Chapter Nine

Brenna

“Wow,” I whispered, turning to Riley, and looking down at my sundress. “I really wish we’d had time to change. I feel dowdy in comparison to these other women.”

Riley nodded. “I know what you mean,” she murmured as we walked through the room. “I feel really under-dressed. At least we’re not wearing jeans and Yankees shirts.”

The after-party was held on the rooftop of the Banks Realty building, one of the most sought after locations in the city. Billionaire Grantham Banks had spared no expense in the construction of his company’s home base. The space was one of the most luxurious places I’d ever seen in my life – I couldn’t believe that I’d been invited to a party like this. Beautiful women, draped in silks and Christian Louboutins, wafted by like they were floating. An expensive bouquet of perfume and cologne filled my nose. I’d expected hot dogs and beer, but everyone sipped champagne and munched on dainty little canapés.

“It’s kind of funny that they still have a party like this even though they lost,” I said to Riley as we snaked our way through the crowd. “Don’t you think that’s a little odd?”

Riley shook her head. “No. Grantham Banks is their major sponsor along with Banks Realty, so this party had to be planned months ago. The outcome of the game is meaningless. To be honest, they were probably planning to win,” she said. “At least Rhett was planning on it.” She wrinkled her nose. “Remember those pictures after the last election? When the losing candidate’s headquarters were photographed taking apart the glitter cannons?”

I rolled my eyes. “Sports and politics are nothing alike,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I was capable of enlightening discourse about either. I stopped short. Who is the president right now? I shook my head, as Obama’s head floated through it. I just wasn’t sure. “Politics are actually important in the world.”

Riley stared at me, jaw hanging so far open that I could see her uvula. “Brenna, you can’t be serious,” she said. “Are you kidding me? You are a lead writer for Sport Taste. What if Nina heard you talking like some high-brow Pulitzer award winner for the Times? Are you craving a pink slip?”

I narrowed my eyes, my head pounding with a sudden headache. “What? What did I say?”

“Sports aren’t important? Come on,” Riley said in a voice I didn’t like, one dripping with sarcasm as she shook her head. “Jesus, that baseball really did a number on you.”

I frowned. “Did I say something wrong?” How could any normal person think that professional sports were more important than the state of our country? No matter their place of employment. The more time I spent with this woman, the more I found her shallow and condescending. She couldn’t have been my close friend, surely. And if she was, what did that say about me?

“Just forget it,” Riley mumbled. She rolled her eyes, and another pang of annoyance flashed through me.

We made our way through the crowd and got drinks at the portable bar. I noticed that almost everyone else at the party was having a great time – it was like the game had been a smash success instead of a huge embarrassment for the Yankees.

“Riley,” I said slowly, sipping my champagne. “Do you notice anything weird?”

Riley shrugged. “Aside from that comment, no.” She threw half of her champagne flute back at once. “What’s wrong? You feeling okay?” Before I could reply, Riley reached up and put her hand on my forehead.

“I’m fine,” I said impatiently, brushing her hand away. “It’s just…um…” I trailed off, looking around the room. “Don’t you notice how everyone is glaring at me?”

“What? No,” Riley said and finished the rest of her champagne. “You’re acting crazy, Brenna. Your imagination is playing tricks on you. The only reason they may be glancing at us is because our wardrobe isn’t up to snuff.”

I wished she hadn’t reminded me. “It’s not. Look.” I pointed toward a group of women. By the way they were dressed, I guessed they were players’ wives. They were all gorgeous, blonde, uniformly skinny and tan, and wearing expressions that looked like there was a pile of shit right under their noses.

“They always look like that,” Riley said. “It’s the Botox. Besides…” she grabbed my hand and pulled it down. “Maybe if you stopped pointing at them, they wouldn’t look at you like that.”

“It’s not just them,” I whispered. “Look. Everyone is glaring at me. All of the players too. And who are all those people?” I pointed toward a group of younger girls who looked like they were around college-age. “Why does everyone hate me?”

