Chapter Fourteen
Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her, Topher quickly knocked on the door. It was answered by one of the guys from the group of security guards that had polished off the caramel rolls. Since she wanted something, she erased her glare and gave him a smile. “Lester, right?”
“Maybe.” Her angry scowl must have been peeking around the edges of her sweetness-and-light expression, because he sounded suspicious. “What’s up? Are you lost?”
“No.” Topher darted into the room, squeezing past Lester before he could block her with his body. There were some advantages to being small. The other half dozen or so people in the room looked up, startled by her quick entrance.
She recognized the woman from the kitchen, as well as a second guy, but the fourth roll hog was missing. There were another three men and a women she hadn’t met.
“Hi,” she said, giving the whole room a smile, but they all stared at her warily. “I’m Topher. Jamie has a conference call right now, and the only other sane people in this house are either working or in Chicago with the shoppers—poor Jules. Anyway, I’ve been hanging out with the bitch twins for the past twenty minutes, and I already know that I’m not going to make it all afternoon in their company without punching one of them in the face. It’s a beautiful day, and you’re all trapped in this windowless room getting paler than the latest crop of zombie-vampire hybrids, so I’m enlisting you to play with me.”
There was silence for a solid minute before one of the security guards—a muscular black guy who looked to be in his late thirties—finally spoke. “You want us to...play with you?”
“Yes. A game. Baseball, maybe? I’d be okay with soccer, too. If we decide on football, it’ll have to be the touch version, because any one of you would squash me like a tiny bug, although I’m just basing that on the oodles of bulging muscles you all seem to have.”
“We’re working,” the woman who’d been in the kitchen said. “We can’t leave work just because you’re bored.”
“It’s not just because I’m bored.” Topher used her best persuasive tone. “It’s also because I’m well on the road to becoming homicidal. If you guys spent five minutes in Peyton’s or Barb’s company, you would sympathize. In fact, you would probably give me a medal for not killing them yet. So, hanging out with me would be a public service of sorts.”
“I’m confused. Is anyone else confused?” the other woman asked, looking around at her colleagues before refocusing on Topher. “You want us to leave work and play a game with you?”
“A couple people could stay here. Then, if something happens, they can call everyone on their walkie-talkie things.”
“You mean our radios?” Lester gave an incredulous laugh. “We can’t just leave work.”
Looking around the room, Topher realized that the last chance to find someone—anyone—to hang out with was crumbling into dust. It was time for desperate measures. She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Hang on.”
Hi there, Smoochie-kins. What’s up? She sent the text, hoping that his conference call hadn’t started yet.
Busy. Did you need something?
I do! How’d you guess?
...What is it?
Can you tell your security people that it’s okay to blow off work to play with me?
...
Please?
No.
Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?
No. They’re doing a necessary job.
But there are an awful lot of them crowded into this tiny room. Can’t one of them watch the cameras so I can play football with the rest?
Football? No. What are you doing in the security room?
Trying to get your security people to save me from death by boredom. Leigh and her people are busy. How about rugby?
Absolutely not.
Good. I’m not sure how to play rugby. If I’m stuck with Carrot Top and Princess Snotface, I can’t be responsible for my actions.
Why are these the only two options? Stay in our room and read a book.
Can’t. I’m twitchy, and it’s too perfect outside.
...
Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?
You’re a pain in my ass.
A wonderful, sexy pain in your ass?
Yes.
Is that a yes to fun and games with your security team?
Fine. Yes. Two stay on the monitors. One hour max.
Really? Squeeee! You’re soooo getting an amazing blow job before dinner.
...
Snookems? You there?
Jesus, Toph. You can’t say things like that right before a conference call.
Oops. Sorry. No more mention of the BJ until you’re done with your call and actually in my mouth.
!!!
You’re right—I won’t be saying anything with you in my mouth. Thank you!!!! You’ve saved me from the bitch monsters!!
Topher typed Love y—before her fingers froze. No matter how nice Jamie was to her, there was no texting or saying or even thinking the “L” word after only a few days of meeting and fake dating and real sex. She deleted the last word and a half and sent the text before turning back to the security team triumphantly. “He said yes!”
“Seriously?” Lester held out his hand for her phone, and Topher handed it over. It wasn’t until Lester had flushed from his collar to the tips of his ears that Topher remembered all the blow job mentions.
He cleared his throat and handed the phone back to her, and Topher tucked it back into her pocket. “So? Who wants to play?” she asked.
It ended up that, now that they had permission, everyone wanted to play.
“Two have to stay in here,” Lester announced. “Not it.”
A chorus of “not it” followed. To Topher, it sounded like everyone spoke at once, but two of them groaned and settled in front of the monitors, so they must’ve been the slowest.
