their lips touched. The urgency, the hunger and the passion of his kiss overwhelmed her. His caress was tender, his hands soft and his lips the best thing she’d ever had the pleasure of tasting. Using his tongue, he parted her lips and eagerly explored every inch of her mouth.

PAMELA YAYE

has a bachelor’s degree in Christian education. Her love for African-American fiction prompted her to pursue a career in writing romance. When she’s not working on her latest novel, this busy wife, mother and teacher is watching basketball, cooking or planning her next vacation. Pamela lives in Alberta, Canada, with her gorgeous husband and adorable but mischievous son and daughter.

Seduced

by the Playboy

Pamela Yaye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

I’ve had the Morretti brothers—Demetri, Nicco and Rafael—in my mind for years (don’t tell my husband!), so I’m thrilled about Seduced by the Playboy, the first book in the Morretti Millionaires series. Their parents, Arturo and Vivica Morretti, are a dynamic couple who’ve raised three successful, drop-dead sexy sons oozing with charm, charisma and killer swag. I look forward to you meeting the Morretti brothers and the women who fall head over heels for them.

The youngest of the brood, Demetri Morretti, is every woman’s dream, but Angela Kelly’s worst nightmare. When the baseball superstar and the tenacious news reporter meet, sparks fly, but after their explosive argument at WJN-TV goes viral, Angela is more determined than ever to keep her distance from the surly baseball player with the massive ego. Unfortunately, Demetri has other plans!

Nicco Morretti, one of Demetri’s brothers, makes a cameo in this book, and once I “met” the famed restaurateur at the grand opening of his restaurant, Dolce Vita Chicago, I knew I had to write his story next. I love watching strong, independent women tame bad boys, and I have a feeling you will, too. Look for Seduced by the CEO next month.

I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE to hear from readers, so drop me a line at pamelayaye@aol.com, find me on Facebook or visit my website, www.pamelayaye.com. Thanks for the support. Happy reading, and be blessed.

With love,

Pamela Yaye

Odidison and Yaye Family: I love you more than anything in the world, and I feel incredibly blessed to have all of you in my life. Thank you for your unconditional love and support.

Sha-Shana Crichton: Can you believe Seduced by the Playboy is our fifteenth Mills & Boon Kimani Romance novel? Thanks for believing in me and my gift when no else did. You are the BEST agent a girl could ask for, and I predict even greater things in our future.

Shannon Criss: I appreciate all of the hard work you’ve done on the Morretti Millionaires series. Thanks for getting behind this project and for giving me the creative freedom to write the family miniseries of my dreams! :)

The Mills & Boon Kimani Marketing Team: You guys rock! You create the best book covers in the business, and I couldn’t be happier with the Morretti Millionaires series. Keep up the good work!!!

Contents

Dear Reader,

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Demetri Morretti yanked open the door of the sleek, ultra-modern WJN-TV building and stalked inside the bright, bustling lobby. The station was abuzz with activity, the mood was cheerful, and everywhere Demetri turned were young, well-dressed people. Some were drinking coffee in the waiting area, others were yakking into their cell phones, and a few were snapping pictures in front of the life-size bronze statue.

Keeping his head down, and his pace brisk, he strode past the reception desk like a man on a mission. And he was. He’d driven across town to issue a warning to Angela Kelly, the female broadcaster with the lying lips, and wasn’t going to let anything stop him. His left shoulder was killing him, throbbing in pain from his neck to his elbow, but he kept his smile in place as he continued through the sun-drenched lobby.

Demetri was about to breeze past the security desk but saw the robust-looking security guard eyeing him and thought better of it.

As he approached the circular desk, he caught sight of the gigantic oak clock. Demetri was surprised to see that it was already eleven-thirty. He was supposed to be meeting his team of his agent, his manager and his no-nonsense publicist for lunch at their favorite uptown pub. But when he remembered last night’s episode of Eye on Chicago, Demetri decided nothing was more important than confronting the broadcaster who’d slaughtered his name on national television. This was the second time Angela Kelly had taken a cheap shot at him, and he was sick of being the butt of her jokes. This was a detour he had to make— one his manager couldn’t talk him out of no matter how hard he’d tried.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Demetri said, greeting the guard with a flick of his head. “I’m here to see Ms. Angela Kelly.”

“Now’s not a good time.”

“This won’t take long. I just need a few minutes.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Demetri shook his head. “No, but—”

“But nothing.” The guard waved him off with his beefy hand. “Come back at the end of the day. I might be able to squeeze you in then.”

“I can’t. I’m busy.”

“Doing what? Panhandling?”

Taken aback by his comment, Demetri glanced down and inspected his attire. He’d left the house without shaving and wore dark, stubbly hair on his chin, but he didn’t look that bad, did he? He’d showered and wore his new signature Gucci cologne, and his black Nike warm-up suit didn’t have a wrinkle in sight. I look good, he decided, squaring his shoulders. This dude needs to have his eyes checked.

“You cats from the Ninth Street homeless shelter are driving me nuts,” the guard complained. “You’re always coming in here begging to see Ms. Kelly just because she volunteers down at the center, but enough is enough. She’s too nice to tell you bums to get lost, but I’m not, so get lost!”

Demetri raised his eyebrows for two reasons. One because the security guard thought he was down on his luck, and two because the man spoke about Angela Kelly in glowing terms, as if she were a saint. Demetri found it hard to believe that the mean-spirited newscaster volunteered with the homeless. It had to be a front. Something she did to look good, to boost the ratings of her TV show. Demetri considered leaving, and tracking her down at the shelter up the block, but quickly decided against it. He was going to talk to Angela Kelly today, and the gruff security guard with the unibrow was going to lead him straight to her.

“I’d appreciate if you could help me out,” Demetri said, glancing around the lobby for any signs of the enemy. “It’s important that I talk to Ms. Kelly before she goes on the air.”

“Are you deaf? I said to come back later.” Glowering, he bared his crooked, coffee-stained teeth. “Scram before I toss you out myself.”

Demetri took off his dark aviator sunglasses and flashed his trademark grin. The one that had landed him a seven-figure deal with Sony, Crest toothpaste and a dozen other multimillion-dollar companies. “Now, is that any way to talk to the Athlete of the Year?”

The guard’s eyes flew out of his head. “Holy crap! You’re Demetri Morretti!”

Leaning forward, Demetri pressed a finger to his lips and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “Keep it down, man. I don’t want anyone to know it’s me.”

The guard raced around his desk, cap in hand, a giddy expression on his wide face. “I’ve been a fan ever since you signed with the Chicago Royals, and I haven’t missed a home game since!”

Demetri nodded. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate the support.”

“My friends are going to trip when I tell them I met you! We watch your games every week and even drove a thousand miles to see you play in...”

Demetri stood patiently, waiting for the guard to quit rambling about last year’s All-Star Game. Unfortunately, this happened several times a day. And although he was out for the rest of the season due to his bum shoulder, there were fans out there who still treated him like a champion. Everyone else had turned on him, and the last thing Demetri needed was more bad press. That was the main reason he’d come to tell Angela Kelly to back off and stop the station from airing the last installment of her Athletes Behaving Badly series.

