CHAPTER ONE
Publicist Micki Jordan strode into the locker room of the New York Renegades, the sports world’s best prospects to win the World Series, and looked for her client. In her hand, she held a copy of today’s New York Post, which she’d folded open to the headline Nails, Nails, Nails. Will John Roper’s Manicure Interfere with his Willingness to Catch Fly Balls?
Most days she loved her job as the publicist for the Hot Zone, an offshoot of her uncle’s sports agency that she co-partnered with her sisters. And then there were days like these when she wondered why she always ended up handling the more high-maintenance players instead of turning them over to one of her sisters. Even if this high-maintenance player had ended up being her best guy friend.
Micki already knew the reason Annie and Sophie delegated the tougher athletes to her. You’re like one of the guys, Micki, and they respect you for it. She shook her head in frustration that had been building for a while, but she’d have to worry about her own image later. Right now she was worried about her client’s.
“Hey, Micki,” one of the players called as she passed the first row of half-naked men and their open lockers.
She waved and kept walking, keeping her gaze straight ahead. When people asked how Micki could be so at ease around a men’s locker room, she always countered with how could she not be comfortable since it was the atmosphere in which she’d grown up?
Micki had been eight, Annabelle twelve and Sophie ten when their parents had passed away. From then on, their uncle had provided them with the only stability they’d known. As the oldest, Annabelle had taken over as the mother figure and mediator whenever Micki and Sophie bickered, which had been often.
In an effort to keep their small family together, Annabelle had kept them both in line and attended to everyone’s needs, often at the expense of her own. As a result, Annie had been close with both of her siblings, but Micki and Sophie’s relationship had always been more distant.
While Annabelle and Sophie had been girlie girls, Micki had latched onto Uncle Yank, tailing after him everywhere he went. Locker rooms included. Growing up with her sisters, Micki had been the odd girl out, a pattern that had continued in school, where she found herself trying to keep up with the boys, playing sports and challenging them with her knowledge of all games. In fact, her comfort level never faltered with the opposite sex—as long as dating wasn’t involved. Then Micki became out of her element all over again.
“Hi, Mick,” Juan Sierra said, flicking her playfully with a towel and reminding her of her mission to find her client.
“Where’s Roper?” she asked him.
“Holding court at his locker.” Ricky Carter, the backup center fielder jerked a thumb toward the back of the room, answering a question she hadn’t directed his way.
Micki and Carter had never been formally introduced, but she’d heard plenty about his cocky personality. She’d also caught wind of his certainty that he’d replace Damian Fuller by the end of the season. Micki held back a snort. She’d pay good money to see Ricky Carter try to take on the team captain and come out whole. If Carter was lucky, he’d only be knocked down a few pegs. If he pushed too hard, he’d probably end up back in Triple-A.
That’s how much his teammates respected Damian Fuller. That’s how much his fans loved him, as did most women, Micki thought wryly. Herself included.
Especially since their New Year’s Eve kiss six months ago. She closed her eyes and could almost feel the star center fielder’s lips on hers. It had begun as Micki’s attempt to take him outside and sober him up before he made a scene destined to hit the papers. And it had ended up a kiss that had shaken her world and shown her what she was missing in her all-work, no-play life. Unfortunately, he’d either been too drunk to remember Micki’s magic moment, or the kiss had meant so little to him he’d put it out of his mind. Worse, maybe he wanted to forget.
And why wouldn’t he? The man was only seen with gorgeous women. The models, actresses, and even Playboy bunnies he dated were all well-endowed arm candy. All unlike every guy’s pal, Micki Jordan. And so she’d been tiptoeing around the secret kiss and its effect on her ever since. Because that kiss had shifted Micki’s perception of her world and forced her to face the unfulfilled feeling she had about her life.
Even Uncle Yank sensed she’d grown more edgy and restless lately and had begun to ask why. She didn’t want to hurt him and so she refused to admit the truth. That Damian Fuller was the one man who made her wish she’d spent less time with her uncle and his friends and more time with her sisters as they’d locked themselves in the bathroom, laughing, giggling, putting on makeup and talking about boys.
Hanging out with Uncle Yank hadn’t prepped Micki for flirting with men, nor had it taught her how to be one of those females who automatically caught a man’s attention in the ways that counted. Damian was drawn to overtly feminine women and his reaction to Micki, or lack thereof, reduced her to feeling worse than an awkward teenager.
She tried to hide her frustration with herself and her lack of feminine abilities, and as long as she didn’t deal directly with Damian face-to-face, she’d be successful. It helped that the Renegades players were generally Annabelle’s clients and Micki could avoid the sexy center fielder.