Since Justin, the burly guy who’d been the first to speak up, had a football in his car, and no one else had any kind of sports equipment, they decided on touch football.
“Why is there a football in your trunk?” Topher asked as Justin tossed her the ball.
“Matt—my son—left it there after his last game two years ago.”
“Bad game?” Topher asked sympathetically.
“Very bad game.”
The front lawn was a perfect playing field, an open expanse of snow-patched grass with just enough trees to mark the goal posts. They split into two teams of three, but they’d barely started playing when Leigh and her two kitchen assistants came running out to join them.
“If they get to have fun—” Leigh gestured at the security staff “—then so do we. The guests will just have to deal with a couple fewer courses tonight.”
Topher laughed. “Just put out extra bottles of wine, and no one will notice.”
“Exactly.”
Topher’s team was short one player, but Gina—one of the security guards—made up for it by being a kick-ass quarterback.
“Okay,” Gina said as they huddled. “I’m going to fake a hand-off to Lester and pass to Topher if she’s open. If not, I’ll run the ball. Got it?”
As soon as the ball was in Gina’s hands, Topher took off running for the pair of oak trees that made up the improvised end zone. She dodged around Leigh—who was wearing an extremely intimidating scowl—and turned to see Gina launch the ball. Justin had already figured out that Gina was the one to watch, and he tagged her just as the football left her hands. Topher ran backward, her eyes on the ball, and jumped to catch it. She clutched it to her chest as Leigh hit her like a freight train in a full-out tackle. They landed on the muddy, wet ground with a splat.
“Ow! Leigh! It’s touch football, you sadist!”
With an unrepentant shrug, Leigh climbed to her feet and offered Topher a hand up. “I have a competitive spirit.”
Gina gave a victorious whoop and ran over to high-five Topher. “Way to hold on to the ball!”
“Thanks.” Topher tossed the ball to Lester and then brushed muddy slush off of her bum. It was too late, though. She could already feel the wetness seeping into her jeans, clinging and cold against her skin. “You need to watch that ‘competitive spirit,’ Miss Leigh, or I’m going to reconsider this whole eloping-in-Vegas thing.”
Leigh laughed. “Please. I’ll just make you some food, and then you’ll be in love with me again.”
“True.” Topher couldn’t even pretend to argue with that.
As they lined up again, Topher noticed a couple of grounds workers and Charlie, the Golfinis’ driver, watching from the sidelines. “You guys want to play?” she called. They did, as did the two women on the housekeeping staff, so the teams were once again expanded.
Later, after being tackled by Leigh three more times, slipping and falling eight times, and jumping into the middle of a dog pile once, Topher was soaked and muddy and having a great time. Peyton, Danny and Barb had even emerged from the house to watch, although they couldn’t be convinced to play. Topher breathed a silent sigh of relief when they declined. If Leigh’s “competitive spirit” tackles were brutal, then Peyton’s and Barb’s would likely be deadly. Danny looked tempted, but Barb had a firm grip on his arm, so he gave a regretful shake of his head.
The score was tied, as best they could tell, although Justin was still insisting that his illegitimate touchdown counted—even though Topher had touched him with both hands well before he’d reached the apple-tree goal post.
“Everyone clear on the plan?” Gina asked.
Topher frowned in confusion. “Wait—is this the double-fake or the triple-fake?”
“The double-double fake.”
“Wait—what’s the double-double fake again?”
Gina launched into a detailed explanation, but Lester interrupted. “Run and catch the ball if Gina throws it to you.”
“Got it.”
When she emerged from the huddle, Topher saw that Jamie had joined Peyton and Barb on the sidelines. “Jamie-Bear!” she called, bouncing over to him. “Come play!”
He shook his head and tapped his watch, and Topher took that to mean that football time was up because he wanted his happy ending before dinner.
“One more play,” she begged as she stopped in front of him, leaning so she could see his watch. She was startled to see that they’d been playing for over two hours. “We’re so close to winning.”
“No, you’re not!” Justin bellowed. “We’re six points ahead.”
Topher rolled her eyes, mouthing, “Cheater,” to Jamie, whose mouth tucked in at the corner like it did when he was trying not to smile. “Please, JB? Just one more play?”
“Fine.” Jamie sighed. “One more, but then I need my security team back.” His gaze flickered over the group. “And the rest of my staff, apparently.”
“You are covered in mud,” Peyton said, eyeing Topher from her feet to her head. “What a mess.”
“I know!” With all the happy endorphins running through Topher’s system, it wasn’t hard to beam at Peyton. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“What? Wonderful? No!”
Leaving Peyton sputtering and Jamie smiling, Topher skipped back over to her spot in the offensive line. “Last play, everyone.”