“Can I have your autograph?” the guard asked, snatching a piece of paper off the desk and shoving it under his nose. “No, no, forget that. Can I take a picture with you?”

“I don’t know. That depends on whether or not you’re going to take me to Ms. Kelly.”

“Anything for you, Mr. Morretti. Right this way.”

Grinning from ear to ear, he hustled Demetri through the lobby, past the reception desk and down a long, narrow corridor. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Offices and conference rooms were on either side of the hallway, and Demetri could hear conversation, laughter and the distant sound of the radio.

The guard stopped in front of a door with the letter A marked on it. “This is where Ms. Kelly tapes Eye on Chicago.” He wore an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Mr. Morretti, but I’m going to have to ask you to switch off your cell phone before we head inside. I know it’s a pain, but those are the rules.”

“I figured as much, so I left my cell in the car.” Demetri slid his hands into his sweatpants. That wasn’t the only reason. His phone had been ringing off the hook ever since he signed his contract extension last week, and he was sick of the incessant calls from his relatives. Everyone needed money for something—to pay his or her mortgage, for tuition, to get a second boob job. If not for his mother’s heartfelt pleas, he would have cut his mooching family members off a long time ago.

A siren blared behind him, and his burly escort cursed under his breath.

“I can’t believe that stupid alarm is going off again,” he grumbled, whipping his walkie-talkie out of his pocket and rattling off a series of security codes. “I’ll be right back, Mr. Morretti. Hang tight.”

“Take as long as you need, man. I’m not going anywhere.”

The security guard took off down the hall, mumbling to himself in Portuguese. Demetri waited until his escort disappeared around the corner, then calmly opened the door of Studio A. People in headsets, clutching wooden clipboards, rushed around the room. He slipped inside the darkened studio with the stealth of a burglar.

The studio was spacious, and the air was thick and hot. He heard a woman speaking and instantly recognized the low, sultry voice. It was the same voice he’d heard in his dreams. The one that had teased and tormented him last night.

After watching Eye on Chicago the previous night, and seeing his past transgressions in high definition, he’d stormed into his home gym, fuming mad. But it didn’t matter how many push-ups he did or how much weight he lifted because he still couldn’t get Angela Kelly’s voice out of his head. Or her blistering jabs. Demetri Morretti is an overrated, overpaid athlete with no class... His off-field behavior has not only disgraced the Chicago Royals organization, but his teammates and fans... If I was the league commissioner, I’d give Morretti the boot, once and for all.

Demetri clenched his hands into fists. He wanted to punch something, wanted to unleash the anger shooting through his veins. Another workout was definitely in order. He was tense, more fired up than a boxer on fight day, and those deep breathing exercises his conditioning coach had taught him weren’t working. They never worked. These days, he was more stressed than ever, and getting injured during the preseason had only made matters worse.

Now stepping out from behind the curtain shielding him, Demetri slid up against the back wall. Standing perfectly still, he zeroed in on the raised stage. Seated behind the V-shaped glass desk was the studio’s most popular broadcaster—Angela Kelly. The stunning twentysomething Chicago native with the girl-next-door appeal. Her beauty was jaw-dropping, as breathtaking as a Mediterranean sunset, and at the sight of her dazzling smile his mouth went bone-dry. Everything about her was chic and sophisticated. Her fuchsia blazer and shorts, her silky black hair, the way she spoke and moved. Angela Kelly looked well put together, as if she’d just stepped out of hair and makeup, and she spoke with such exuberance that the entire studio was filled with her positive energy.

And Demetri Morretti hated her on sight.

* * *

“Thanks for watching this week’s edition of Eye on Chicago,” Angela Kelly said, staring straight into the camera and wearing her brightest smile. “Make sure you tune in next week for the conclusion of my Athletes Behaving Badly story. Until next time, stay safe.”

“That’s a wrap, people!” the cameraman yelled. “Great job, Angela. You really outdid yourself this week. Faking tears as you read the intro was a nice touch.”

“I wasn’t faking,” Angela said, unclipping her microphone and resting it on the desk. “Watching those clips of teenagers rifling through the garbage was heartbreaking.”

“Sure it was.” The cameraman winked and then patted her on the back. “I’ll see you on Friday. We’re filming two segments back-to-back, so make sure you bring your A game.”

“I’ll bring mine if you bring yours!”

The cameraman chuckled and then strode off the soundstage.

Angela slid off her chair, adjusted her blazer and ran a hand through her perfectly flat-ironed hair. Spotting her boss, Salem Velasquez, at the back of the room, she swiped her clipboard off the raised glass desk and stepped off the set. This was her chance to talk to Salem—alone—about the proposal she’d submitted last week for her new three-part series. Angela was determined to win her boss over. If she wanted to be taken seriously in the journalism community, she had to continue pursuing meatier news stories. Stories that would impact the world and change lives. Stories that she could be proud of. After eight years of covering celebrity gossip, Angela was ready for a change. She was ready for the big leagues. And if she wanted to be the station’s lead broadcaster by the time she turned thirty at the end of the year, she had to start pushing the envelope.

“Angela-wouldn’t-know-the-truth-if-it-slapped-her-in-the-face-Kelly,” a male voice said from behind her. A tall, hooded figure, decked out in all black, slid in front of her.

Angela stepped back with a yelp. “What the hell?” she snapped, touching a hand to her chest. Narrowing her eyes, she studied the lean, muscled stranger. His baseball cap was pulled low, past his eyebrows, a thick Nike hoodie covering his head, and his hands were tucked in the pockets of his sweatpants. His head was down, and his shoulders were bent. The man looked sinister, like the villain in a comic book, but he smelled heavenly.

“I need to have a word with you.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This is a closed set, and no one...” Angela’s voice faded when the stranger took off his hoodie. Her clipboard slipped out of her hands, falling to the floor with a clatter.

“I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I’d be lying, and I’d hate to make a second trip to confession this week.”

Angela felt her eyes widen and her knees buckle. Not because she was surprised by the dig, but because Demetri Morretti—the reigning bad boy of Major League Baseball—was standing in front of her, live and in the flesh.

Her thoughts were running wild, but her gaze was glued to his handsome, chiseled face before her. Dark eyebrows framed his brown eyes, a thin mustache lined his thick lips, and his wide shoulders made him seem imposing, larger-than-life. The half Italian, half African-American star athlete was a force to be reckoned with on the baseball field. And even though he was casually dressed in workout clothes and had a very present five-o’clock shadow, he was still smokin’ hot. His skin was a warm caramel shade of brown and so smooth and flawless-looking, Angela suspected he had weekly facials. Demetri Morretti was a pretty boy if she’d ever seen one, but she didn’t think for a second that he was soft. Angela had read enough about the thirty-two-year-old superstar to know that he was a spoiled, ridiculously rich athlete who pushed around anyone who got in his way.

Recovering from the shock of seeing Demetri Morretti in her studio, Angela hit him with an icy glare. “Tapings aren’t open to the public,” she said tightly. “And since you’re not an employee of the station, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Morretti.”

“I will, as soon as you go on the air and issue an apology to me and my family.”

Angela almost laughed in his face but caught herself before a snicker escaped her mouth. No use antagonizing him. According to published reports, Demetri was impulsive, a hothead of the worst kind, and there was no telling what he’d do in the heat of the moment.