Riley rolled her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous and paranoid. Come on, let’s go grab some appetizers. I saw some scrumptious looking stuffed mushrooms, and they’re my favorite.”

Only because I felt I had to, I followed Riley across the room. She grabbed a plate, then loaded it up with all kinds of delicious-looking little finger foods including lox on garlic toast points, cream cheese pinwheels, and a variety of “Yankee Bleu” cheeses along with the crab stuffed mushrooms.

“This is nice.” But when I glanced up, I realized that everyone in the room was still glaring at me. “Riley, what the hell,” I whispered. “You can’t tell me I’m imagining this. Everyone is looking at me like I just drowned a puppy.”

Riley snickered. “Your ego is out of control, Brenna, you know that? It’s probably just that they don’t like reporters. Don’t worry about it. You used to have a really thick skin, which you need in our business. What we report is the truth, and that’s not always what people want to hear.”

I frowned. “Maybe I left my journalistic instinct in the hospital,” I mumbled. Despite the delicious scent of food wafting under my nose, I’d lost my appetite. “I think I need to go home. Whether you believe me or not, I can sense the negative energy emanating off these people.”

Disappointment hit me in the middle of my chest as I searched for the nearest escape route. It had been over an hour, and I’d yet to spot Rhett, or even his friend Ernie. Some of the other players walked around, mingling, and working the room like they’d won the World Series, but I didn’t see Rhett anywhere.

“Don’t go,” Riley said and grabbed my arm. “If you’re waiting for Rhett, I bet he’s taking a little extra time to lick his wounds before he can face everyone. He’ll be here soon.”

I frowned. Just as I was about to ask her how she knew that, I saw him. Rhett floated through the crowd, that lazy grin landing on everyone in his path. As soon as people realized he’d arrived, they started grinning and cheering. Had I stumbled into some alternate universe? Weren’t these some of the same people who had been booing him in the stands not an hour before? And now they acted like he was their champion, their hero.

He must really be something, I thought as I watched him shake hands with a blonde woman beautiful enough to be a supermodel. A hot streak of jealousy burned across my skin as I watched the way the blonde couldn’t tear her eyes away from Rhett as she touched his forearm and laughed, throwing her glorious mane of perfect hair behind her.

As I watched him move across the room, I realized I had no idea why Rhett could ever be interested in someone like me. I couldn’t compare to these girls – not in looks, career success, or money. And while I was sure that I’d had experience with men before, the fact that I could only remember vague glimpses about guys I thought I might have dated frustrated the hell out of me.

Rhett finally tore away from the blonde and began strutting our way. When he saw me, he grinned. I squirmed at the steamy memory of our kiss. A part of me wondered if I’d just imagined it. But in my heart, I knew it hadn’t been a fantasy because I’d kissed him back with everything inside me.

“Hey, gorgeous ladies,” Rhett purred. He handed me a fresh flute of champagne.

“Hey, where’s mine?” Riley demanded.

Rhett pointed toward the drink table. “Over there,” he said with a smirk. “Brenna, why don’t you come over here?” Rhett gestured toward the edge of the balcony, decorated with little Yankees flags and blue and white flowers.

I sagged against the wrought iron in relief, happy to be away from the glaring and censuring crowd. Maybe Rhett might have an idea why the other party goers seemed to have it in for me. If anything, the stares were almost worse since Rhett had arrived. I could practically read the looks on their faces: What is a man like that doing with a girl like her?

“I’m glad you came,” Rhett said. “That Nolan Banks really knows how to throw a shindig. Great guy too.” He ran a hand through his damp blond hair, pushing it back from his broad forehead. There was such an easy, graceless charm to his movements. Whenever I stood next to him, I felt like a cobra being charmed out of a basket by an expert musician.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s a nice view here. Only the best for Grantham and company.”

Rhett chuckled. “I love it.” He sighed, stretching his arms high into the air. For a moment, I hoped that he’d put his arm around me and pull me close. When he tucked his hands back into his pockets, the disappointment stung like a brand.