Leave it to John Roper to misbehave and put her directly in temptation’s path. So far though, she hadn’t seen any signs of Damian, and since she hadn’t tripped or fallen over a bench, Micki figured he wasn’t anywhere around.
She followed Carter’s direction and found Roper freshly showered and joking around with reporters. She halted behind them and waited, not wanting to read him the riot act in front of the press and cause any more problematic headlines.
The New York press was an entity unto itself, creating celebrities out of athletes and saving headlines for the players’ personal lives. Like their crosstown rivals, the New York Yankees, the Renegades players knew how to work the media and enjoyed keeping their names in the papers. None more than Damian Fuller, who frequently graced not only the sports sections but the gossip columns. His headlines kept him alive and vibrant in the public eye. If Damian had a slump, the fans came to cheer him out of it. He was a huge stadium draw and a necessary commodity to team management. Noting which woman he had on his arm, how often he’d dated her and when he’d move on was every New York columnist’s favorite pastime. The difference between Roper and Damian was that Damian’s press was always flattering.
As a friend, Roper was the best. As a client, the man was the ultimate pain in the ass. He’d hired her to help him maintain a masculine image yet he did everything possible to screw with her plan. He obviously liked the attention he received when he did something metrosexual and outrageous, but they’d been over and over the need for him to keep a low-maintenance profile, and keep the media’s focus on his baseball game.
“We’re meeting in ten minutes, so wrap up the interviews.” Coach Donovan’s voice boomed throughout the locker room and Micki knew she had a short time to knock some sense into Roper’s head.
She cleared her throat and stepped into the crowd. “I think Roper’s finished answering questions for today,” she said, asserting her authority.
He scowled. “But I was just—”
“Shutting the hell up,” a familiar masculine voice drawled. “Unless you want your publicist to kick your ass,” Damian Fuller said, laughing.
His deep tenor sent Micki’s body into sensory overload—her skin suddenly grew hot and prickly, her breath became heavy and her stomach churned with excitement. It might have been easy to ignore the other half-dressed men in the room, but not this man.
She tensed as Damian strode forward, sexy and sure. Freshly showered, he wore a towel hung low on his hips, revealing a tanned, muscular chest. His coarse hair had just the right sprinkling of gray.
Her breath caught and her throat grew dry. She was totally aware of all six foot three inches, two hundred and fifteen pounds of him. In a weak moment the day after she’d kissed those sculpted lips, threaded her fingers through that thick brown hair and scraped her cheeks against his short, scruffy beard, she’d read the stats Annie had in her press folder on number twenty-two.
Just thinking about that moonlit New Year’s Eve turned her on all over again. She cleared her throat and glanced into Damian’s chocolate-brown eyes, but he barely acknowledged her presence. Her stomach plummeted and her heart squeezed painfully in her chest, yet somehow she maintained her composure. Micki schooled her expression so that nobody would view her disappointment or realize she’d been hurt.
“Sorry, people. No more questions for today.” Roper’s voice drew her attention as he deferred to his captain and called an end to the impromptu press conference.
Before the media took off, Ricky Carter sauntered up to Roper and slung an arm over his shoulder. “I guess good old Fuller’s right about you, Roper. You’re afraid your publicist will string you up by your—”
“Shut up,” Damian said, abruptly cutting Carter off. “We’re in mixed company.” He and the rest of the guys stared beyond her to the newest person in the room, Veronica Butler from Esports Network.
The gorgeous redhead in the cream-colored suit with gold stitching co-anchored the cable network’s most popular prime-time show. She was also a friend of Micki’s and a colleague who booked many of the Hot Zone’s clients. Like Micki, as a woman in a man’s world, she demanded respect and received it. Unlike Micki, she also received the deference due a lady, at least where Damian Fuller was concerned. In his eyes, Veronica wasn’t one of the guys.
Micki swallowed hard. Considering her upbringing, foul language wasn’t a shock to Micki and yet she might have been grateful for Damian’s sensitivity anyway—had he been worried about her.
Unwilling to stand around a minute longer, Micki jabbed Roper in the arm. “Private talk. Now.”
Her client followed and Micki finished their meeting with a threat that if he didn’t cooperate with the PR plan they’d agreed upon and lay off the day spas during the season, she was through as his publicist. She then escaped the locker room, including its accompanying male testosterone and humiliation, as soon as humanly possible.