“My mother is very upset about the lies you told about me on your show, but I assured her you’d apologize once you realized the errors of your ways.”

“Apologize for what? Speaking the truth?” Angela rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She didn’t tell Demetri about the countless hours she’d spent reading articles and sports blogs about his background and twelve-year baseball career. The headlines about the gifted shortstop were damning and more salacious than a CIA prostitution scandal. There were reports of bar brawls, drunken Las Vegas parties and explosive run-ins with rival baseball fans. She’d found so much “dirt” on Demetri Morretti, and the other players featured in her story, she’d had enough material for a three-part series. And the viewers were eating it up. Her show had slayed the competition in the ratings last week, and everywhere she went people were talking about her Athletes Behaving Badly story. It was a hot topic, one that viewers couldn’t seem to get enough of.

“Don’t mess with me, Ms. Kelly, because when it’s all said and done, I will get my way.”

Angela’s toes curled in her five-inch black pumps. She couldn’t believe his nerve. Demetri was rotten to the core, a man of such extraordinary arrogance, Angela didn’t know why she was even talking to him. “You might be able to throw your weight around the clubhouse,” she began, meeting his hostile gaze, “but it’s not going to work here. I double-checked the facts and have taped interviews with eyewitnesses to back up my report.”

“Your report was full of lies. It was nothing more than a smear campaign done by a bitter, angry woman who got dissed and dismissed by her ex-boyfriend.”

Angela’s breath caught in her throat. Her face must have registered surprise, because a grin that could scare a mobster broke out across Demetri’s lips.

“Your ex plays for the L.A. Jaguars,” he continued. “And he was nice enough to share all of the dirty details of your relationship with him.”

Fear blanketed her skin. Licking her dry lips, Angela cast a nervous glance around the studio. She spotted her colleagues at the other end of the room, perusing the snack table, and sighed inwardly. Angela wasn’t proud of her past, and the last thing she wanted was for her colleagues to find out about all the wild and crazy things she’d done while living in L.A. It was hard enough being the only woman of color at the TV station, and she didn’t want to give the other broadcasters another reason to resent her. Not that they needed one. They thought she was too young to host Eye on Chicago, unqualified to work at the station and skating by on her looks. “Who I’ve dated is none of your business, and furthermore, my personal life has absolutely nothing to do with my Athletes Behaving Badly story.”

“You see, Ms. Kelly, I did a little digging of my own and discovered that you’ve dated a lot of professional athletes,” he said, stroking his jaw reflectively. “And from what I hear, several of them dogged you out bad. That’s why you did that story. To get back at the guys who dumped you and to stick it to anyone who plays pro sports.”

“That’s ludicrous.” Lifting her head, Angela arched her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. She wasn’t going to be Demetri Morretti’s punching bag. Not now. Not ever. “This conversation is over. Please leave.”

“I will, Madame Gold Digger, as soon as you—”

“Gold digger?” Angela repeated, splaying her hands on her hips.

“Did I stutter?”

“I don’t know any gold diggers who put themselves through school or who volunteer twenty hours a week at various local shelters, do you?”

Angela saw a bolt of surprise flicker across Demetri’s face, but bragging about her volunteer work made her feel small, as if she’d just insulted all of the families she worked with. But her unexpected confession clearly stunned the baseball star, and Angela was determined to use this leverage to her advantage. “I have nothing against you or any of the other athletes mentioned in my story,” she said, meaning every word. “I did the piece to warn young women about the perils of pursuing professional athletes and—”

“To stick it to your ex-lovers,” he tossed out, mirroring her rigid body stance.

Angela made her eyes thin. “Maybe instead of coming down here and harassing me, you should have gone to the clubhouse to practice.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I saw your last game before your shoulder injury. You jumped every pitch, your timing was way off, and your swing looked lifeless.”

Demetri flexed his jaw muscles. He was well aware of his batting slump, and the problems with his swing, but he didn’t need anyone—especially a newscaster—reminding him. “There’s nothing wrong with my game.”

“Oh, but there is. Ask your coach. Ask your teammates. Hell, ask the fans.”

“I didn’t come down here to get batting tips from a reporter with no conscience,” he said, folding his arms. “I came to issue a warning. Go on the air and apologize, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Angela jeered, cutting him off. “Hurl a beer bottle at me like you did to that poor college kid in Newark? Or get one of your flunkies to rough me up?”

His nostrils flared, and the corners of his lips curled into a scowl. Demetri stepped forward, and when Angela jumped back, she bumped into one of the towering black light stands. A sharp pain stabbed her leg, but it was the menacing gleam in her adversary’s eyes that made her knees quiver.

“I’m not going to touch you, Ms. Kelly.” Demetri’s voice was calm, but his tone was colder than ice. “But if you don’t go on the air and apologize, I’ll sue you, your boss and this damn station.”

Chapter 2

Angela felt a cold chill snake down her back. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she discreetly dried her damp palms along the side of her fitted Chanel shorts. Since part one of her series aired two weeks ago, she’d received scores of hate mail. Several athletes had taken to Twitter to express their anger, but no one had shown up at the station threatening litigation—until now. It wasn’t the first time Angela had ruffled someone’s feathers, and usually she wouldn’t give a threat a second thought. But the way Demetri was staring at her, with his head cocked and his eyes narrowed, made her stomach coil into a suffocating knot.

“So, what’s it going to be?” Arms folded, he tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. “Are you going to issue that apology, or are we going to have to hash this thing out in court?”

Angela swallowed hard. Demetri sounded serious, looked serious, too, but she didn’t believe him. Not for a second. He was too busy getting into bar fights, throwing wild parties at his Chicago mansion and drag racing in his Maybach to show up in court.

“You’re not going to win this, so you might as well give up now.”

“Get out,” she snapped, pointing at the studio door. “And don’t come back!”

“I’ll leave, as soon as I get that apology.”

Angela glowered but said nothing. What could she say? “Leave or I’ll call security”? The baseball star was trespassing, but the security guards weren’t going to throw a future hall-of-famer off the property.

“I don’t want to play hardball with you, Ms. Kelly, but you leave me no choice. Your report was biased and unfounded. Not to mention full of outright lies.”

When Demetri took another step forward, infringing upon her personal space, she imagined herself smacking the broad grin off his face. But instead of acting on her impulse, Angela faked a smile. It was time to try a different approach because arguing with Demetri Morretti was getting her nowhere. “I’ll give some thought to what you said, and someone from the station will contact you by the end of the week. Okay?”

Demetri clapped his hands. “Well done, Ms. Kelly. Nicely played. For a second there, I actually believed you were a rational human being.”

“Well, at least I’m not a—”

Angela felt a hand on her shoulder and broke off speaking. She turned to her right, and groaned inwardly when she saw her producer, standing beside her, wearing a concerned expression. And worse, everyone in the studio, from the voluptuous makeup artist to the bearded engineer, was now staring at her, with wide eyes and open mouths. How much had her colleagues heard? And why were all of the men in the studio shooting evil daggers at her?

“Welcome to WJN-TV, Mr. Morretti. I’m Salem Velasquez, one of the head producers.”