“So, seems like you’re pretty popular,” I said. “Even though…um…”

“It’s okay, you can say it,” he said with an easy laugh. “We lost. We sucked. We blew this game, and it was totally my fault.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what happened out there.” Rhett’s blue eyes met my own, and I shivered at the intense look.

“Yeah,” I said, feeling lame. I wished I had something more to contribute to the conversation. Even just a mere analysis of the game would have helped me feel more adequate. But every time I searched my brain for a witty or intelligent comment, I came up empty.

“But this view makes it almost worth it,” Rhett said.

I looked out over the city, over the perfect skyline that made New York as distinct and familiar as my own skin. It felt right. Like home.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered. “Look, you can see the Chrysler building from here.”

Rhett took a step closer. “I meant you.”

I bit my lip, the heat of a flush creeping over my shoulders. “Thanks.” So many things swirled around in my mind – I was dying to know why Rhett seemed interested. What did he want with me? Was he able to look past the surface, to realize that I was so much more than the rest of those plastic women?

Or was it just because I was so different, and he wanted a new flavor of the month?

With a sigh, I leaned over the railing. A gust of wind whipped my hair back, and I burst out laughing as the air brushed across my face. It felt ticklish, gentle, like the caress of a lover. But when I opened my eyes and looked to the side, my foot slipped, and I wobbled. Panic bleated in my brain, and I cried out, but Rhett’s strong arms snaked around me, protecting me.

“Whoa, there,” Rhett said. He chuckled, moving me away from the railing. “Maybe looking at the view wasn’t such a good idea after all. Why not come have another drink with me?”

I licked my lips and glanced over Rhett’s shoulder. Riley stood there with her camera, looking as smug as ever. I bet she just caught a really great picture, I thought. With all that wind and these floaty silk dresses, there’s a vast possibility for a capture-worthy wardrobe malfunction.

The thought of wading back through the crowd of evil glares filled me with dread.

“I don’t know,” I said, biting at my bottom lip until the pain reached my struggling brain. “I know it sounds weird, but I can’t shake the idea that all of those people are glaring at me.”

Rhett chuckled. “They’re idiots. The lot of them. Besides, they probably just have a beef with reporters. These are all rich kids, you know. Only concerned with the state of their image and their bank account. Not really fans of, how should I say…investigative journalism.”

I laughed. Somehow, Rhett’s explanation rang truer than Riley’s, even though they’d basically both said the same thing. He doesn’t doubt me, I realized. He takes whatever I say at face value and doesn’t try to make me feel stupid like Riley does.

A burst of confidence raced through my heart, and I grinned at Rhett. “You know, I’d really like to get to know you better,” I said, meaning every word. “What do you think about that?”

That gorgeously yummy dimple appeared. “I love that idea. Come on, let’s get more champagne.”

I shook my head. “I meant another time. I think I’m actually gonna go. I’m feeling pretty tired. Besides, I want a chance to see the real Rhett Bradshaw – the Rhett that exists when his teammates aren’t around.”

Rhett’s face shifted, but I couldn’t quite read the expression. “You might be disappointed.” He winked and the sexy gesture went straight to my core.

“I doubt it,” I managed to say. “You’re not very disappointing. At least not so far.”

“Ask my coach,” Rhett grumbled.

“I didn’t mean on the mound,” I said in a rush, worrying my lip with my teeth again. I’d offended him and that hadn’t been my intent. “But look – how about a real one on one meeting?”

“Like a date?” Rhett raised his eyebrow.

“Maybe,” I admitted. “Kind of like a date.”

“I’ll take you to dinner.” He narrowed his eyes. “How do you feel about caviar?”

It sounds disgusting, but I’ll eat anything as long as I’m with you.

“Yeah. Sounds great.”

Rhett grinned as if he’d just won the Cy Young Award. Had he? I realized I had no idea, even though it was odd that I could remember the distinct award, but not the winners. “Excellent,” he said. “I can’t wait.”

Neither could I.