A chorus of groans greeted the announcement, and Topher made soothing patting motions in the air. “We’ll play again.” Sending a quick glance at Jamie, who’d heard her promise, judging by how high he’d just raised his eyebrow, she lowered her voice. “I’ll see if we can make this a regular thing. After all, it’s almost Christmas. It’s the season for making merry and playing football and all that.”
As Lester hiked the ball to Gina, Topher took off for the oak-tree goal posts, turning just as Gina launched a beautiful spiral pass right at her. She caught the ball, tucking it against her like a precious football-shaped baby, and ran for the end zone. Her feet slid in the mud, churned up by their game, but she kept barreling forward. The oak trees got closer and closer, and she started to believe that she was going to make this touchdown, when something that felt like a semitruck hit her from behind.
She hit the ground on her chest, the point of her chin bouncing painfully off the grass, a heavy, oppressive weight pressing down on her back. She was unable to breathe, and that lack of oxygen took over her thoughts for a while. In the peripheral, she could hear people talking and shouting, but she could only concentrate on trying to take in a full breath, rather than the frantic, tiny sips of air she was able to inhale.
“Get off her!” Jamie’s voice broke through the haze, and the weight disappeared from her back. Gentle hands rolled her over, and then Jamie was running his hands over her as if checking for injuries. “Where does it hurt, baby?”
“I’m o...kay,” she managed to squeeze out as breathing became a tiny bit easier. She tried to smile at him, but the effect was probably ruined by her continuing struggle to get oxygen. “Just...had the...wind...knocked...out of...me.”
He brought her knees up to her chest, and that instantly helped. “Does anything else hurt?”
“No.” There was a dull throb in her jaw, probably from landing on her chin, but nothing was painful enough to indicate a true injury. The worst of it was, now that her breathing was coming easier, she could feel the mud oozing under her shirt where it had ridden up a few inches. “I’m fine, Jamie-Bear. Help me up?”
When he just stared at her, his jaw working, she pulled out the big guns and gave him her best puppy-dog eyes.
“Please? This mud is really slimy and gross. If it weren’t so cold, I’d think I was getting a full-body mud wrap at the spa, but I’m not feeling that pampered right now.”
Apparently reassured that she was back to normal and hadn’t been damaged, Jamie lifted her to her feet. He kept hold of her once she was standing, as if he didn’t trust her to stay upright.
“I’m really sorry,” Charlie the driver said, looking sheepish. “I was about to tag you, but I slipped in the mud and kind of...well, landed on you.”
“No problem,” she said, waving off his apology. “Actually, I think Leigh hits harder. The fall just happened to knock the wind out of me, that’s all. No permanent damage—or even short-term damage—done.”
When Topher glanced up at Jamie’s face, however, he didn’t appear to share her no-harm-done philosophy, judging by the eye-lasers he was aiming at Charlie. Topher was glad that Charlie was the Golfinis’ employee, rather than one of Jamie’s, or she would’ve feared for Charlie’s professional future.
“C’mon, Jamie-Bear.” Topher poked him in the side with her elbow—her very muddy elbow, she noted when it left a mark on his khaki jacket. “Help me get cleaned up.”
With a final glare that held the promise of dismemberment directed at a cringing Charlie, Jamie wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Are you sure you want to get that snuggly with me right now?” she asked. “I’m not complaining, but I do look like the Swamp Thing right now, so if you value your clothing at all, you might want to keep your distance.”
“They can be washed,” he said with a shrug, not moving his encircling arm an inch.
“Okay.” Turning toward the rest of the football players as best she could in Jamie’s tight hold, she gave a wave. “Thanks for saving me from...” Topher shot a quick glance at Peyton and Barb, who were still watching her post-tackle self with more glee than sympathy. “Thank you for saving me from boredom,” she rephrased. “See you here same time tomorrow!”
Jamie’s arm tightened. “No.”
“Please?” She employed the puppy-dog eyes again. “That way, you can play with us this time. You can be on my team. Double please?”
“I’m playing?” he asked, but the stern set of his mouth had softened, and Topher knew she had him. “Is that supposed to be an incentive?”
“Yes. It’s oodles of fun. Good team-building for your employees, too.”
He snorted, tipping his head closer so he could talk right into her ear. “You just want playmates, and none of the guests will roll around in the mud with you.”
“Pretty much,” she agreed. “Honestly, I don’t want to roll around in the mud with Tiny and his roving hands. At least you sent Tommy Marchant away. He would’ve been even worse.”
The tightness around Jamie’s mouth was back as he looked over his shoulder and called, “Tomorrow. Same time. Now get back to work.”
A cheer went up behind them as they made their way to the house.