Wearing a tight smile, he nodded and shook the hand she offered.

“If you have a few moments, I’d love to speak to you in private.”

“Great. The quicker we resolve this issue the better.”

“Please follow me. My office is right this way.” Salem motioned to the studio door, and Demetri fell in step beside her.

Angela stayed put. She didn’t want any part of this meeting, and she had better things to do than listen to Demetri Morretti whine about her report. Anxious to return to her office, she turned around and stalked off in the opposite direction. She needed to vent, and her best friend, Simone, was the perfect person to talk to.

“Angela!”

Angela stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart was hammering in her chest. The sharpness of Salem’s tone and the booming sound of her voice made Angela break out in a nervous sweat.

Glancing over her shoulder confirmed her worst fears. Now her boss and the surly baseball star were glaring at her. The air in the studio was suffocating, so thick with tension, Angela felt as if she was going to faint. And the way Demetri was staring at her—all serious and intense—made her skin prickle with goose bumps.

“You will be joining us.”

“Oh, of course,” Angela lied, nodding her head. “I was just going to...to...to...”

“Whatever it is can wait. Get in my office. Now.”

I’d rather ride a unicycle naked down the Magnificent Mile, she thought, dragging herself across the studio and past her gawking coworkers.

* * *

“Please, Mr. Morretti, have a seat,” Salem said, gesturing to one of the padded chairs in front of her large oak desk. “Make yourself comfortable.”

The small, cramped office was overrun with bookshelves, knickknacks, and the scent of cinnamon was so heavy in the air, Angela’s stomach grumbled. It had been hours since she had breakfast, but the thought of eating made her feel queasy. So did the way her boss was smiling at Demetri Morretti. He was the enemy, a man bent on destroying her, and if Salem didn’t toughen up and quit making eyes at him, they’d both be out of a job.

“Thanks, but I’d rather stand.”

“Very well.” Salem sat down in her leather swivel chair and clasped her hands together. “I understand that you’re upset about Ms. Kelly’s Athletes Behaving Badly piece, but I stand behind the story and what was reported. All of our stories are vigorously researched, and we pride ourselves on double-checking every fact and every report.”

“No one from your station contacted me or my team.”

“I assure you, Mr. Morretti, my assistant phoned your publicist for a statement.”

He crossed his arms. “I would like you to provide the name of the person who called and the time and date the call was placed.”

Nodding, Salem picked up her pen and made a note on one of the open file folders on her desk. “That’s not a problem. I can forward the information to you later today.”

Angela raised her eyebrows but didn’t speak. She stood at the back of the room, beside the door, and watched the exchange between Salem and Demetri with growing interest. Maybe her boss was going to come through for her after all. Salem’s eyes were glued to Demetri’s lips, but she sounded confident and looked in control.

“There are two sides to every story, but your report only focused on one side. The side filled with lies. As a result, my character and integrity have been compromised.”

What integrity? Angela thought, clamping her lips together to trap a curse inside. You’re a hothead who can’t control his temper! She thought back over every second of her argument with Demetri. And when she got to the point where her boss showed up, Angela decided that was the most humiliating moment of her life. She’d been reprimanded in front of her crew, then ordered into her boss’s office to speak to the enemy. Even more troubling, Salem was being nice to him. A little too nice. Her body was angled toward him, and she hadn’t stopped smiling since they entered the office. If Angela didn’t know better, she’d think Salem had a crush on Demetri, because the only time she’d ever seen her boss this happy was when she received her annual Christmas bonus.

“If your assistant had contacted me, I would have been here.”

“Really?” A quizzical look covered Salem’s face. “But it’s been widely reported in the media that you don’t do interviews.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

Angela wanted to gag. Demetri was lying and making it look easy. He hadn’t done an on-camera interview in years, and according to reports, his publicist had to preapprove the questions. The baseball star was a recluse, a man who liked to be alone, who kept to himself. Except when he was getting into bar fights or humiliating waiters and service staff.

Angela looked him over, slowly. Demetri Morretti was a man of great presence, with more natural charisma than an A-list actor. That was probably why people overlooked his bad behavior and made excuses for him. But Angela wasn’t one of his crazed fans or easily seduced by ridiculously rich athletes. She decided right then and there that she wasn’t going to let Demetri Morretti disrespect her again.

“You seem like a very nice lady, Mrs. Velasquez,” Demetri began smoothly, favoring her with a smile that warmed his entire face, “and I don’t want to sue you, but if Ms. Kelly doesn’t apologize publicly for slandering my name, I will.”

Silence filled the air and stretched on for several long minutes.

“I have an idea.” Salem’s voice was filled with excitement and she practically bounced up and down on her chair. “Why don’t you come on Eye on Chicago and do an exclusive sit-down interview with Ms. Kelly this month?”

No, no, no! Angela wanted to scream out in protest, but shot evil daggers at Demetri instead. He was bad news, someone she had to stay far, far away from. He was a rich, cocksure athlete who thought he could push her around, and she had absolutely no desire to have him on her show. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not ever.

“No, thank you. I’m not interested.”

“What if we gave you the questions beforehand? You and your team could even add a few of your own. We never do that, but I’m willing to make an exception for you, Mr. Morretti.”

“No way!” Angela hollered, the words bursting out of her mouth. “He shouldn’t get preferential treatment just because he’s a—”

Salem’s eyes thinned. In an instant, Angela’s jaw locked and her tongue seized up.

“I don’t trust reporters.” Demetri cast a glance at the back of the room. “Not even the ones who look sweet and innocent. They’re the worst kind.”

Angela ignored the dig. Sticks and stones, Morretti. Sticks and stones. There was nothing the surly baseball player could say to hurt her. Life was good. Great. For the first time ever, her show was on top of the ratings, and next weekend she was covering the grand opening of Dolce Vita.

The posh three-story lounge was the first of its kind in Chicago, and Angela had been looking forward to the event for weeks. Because of her busy schedule, Angela hadn’t hung out with her girlfriends in weeks. And since they would be in attendance at the star-studded launch, she was excited about catching up with them and eating some award-winning Italian food.

“If you’ll both excuse me,” Angela said, gripping the door handle. “I really have to go.”

Salem shook her head, and Angela dropped the door handle as if it were a roasted stone. Her boss spoke to Demetri in a soft, soothing voice, but her eyes were glued to Angela. “I want to hear your side of the story, and I bet America does, too.”

“I know I don’t,” Angela grumbled. Her colleagues would probably jump at the chance to interview Demetri Morretti but the thought of interviewing him, under the bright studio lights, made Angela feel queasy. The camera captured everything—every pause, every nervous glance, every awkward movement—and she feared her nerves would get the best of her and she’d drown on live TV. Add to that the fact that she had to worry about keeping Demetri and his ego in check. Angela didn’t like him, didn’t trust him and had a feeling he was up to no good. He’d embarrassed her once in front of her crew, and there was no doubt in her mind he’d do it again. What if he outsmarts me on my show? she thought, swallowing hard. What if he makes me look like a fool on national television?

“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.”

Nichola and Todd exchanged a worried glance, one he’d seen a million times over the years they’d all been working together, but it was Lloyd who spoke.