* * *
That night, Micki sat in her apartment’s small kitchen across from Roper. His eyes gleamed as he devoured the meal she’d cooked for them both.
“Micki, you make the meanest omelet I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating,” he said between the forkfuls of food he shoveled into his mouth.
“No need to suck up, John. I’ve already cooked for you.”
He grinned. “And I thank you for inviting me.”
“You invited yourself,” she reminded him, recalling his phone message about how he’d be over around seven for some good food.
She knew he meant they’d go out for a bite. She and John often caught a late meal together if they were both free. He was one of the guys she felt completely comfortable around because she could be herself and he didn’t care how she looked or dressed. He accepted her in her after-work sweats or old faded jeans. Which was why she didn’t mind cooking for them so they could really relax instead of eating in a restaurant surrounded by people.
She glanced down at the Spanish omelet she’d prepared, frowned and pushed her plate aside.
“No appetite?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Not really.”
He switched his empty dish for her full one. “Do you mind?”
She shook her head.
He dug into her portion with equal gusto. “If you want him to notice you then you need to step up,” Roper said between bites.
At his words, Micki froze in her seat. “If I want who to notice me?” she asked, feigning ignorance and buying herself some thinking time, she hoped.
She and John clicked on many levels and he was a close enough friend that she’d confided in him about many of her deepest insecurities, but she’d avoided discussing Damian Fuller and that kiss. Roper was Damian’s teammate and Micki knew the propensity for guy talk in the locker room. Still, John had a sensitive side and she didn’t think he’d deliberately betray her confidence if she decided to fill him in.
She pursed her lips in thought, still undecided about how much to reveal.
“Hey, babe, you should know by now you can’t put anything over on me. You obviously have the hots for Fuller.”
She swallowed and choked on her own saliva, grabbing for a glass of water.
“Easy,” he said, laughing. “It’s just me, so before you try and argue, remember, I’m the one who knows how you always felt left out when your sisters would start with the girl talk growing up. And I also know how hard it is for you to date or open yourself up to guys on any level other than friendship. So why wouldn’t I notice your reaction when Fuller rolled out the red carpet for Veronica but ignored you?”
“Way to watch out for my feelings, Roper.” She glanced down at her hands, unwilling to meet his gaze or admit he was right.
“Hey, you’ve been dancing around those feelings, which hasn’t helped you any, so I decided it was time to bring things out into the open.” He raised his eyebrow, challenging her to talk openly with him.
“I had no idea I was so transparent,” she muttered.
“Only to those who love you best.” He treated her to his trademark grin and the dimples women loved. Thank God she wasn’t into him that way, Micki thought wryly. She had enough trying to handle her attraction for Damian Fuller.
“So what are you suggesting? That I step up…how?”
“Why hasn’t Damian noticed you as anything other than my publicist up until now?” John countered her question with one of his own.
“Because…” Her voice trailed off. She really didn’t want to tread these painful waters, Micki thought. Didn’t want to dig into the differences between herself and her sisters, the girlie girls versus the tomboy.
Not that her sisters had ever criticized or belittled her choice to be more like Uncle Yank. In fact, Annabelle had coddled and babied Micki. She’d looked out for her little sister and made sure Micki felt safe and loved. And though Sophie had been more reserved, that was her personality. Annabelle reached Sophie more easily because they had more in common. Still, when all was said and done, there was a loyalty between the sisters that ran deep. In their hearts, the Jordan sisters remembered being left alone in the world by their parents with the knowledge that they only had each other to count on. Each other, Uncle Yank and Lola, their surrogate mother.
“I’m going to tell you why Fuller hasn’t noticed you yet,” John said, intruding on her thoughts.
His soft tone indicated she wasn’t going to like what she heard. “I don’t suppose you can spare me the details?”
Roper shook his head. “Fuller hasn’t looked twice because you blend into the woodwork, doll.”
She winced at his too-accurate assessment.
He patted her hand. “That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with who you are. I happen to adore you. It’s just that you’ve fallen for a guy who likes frills. Now take me for example.”
“At the moment, I wish someone would.”
He shook his head and laughed. “We’re hanging out and I’m wearing what?”
Micki didn’t have the foggiest notion what he was talking about. “Clothing?” she asked.
He groaned and proceeded to drop the name brands of every item of clothing he wore. “I’ve gelled my hair and—”
“I get it.”
John leaned back in his seat and smiled contentedly. “If you would put in half the effort, Damian couldn’t help but notice that gorgeous face, perfect complexion and those darling curls you hide in a ponytail.” He gave a fake shudder at the last word.