“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 every 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.

Then why are you thinking about all the wicked things you’d like to do to her in bed? his inner voice jeered.

“Demetri, if you want this event to be a success, you’ll have to be that fun, personable guy we all know and love.”

“It’s hard to be in a jovial mood when perfect strangers are snapping pictures of me in the bathroom and the paparazzi is trailing me around town.”

Nichola wore a sympathetic smile. “Just remember this event is for a good cause. Last year, we raised over a half a million dollars for the foundation, and this year I’m hoping to triple that number.”

Her words made Demetri grin, filling him with pride. That was what it was all about. Making a difference in someone’s life. Being famous definitely had its good points, and now, thanks to his new multimillion-dollar contract, he could help even more children in need. “Thanks for overseeing everything,” he said, feeling bad for snapping at her earlier. “As usual, it sounds like you have everything under control.”

“Now,” Todd said, “all we need are some celebrity faces to give the event star power!”

“Speaking of star power, I received dozens of letters from local area schools this week.” Nichola took a stack of envelopes out of her purse and showed them to Demetri. “Are you interested in speaking at any of these functions?”

Demetri thought for a moment. As far as he knew, he had nothing planned for the month. But if he went to the career-day events, there was a good chance someone would tip off the media, and he’d arrive to find a mob of fans and paparazzi. This was a main reason Demetri avoided public events. Because of his wealth, and the poor choices he’d made in the past, he was an easy target, and these days he couldn’t go anywhere without some young punk looking to start a fight. “Tell the organizers I can’t make it, but send each school a check.”

“For the same amount as last year?”

“Double it.”

Lloyd’s jaw hit his flabby chest with a thud. “B-but, Demetri, that’s over two hundred thousand dollars to each school. A million dollars total.”

“I know, Lloyd. I did the math.”

“I’ll ensure your accountant sends out the checks today,” Nichola said, typing furiously on her iPad. “And I’ll make sure to tip my source at the Tribune about your very generous donation to five inner-city schools.”

“No, don’t. It’s nobody’s business how much I give.” Demetri’s expression turned serious. He’d learned early on in his career it was better to leave some things private. He didn’t want anyone—especially his relatives—to hear how much he gave to charity. He could almost hear the outlandish things they would request if they knew. “Keep it quiet, Nichola. The less people who know the better.”

“But it would be great press,” she argued. “And a touchy, feel-good story even someone like Angela Kelly would love!”

At the mention of the newscaster’s name, he remembered their heated argument that morning at the studio. He told himself to stop thinking about Angela Kelly, to forget they’d ever met, but he couldn’t get her pretty brown eyes and her toned, curvy shape out of his mind.

After leaving the television station, he’d returned to his car and turned on his cell phone. Instead of reading his newest text messages, he’d opened the internet and searched her name, clicking on the first link that popped up. He read Angela Kelly’s bio, then watched an hour’s worth of her most popular interviews. Most of them were with celebrities—actors, singers, professional athletes and supermodels. But Angela was so engaging, and witty, she looked like a star in her own right. There were dozens of pictures of her, at various events in and around town, and in each photograph she looked like a million bucks and had a different date.

What’s up with that? Demetri quickly told himself he didn’t care. And he didn’t. His mother had always warned him against falling for pretty money-hungry types. And from the day he was drafted in the major leagues, gold diggers had been throwing themselves at him left, right and center. Feisty, headstrong women—like Angela Kelly—where by far the worst type.

Tasting his wine, he hoped the savory drink eased his troubled mind. Demetri closed his eyes and saw Angela Kelly glaring at him. He gave his head a hard shake. He had to quit wondering how many guys she was dating and if she had a lover, because after today he had no intention of ever seeing her again—unless it was in civil court.

Chapter 4

Angela stormed inside her best friend’s kitchen, dumped her purse on the granite countertop and paced the length of the room, gesturing wildly with her hands. “I’m so angry I could scream!”

“Well, please don’t,” Simone Young said, glancing into the living room. “The boys just fell asleep, and if you wake them, I’ll kill you.”

Angela blew out a deep breath and counted to ten. On the drive over from the WJN-TV station, she’d relived every second of her argument with Demetri and the subsequent meeting with her boss. It didn’t matter which way Angela looked at it—she felt cheated. As if Salem had thrown her under the bus.

“Now, what’s got you all riled up?” Simone closed the dishwasher and then leaned against it. Rubbing a hand over her baby bump, she cocked her head to the side and frowned. “Did that sleazy sportscaster proposition you again?”

“No. Worse.”

“I can’t imagine anything worse than being propositioned by a guy who drives a lemon and still lives at home with his mama!”

A giggle tickled the back of Angela’s throat. Leave it to Simone to make her laugh in the midst of a crisis. That was why she’d driven across town in rush hour to see her. They’d been friends ever since meeting on the University of Chicago campus ten years ago, and Angela loved Simone like a sister. The busy wife and mother could make her forget her problems, even if just for a few minutes. And now more than ever, Angela needed her advice. “Hakeem’s not that bad. Just annoying. I can handle him.”

“I’m all for keeping the peace at work, but I would have spoken to HR about his unwanted advances months ago.”

“And have everyone at the station turn against me? No, thanks. The lead anchor hates me, so the few friends I have, I’d like to keep.”

“Do you want a cup of ginger tea?”

“Yeah, but put some vodka in mine.”

Simone opened the cupboard, took out two ceramic mugs and waddled over to the kettle. “I swear, Angela, sometimes you’re just too much.”

“What? I need some alcohol to steady my nerves. I’ve had the day from hell!”

“Girl, please. You work at a TV station and tape your show in a warm, cozy studio.” Simone handed Angela a mug, then sat down at the table in front of her laptop and social-work case files. “Come down to my agency, and I’ll show you what a bad day really looks like.” Sliding her hands around her mug, Simone raised it to her mouth and took a sip. “I’m trying not to let anything stress me out,” she confessed, gazing down at her belly, “but it’s hard being pregnant, taking care of my family and doing my job effectively.”

“God, I am such a bad friend! I came barging in here and didn’t even ask how your doctor’s appointment went this morning.” Angela took the seat across from Simone and squeezed her hand. “How are the babies doing?”

Her grin lit up the kitchen. “They’re good. Gaining weight and kicking me like crazy!”

Angela listened to Simone recount every detail of her ultrasound appointment and, for a split second, wondered what it would be like to be pregnant. Back when she was a naive nineteen-year-old, madly in love with her college sweetheart, she’d had dreams of getting married and raising a family. But after countless arguments about her career, he’d dumped her via email and moved on to greener pastures. Younger, thinner pastures, Angela thought, recalling the day she’d bumped into her ex and his new girlfriend at the mall. Her ex had foolishly thought he could control every aspect of her life, and although it stung to see him with someone else, Angela knew she was better off without him.

The whole male species, actually.

Since moving back to Chicago six months ago, Angela had been playing the field and loving every minute of it. She never went out with the same guy twice, and although she’d earned a reputation of being a heartbreaker, she had no intention of ever settling down. She’d leave getting married, having babies and watching cartoons to her love-struck girlfriends.

“So what’s going on with you?” Simone asked. “What’s got you all worked up?”

“Demetri Morretti showed up at the station today and demanded that I go on the air and apologize to him,” Angela said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in one long gush. “Can you believe it? I mean, really, who does he think he is?”

“Well, you did call him a spoiled, immature athlete on national television...”

“None of this would have happened if the security guards had been doing their job,” she continued. “They should be fired.”

“It was bound to happen, Angela. You couldn’t avoid Demetri Morretti forever.”

“I knew some of the players were upset, but I never expected Demetri to show up at the station. I almost fell over when I saw him, and when he started in on me, I lost it.” Angela shook her head at the memory of their heated confrontation. “It was horrible, Simone. We were yelling and arguing and dissing each other.”

“I know. I saw and I heard.”

“You saw and you heard what?”

“Your showdown with Demetri. The video was posted online about an hour ago.”

“Online?” she repeated, shaking her head. “As in on the internet?”

“Yup. Sexy Chicago Newscaster Goes Off on Baseball Superstar, and since it’s gone viral, it’s received thousands of hits.” Simone slid the laptop in front of Angela, clicked on the appropriate link and said, “See for yourself.”

Angela gasped when she saw her image on the screen. “H-h-how come Demetri looks all calm, cool and collected and I look like a raving lunatic?” she stammered, unable to believe her eyes. In the heat of the moment, Angela felt as if Demetri was attacking her, but that hadn’t been the case at all. He was chill, at ease, and his tone was so soft, she could barely hear what he was saying. Unfortunately, she heard her curt, clipped tone loud and clear.

“I’m going to be the laughingstock of late-night television!” she wailed.

Simone put her hands on Angela’s shoulder. “Girl, it’s not that bad.”

“You’re right. It’s worse.”

“Look on the bright side—”

“There isn’t one.”

“Yes, there is.” Simone tapped the computer screen. “You’re working the hell out of your new Chanel shorts suit, and all those sessions with your personal trainer are definitely paying off because your booty looks good!”

“You’re not helping, Simone.”

“And as usual, you’re being overly dramatic.”

“No, I’m not.” Angela cringed when she heard the note of despair in her voice, but she couldn’t help the way she was feeling. Being secretly recorded unnerved her, but having the video posted online, for the whole world to see, made Angela want to curl into a ball in the middle of the kitchen floor. “I want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and this whole episode with Demetri is only going to set me back.”

“Or it could catapult you to stardom, and you could end up with your own reality show!”

Angela gave her best friend a blank stare.

“What? Throwing a tantrum on camera has worked for dozens of other stars. I don’t see why it can’t work for you.”

“Why would someone waste their time uploading this stupid video on YouTube?”

“Probably just for kicks. People post all sorts of wacky things online these days.”

Angela winced and then dropped her face in her hands.

“Sorry, girl. That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s exactly how I look. Wacky,” she admitted, swallowing a sob. “I bet Demetri posted the video to get back at me, to make me look like a fool.”

“You think so?”

Angela gave it more thought and considered exactly what had transpired between them that afternoon. “I don’t know. He had no way of knowing what would happen, but I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s surly and bitter, and this sort of thing is right up his alley.”

“So, what happened after your boss ordered you into her office?”

Angela told Simone an abbreviated version of her terse ten-minute meeting with Salem. She admitted being so wound up after her argument with Demetri, she couldn’t concentrate on what her boss was saying. But she did vividly remember Salem inviting the baseballer on her show. “I can’t believe Salem invited him to appear on my show!”

“I don’t understand why you’re mad. Having Demetri Morretti on your show will send your ratings through the roof!” Simone said, throwing her hands up in the air. “For some reason, people love to hate that guy, and since he hasn’t done a sit-down interview in years, viewers will tune in. I don’t even like baseball, but I’d definitely watch!”

“I’d rather have a mime on my show than Demetri Morretti.”

“No one said you had to play nice, Angela. Do the interview your way,” she advised. “Put him in the hot seat. Ask tough questions. That’s what viewers want to see. Good, hard interviews with today’s hottest stars.”

Nodding her head slowly, she considered her best friend’s advice. Angela knew if she grilled Demetri Morretti on air, her boss and everyone in the production team would be licking their chops. “Simone, you’re brilliant!”

“I know. That’s what I keep telling my husband, but he doesn’t believe me!”

The women laughed.

“I better get started on dinner.” Standing, Simone gathered her case files and dumped them into her briefcase. “Marcus will be home soon, and I still haven’t seasoned the chicken.”

Angela watched her girlfriend, moving anxiously around the kitchen, and was glad she didn’t have to rush home to cook dinner for a man. If I ever get married, my husband will cook for me, she decided.

“You didn’t touch your tea,” Simone said. “Do you want me to reheat it?”

“Sure, and don’t forget the vodka this time!”

Simone raised her eyebrows.

“What? I’m stressed-out,” Angela argued, feeling the need to defend herself. “I want Eye on Chicago to do well so I can move on to bigger and better things, but I hate the thought of having Demetri Morretti on my show. The guy’s creepy.”

“Yeah, creepy fine,” Simone quipped, ambling over to the microwave. She put the mug inside and hit Start. “I read in Forbes magazine that his new mansion is so big, he needs a helicopter to get him from one end to the other!”

Angela’s eyes strayed back to the computer. For some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about Demetri. He had a dreamy look and such a compelling presence, he could give a perfectly healthy woman asthma. Long after he’d stalked out of her studio, Angela was still thinking about how good he smelled, how broad his shoulders were and how sexy he looked in his workout gear.

“The guy is so frickin’ hot, actresses and pop stars are constantly fighting over him!”

Scowling, Angela took the mug Simone offered her and cradled it in her hands. “I don’t see why. He’s a pain in the ass. And rude, too.”

“Girl, don’t hate. Demetri Morretti is the hottest thing in sports right now and for good reason. He’s guest starred on a slew of TV shows, hosted Saturday Night Live, and he’s been on the cover of dozens of magazines, as well.”

Angela raised an eyebrow and studied her best friend closely. “For someone who doesn’t like baseball, you sure know a lot about the guy.”

“It’s not my fault. My husband’s a sports addict, and he thinks Demetri’s mad cool,” Simone explained, opening the fridge and grabbing a bag of mixed vegetables. “They’ve worked out together a few times at Samson’s and really hit it off.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Girl, please, with all I’ve got going on I can barely remember what day of the week it is, let alone who Marcus trains on a daily basis.”

“The fifteenth can’t come fast enough,” Angela said, slumping down into her chair. “I’m really looking forward to us hanging out and cutting loose. It’s long overdue.”

Simone glanced up from the marble cutting board. “We have plans for Friday?”

“Ah, yeah. We’re going to the grand opening of Dolce Vita, remember?” Angela shot her friend a funny look. “I’m covering the event for the station, but I should be done and ready to party by eight—nine at the latest.”

“Sorry, girl, but I can’t go. Marcus has the weekend off, and he’s taking me away for a few days,” she explained, a girlie smile exploding onto her face.

“What are you going to do with the boys?” Angela asked. “Cart them off to your mother-in-law’s house again?”

“You know it!”

The friends laughed.