She glanced at the ceiling, thinking about the validity of his point. The insecurities she’d experienced growing up around her beautiful sisters and the self-doubt she’d felt with Veronica in the locker room today surfaced again now.
He leaned forward. “So what’s going on in there?” He tapped on her forehead.
“It’s just that if I change who I am on the outside, then I wouldn’t be me. Don’t I deserve to find someone who appreciates me for who I am?”
“Of course you do.” John placed a comforting hand over hers. “And if you did what I just suggested, you would still be you—only more obvious. Once you catch the right man’s interest, he’d be a fool not to see all you have to offer him.”
“You’re a great guy,” she told him, then gave him a sideways look. “I notice you didn’t say that Damian Fuller is that right man.”
John shrugged, conceding the point, then leaned back again in his chair. “Fuller’s my captain and teammate. I admire him. But he’s still living the life of an athlete who just made his first million. He may have the potential to grow up, he may not. I don’t want you to get hurt, but…”
“But what?”
“Maybe Fuller has potential. That’s up to you to discover.”
Micki shivered at the prospect.
Meanwhile Roper fidgeted in his chair, glancing at his watch when he didn’t think she was looking. “Hot date?” she asked.
“Would you be insulted if I said I had to eat and run?”
She rolled her eyes. A free night during the season didn’t happen often. “Of course not, but you need to promise me you’ll behave. No more antics or giving the press cause to speculate on anything, okay?”
“You drive a hard bargain,” he said, as he cocked his head to the side. “How about we make a deal? I won’t get the piercing I wanted if you promise to consider my advice—you step up a little and see if Fuller notices you.” He winked, then rose, collecting their plates and placing them in the sink.
The man was a true find. “Some woman’s going to be lucky to land you, Roper.”
“I’m nowhere finished sowing my wild oats.”
She stood and walked him to the door. “I’m afraid Damian isn’t either.”
“You’ll never know until you try.” John wrapped a friendly arm around her shoulders. “Remember Roper’s word to the wise—life is nothing without risks.”
She laughed. “I’ll remember.”
He kissed her head and took off.
Alone in her apartment, Micki rinsed their plates and dried them, her mind preoccupied with Roper’s words. He was right about a lot of things, but most importantly about her feelings for Damian. She did have the hots for him and had since this past New Year’s Eve. Damian’s kiss, planted on her in a drunken stupor, had been a prelude. One taste hadn’t been enough and he’d whetted her appetite for more. When his full lips had been on hers, and his hard body against hers had warmed her in the cold winter air, she’d realized how much she desired the man.
Micki wanted to feel the excitement of a home run with Damian. Unfortunately, he didn’t even remember reaching first base.
* * *
The next morning, Micki stood in front of the mirror in the restroom of the Hot Zone. She eyed her standard look—her blond curls hastily pulled into a ponytail and her white button-down shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks—and frowned at the lackluster sight. Was it any wonder that when she strode into a locker room full of naked men, none of them “stood at attention”?
She was sick and tired of being considered one of the guys, especially by Damian, and Roper had made it perfectly clear why the man failed to notice Micki. Last night’s conversation was fresh in her mind and she couldn’t help but be frustrated with the status quo. Though her practical side understood that being treated as an equal was what female reporters and publicists had been fighting for for years, the female side of her had been ignored too long and demanded recognition.
“Micki? It’s meeting time.” Her middle sister, Sophie, called from the hall.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Micki turned away from the mirror just as Sophie stepped into the ladies’room.
Her gaze scanned Micki’s face. “Okay, what’s wrong?” Sophie nailed Micki with the knowing stare she’d perfected as a child.
The desire to reveal all was strong until Micki’s gaze raked over her beautifully dressed sister. Not a stray hair fell from Sophie’s sleek chignon, and her purple tweed suit was the height of fashion. Probably Chanel. No quick, off-the-rack shopping run for Sophie or Annabelle, Micki thought.
Her insecurities rose full force and any thoughts Micki had of admitting her recent bout of uncertainty fled in the face of Sophie’s perfection. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?” Micki asked, lifting her chin a notch.
Sophie turned the lock on the company restroom door, shutting them in the small lounge area alone. “You’re my sister and I know you. Since Annabelle married Vaughn and got pregnant, you haven’t been your usual, spunky self.”
Micki placed a hand on the white sink, aware of the cold porcelain beneath her hand and the intensity of her grip. “I’m not jealous.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Did I say you were? Listen,” she said, approaching Micki slowly. “I know that Annie’s marriage and move has changed the dynamic of your relationship.”