“I never dreamed Gladys and I would be close, but ever since I got pregnant, she’s gone out of her way to help me,” Simone confessed. “She never follows the boys’ schedule, but she’ll babysit at a moment’s notice and always encourages me to take time out for myself.”

Angela concealed a grin. “I’m glad you and Gladys worked out your differences, because you’re really going to need her help when you get pregnant with baby number five and six!”

“No way. After I have these girls, I’m done. It’s your turn to be barefoot and pregnant.”

“I’m not having children, remember?”

“Why not?” Wrinkling her nose, her lips pursed, she placed a hand on her hip. “You’re great with my boys and the kids at the shelter love you. Even the teenagers. And everyone knows, teenagers hate everybody!”

“That’s different. The kids at the shelter don’t have anybody else.”

“Good with kids is good with kids. It doesn’t matter if they’re yours or not,” Simone argued. “You can have a career and a family, Angela. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”

“It does for me.”

“That’s because you’re a perfectionist with implausibly high standards.”

“And proud of it,” Angela said. I’m going to make it to the top and no one is going to stop me, she decided, as an idea began taking shape in her mind. Tomorrow, she’d tell Salem she was on board to do the interview and submit a list of fake questions. Questions she had no intention of asking Demetri Morretti on the air.

A smirk tickled her lips. By the time Angela was finished with the baseball star, he’d be toast, and she’d be the talk of the town. And one step closer to sliding into that lead-anchor chair. Angela was going to take the news world by storm, and she wasn’t letting anyone—especially a sly superstar athlete with a chiseled physique—get in her way.

Chapter 5

“You need to change your name to Trouble,” a voice boomed, drowning out the hip-hop song playing inside Samson’s Gym, “because everywhere you go, trouble seems to find you!”

Demetri cast a glance over his shoulder at his former teammate and workout buddy T. J. Nicks. Unable to hold the weight any longer, Demetri dropped the barbell on the floor and plopped down on the workout bench.

Samson’s Gym, a state-of-the-art fitness center frequented by pro athletes, college students and moneyed professionals, was usually packed, but this morning there was only a handful of people working out. An older man, who looked as if he was on the verge of collapse, was lifting weights a few benches over, but he was so focused on his routine, he was oblivious to the world. And that was how Demetri liked it. As long as he kept his head down and didn’t make eye contact with anyone, no one would recognize him and he could work out in peace.

“I haven’t seen you in a minute,” Demetri said, swiping his towel off the side of the workout bench and wiping the sweat off his face. “What’s up?”

“You tell me.”

Shrugging a shoulder, he readjusted his baseball cap. “Nothing much.”

“Are you sure? From what I hear, you’ve been a very busy boy.”

“You saw the video?”

A grin fell across T.J.’s dark, narrow face. “Sure did. One of my boys emailed it to me. I almost died laughing when that gorgeous newscaster from WJN-TV called you a spoiled, overgrown kid who needed a time-out!”

Demetri chuckled, though at the time, when Angela was giving him a verbal smackdown, he didn’t feel like laughing. He hadn’t felt like lashing back at her, either. Maybe because his eyes were glued to her lips, and her scent was a bold, exotic fragrance that aroused his senses. One week after his infamous showdown with Angela Kelly, and he was still thinking about her. Demetri loved his mom, but he blamed her for his present state of mind. If she hadn’t called him last night from Italy and reamed him out for disrespecting Angela at her studio, he wouldn’t be thinking about the sexy TV newscaster now. He didn’t know why Angela had someone record their conversation, and post it online, but he intended to ask her. Demetri didn’t care what his mother said. He wasn’t a bully. Angela Kelly was a liar who had it coming to her.

“Are you here to work out or gossip?” Demetri asked.

“Both. You know ribbing you is the highlight of my day!” Chuckling, T.J. bent down and retied the laces of his white sneakers. “Why aren’t you working out at your home gym? Having it renovated again?”

“No, I needed a change of scenery.”

“Shoot, if I had a home gym like yours, I’d never leave the house!”

Demetri picked up his titanium sports bottle, unscrewed the lid and took a long drink of water. T.J. was a good friend, and he’d never put Demetri’s business out on the street, but he wasn’t going to tell him the truth. The real reason he was there, at seven o’clock in the morning, was to talk to Angela Kelly. Thanks to the owner of the gym, Demetri knew what days and times Angela worked out with her personal trainer. To ensure he didn’t oversleep, he’d set every alarm clock in his house and asked his personal assistant to phone him just in case. Now he was at the gym, waiting for her to make an appearance. He only hoped this time when they spoke, she wouldn’t go off on him.

“How is rehab going?” T.J. asked, striding over to the free weights and selecting a set of dumbbells. “Think you might make it back in time for the play-offs?”

“I hope so, but I doubt it. It kills me not being out there with my team, but my surgeon wants me to take the rest of the season off, and I’m not going to disregard his advice. The last time I did, I ended up tearing a ligament in my knee, and that hurt like a bitch.”

“I hear you, man. What’s next on your circuit?”

Yawning, Demetri stood and stretched his hands lazily above his head. “I’m going to do a couple laps around the track, then cool down in the sauna.”

“Really? You look like you’re about to fall asleep.” T.J. wore a quizzical look. “Why are you here so early, anyways? You never get out of bed before noon.”

Demetri thought fast and said the first thing that popped into his mind. “I’ll be tied up the rest of the day, so I decided to get my training out of the way now.”

Eyes wide, T.J. dropped the dumbbells back on the rack and gestured to the cardio room. “Dude, guess who just strode up in here looking like my next baby mama. Angela-sexy-as-sin-Kelly!” he hollered, eagerly rubbing his hands together. “I’ve met a lot of gorgeous girls, but that honey takes the cake. She’s hot, successful and crazy-smart.”

“Sounds like somebody has a crush,” Demetri teased, poking fun.

“Who doesn’t? She’s one of the baddest chicks around!”

Demetri wore a blank face. He didn’t want his friend or anyone else to know that he was feeling Angela Kelly. He had a knack for picking the wrong woman, and the TV newscaster was everything he didn’t want in a girlfriend. From now on, he was staying away from fame-loving, celebrity-obsessed types. His ex, a wildly popular R & B singer with a good-girl image, had gone to extraordinary lengths to keep their relationship a secret. But Demetri was through with secret phone calls, ducking out back doors and clandestine meetings in hotel rooms across town. He’d just have to fight his attraction to Angela Kelly, because hooking up with the feisty, headstrong sister was asking for trouble. “She’s all right,” he said with a shrug. “Too prissy for me, though.”

“All right?” When T.J.’s jaw dropped, his tongue fell out of his open mouth. “Man, please. Angela Kelly is a dime piece and you know it!”

Spotting Angela inside the cardio room, Demetri admired her shapely physique. He liked to see tall, athletic women in bright, figure-hugging workout clothes. He loved how the TV newscaster’s yellow shirt and fitted leggings showed off her curves.

Demetri told himself to look away, but his eyes were glued to Angela’s big, beautiful backside. And when she bent over and touched her toes, all the blood drained from his head. Swallowing hard, he gulped down the rest of his water.

“Quit frontin’, man.” T.J. leveled a finger at him. “You’re hot for Angela, too, just like every other guy in Chi-Town. You’re just scared of getting shot down.”

Demetri shook his head. “She’s not my type.”

“Yeah, right!”

“If I wanted Angela Kelly, I could have her, but I don’t, so—”

“No offense, bro, but she’s way out of your league.”

Now Demetri was the one with wide eyes. “I’m not trying to brag, T.J., but I’m one of the highest-paid athletes in baseball,” he said, feeling the need to defend himself. “Money is no object, man. You know that.”

“Yeah, but you know how you are with your money.”

“No, I don’t. How am I?”

“Cheap, cheap, cheap,” he chirped, shielding his mouth with the back of his hand. “You signed a blockbuster deal a few months back, but you live like a struggling college student!”

“I’m not cheap. I just don’t believe in wasting money.” Demetri stepped out onto the track. “I have no intention of blowing through my earnings and being broke in ten years.”

“Is that why you force your personal shopper to clip coupons and comparison shop?”

“No,” he argued with a laugh. “My mom ordered her to!”

Chuckling, the men jogged the length of track at a smooth, fluid pace.

“Word on the street is that Angela only dates rich guys,” T.J. explained, his tone matter-of-fact. “You know, men who can wine her, dine her and pay her expenses.”

Demetri frowned. He found it hard to believe that Angela Kelly was a kept woman. She didn’t strike him as the kind of girl who’d expect a man to support her, but what did he know about women? If he knew more about the species, he wouldn’t keep getting played. All of his ex-girlfriends were more interested in his celebrity status than having a real, meaningful relationship with him. And at thirty-two, that was exactly what Demetri was looking for. He knew he was a great catch and he wanted to catch a great woman. Someone who would be there when his career ended and the endorsement deals dried up. His teammates told him he was lucky to be single, but Demetri didn’t agree. He envied the guys who got off the team bus and had their wives and children waiting for them. One-night stands left him feeling empty inside, and contrary to what his older brothers, Nicco and Rafael, told him, a warm, curvy body didn’t make everything better.

“You dumped the last girl who demanded you buy her a mansion in Bel Air, and that Hawaiian chick for stealing your underwear and selling them on eBay, so there’s no way you and Angela Kelly would ever work out.”

“Good, because I’m not interested in her,” he tossed back.

“But if you were, you could do her, right?”

Demetri wet his lips with his tongue. The thought of sexing Angela, on his custom-made bed, with soft jazz music playing in the background and scented candles flickering around the room, made a slow, lazy smile break out across his mouth. “No comment.”

T.J. raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you think she’d be putty in your hands?”

An explicit image of Angela—naked and rocking her shapely hips against his erection—flashed in Demetri’s mind, derailing his thoughts. He couldn’t shake the picture from his mind, and when they jogged past the cardio room, and Demetri saw Angela performing squat thrusts, his erection came to life. “I never said that, T.J.”

“It was implied.”

“Angela Kelly is just like every other girl. Willing to do whatever it takes to bed a baller so she can enjoy his status and his checkbook.”

“Care to make a friendly wager?” T.J. stuck his hands into his track pants, took out a few hundred-dollar bills and waved them under Demetri’s nose. “A thousand bucks says you don’t get past first base with that sexy TV newscaster.”

“Knock it off, man. We’re not in grade school, and betting about women is juvenile.”

“Scared you’re going to lose, huh? You should be. Angela Kelly is a hard nut to crack.”

Demetri believed him. The newscaster was a fiery, passionate woman with a sharp tongue, and there was nothing soft or genteel about her. His eyes trailed her around the cardio room, and when she hopped off the treadmill and toweled off, Demetri knew it was time to make his move. “Be right back,” he said, spinning around and jogging backward. “See you in five.”

“Where are you going?”

Demetri wore a crooked smile. “To settle a score.”

* * *

“I—I—I think I’m dying.” Gasping for air, Angela fanned a hand in front of her face and slumped against the wall like a sack of potatoes. “Everything hurts, even my butt, and I didn’t sit down once during our session!”

“That’s because plyometric workouts engage all of the major muscle groups in the body.” Her personal trainer, a stocky man with thick dreadlocks, patted her on the shoulder. “You did awesome today, Angela. Way to go pushing yourself through that last rep of weights.”

“Great—tell that to the E.R. doctor when he wheels me into the operating room.”

“I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“If I don’t die between now and then.” Too tired to wave, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. It was the first time all week she hadn’t thought about her run-in with Demetri Morretti or her problems with her brother, Rodney. But now that her treacherous hour-long training session was over, all her troubling thoughts came rushing back. Demetri had posted a scathing message about her on his blog, and all morning she’d been fielding calls from the media. Angela wanted to report the news, not be the news, and it annoyed her that she’d become a hot topic.

Her legs felt like rubber, but she staggered over to the water fountain, one aching step at a time. Placing her bottle underneath the spout, she pressed the lever and leaned against the wall. Angela stared out onto the track. Her gaze wandered aimlessly around the gym before landing on a fit, muscled specimen in a sleeveless Chicago Royals T-shirt and knee-length shorts.

For the second time in minutes, Angela let out a deep-seated groan. Her eyes ate up every inch of the stranger’s towering frame. The square jaw, the rack of his shoulders, his bulging biceps. Since high school, she’d had a weakness for strong, athletic guys, and Mr. Man was definitely her type. All lean and rugged, he looked like the kind of guy who could fix the leaky faucet in her kitchen and rock her world in the bedroom.

Angela felt ice-cold water flow down her hands and snapped out of her thoughts. Releasing the lever, she tucked her water bottle under her arm and dabbed her wristband over her damp cheeks. She glanced over her shoulder, to ensure no one had witnessed her reaction, and there, standing a few feet away, was Demetri Morretti. Damn. He was the same guy she’d been drooling over on the track seconds earlier.

Angela sucked in a breath. Her pulse soared, and her heartbeat drummed so loud in her ears, she couldn’t think. Physically active and fit her entire life, she’d never had any problems with her heart, but every time Demetri Morretti was around, it throbbed, skipped and beat out of control. Like right now.

“Good morning,” he said, tipping his baseball cap at her. “Can we talk?”

His voice was husky and matched his gruff disposition. He looked angry, and pained, as if someone had just beaten him in an arm wrestle.

“I think you said enough the other day at the TV station, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry I barged into your studio.”

“You should be.”

“You’re right, and I shouldn’t have stepped to you like that, either. It won’t happen again.”

His gaze probed her eyes, one terrifying second at a time. Admitting he’d made a mistake couldn’t have been easy, and Angela found herself moved by the sincerity of his tone. But not enough to forgive him for what he’d written about her on his blog yesterday.

“I was hoping we could start over.”

“Let’s not and say we did,” Angela quipped.

“I knew you were going to make this hard for me.”

She puzzled over Demetri’s words but decided not to question him. Angela had zero interest in patching things up with the conceited baseball star but knew better than to argue with him in public again. There was no telling who was watching. Or secretly taping them. And the last thing Angela wanted was another video of her screaming at Demetri Morretti to mysteriously surface online. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“If anyone should be holding a grudge, it should be me,” he said, pointing an index finger at his chest. “Because of you, I’m the most hated athlete in America.”

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