Micki acknowledged that truth with a nod. Annabelle used to live across the hall from both Micki and Sophie until she and Vaughn had relocated to his lodge in Greenlawn, a small town in upstate New York. Though the couple had kept Annabelle’s apartment, they didn’t spend much time there. Even Sophie’s presence and Roper’s visits didn’t ease that loss.
“I know we’ve never been as tight as you and Annie, but I miss her, too,” Sophie admitted, the uptight armor she normally kept around her softening as she spoke. “And maybe this is a good time for us to…” Her voice trailed off.
Could confident Sophie be hesitant, too? Micki wondered.
“Maybe we could get closer?” Micki met her sister halfway and hoped she hadn’t misread her intent.
Sophie nodded and relief filled Micki. Apparently, despite their very different personalities, she and Sophie really had formed a bond, even if they’d drifted for a while. Annabelle’s life change offered the perfect excuse for them to forge a new beginning of their own.
Micki knew just where to begin. “Soph?” Micki asked tentatively.
“Yes?” Her sister sounded just as wary.
With Roper’s suggestion that she “step up” and capture Damian’s attention ringing in her ears, she turned to her feminine, perfect-looking sister. “Can you teach me how to be more of a…girl?”
Sophie’s eyes sparkled with surprise and excitement at Micki’s words. “It’s about time!” she said, practically salivating at the idea of making Micki over.
Together they headed to the conference room to meet with Uncle Yank and tried not to rush him too obviously through the weekly meeting. They didn’t have to worry since their uncle was overly grumpy thanks to Lola’s appearance last night at a charity event.
Lola had been a surrogate mother to the girls. She’d also been Yank’s assistant until she’d finally taken a stand. She’d told Uncle Yank to admit his feelings for her or else she was walking away for good. He hadn’t believed her—why would he when she’d spent the better part of her fifty-eight years at the man’s beck and call?
She’d sacrificed her youth and deserved more from her life and the man in it. So Lola had quit and gone to work for Spencer Atkins, Yank’s biggest business rival and, ironically, his closest friend. She’d also begun dating him while Uncle Yank gnashed his teeth—and did nothing about it.
Everyone from her sisters to the office staff knew all Uncle Yank had to do was admit he was ready for a committed relationship and Lola would willingly return. At least they thought she’d come back, but lately she and Spencer seemed to be spending more and more time together while Uncle Yank grew ever more stubborn.
With Annabelle at a doctor’s appointment and Uncle Yank in a surly mood, he’d dismissed their meeting early and demanded they all show up again the next morning. With the afternoon free, Micki and Sophie left the office for the day with the shared goal of making Micki over.
Now Micki sat on Sophie’s bed, her knees curled under her, while Sophie made frequent trips to her bathroom and closet, creating separate piles on her dresser.
“Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Then let’s get started.” Sophie handed Micki a pad and pen to take notes on what she would need to purchase to put Sophie’s lessons into action. “This,” she said, picking something up from behind her, “is a blow-dryer.”
Micki rolled her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Okay, this red thing is the on/off switch. You have gorgeous hair, but you hide it like you did when you used to pitch Little League.” Sophie pulled out the elastic holding Micki’s hair in place and yanked out a few strands in the process.
“Ouch.” Micki rubbed her scalp.
Sophie ignored her. “A little light gel and some blow-drying and your hair will fall around your face in soft waves.”
As she spoke, Sophie played with Micki’s hair like she’d seen her do to Annabelle when they were younger.
“Are you getting all this down?” Sophie, the organized one, asked. “Blow-dryer, hair gel, soft styling spray. Write,” she ordered.
Micki laughed and did as her sister instructed. “Okay. Hair is done.”
“Then on to clothing and makeup. The key is to accentuate your already beautiful qualities to make them pop more.” Sophie excitedly went through some simple makeup tips with Micki and offered her the spare jars and tubes she had in her makeup cabinet.
“Good thing you’re anal and afraid of running out of things,” Micki said.
“It’s even better that we have the same hair, eye color and complexion. Otherwise I’d drag you for a full makeover. But that can wait until the weekend.”
Sophie applied as she explained and soon Micki wore a full face of makeup. She’d expected it to feel like armor but instead it was light and made her look…sexy, she thought glancing quickly in the mirror. Heart pounding with excitement, she let Sophie lend her clothing, too.
Transformation complete, when she finally turned around before the full-length mirror, Micki stared at a woman she no longer recognized but one she definitely wanted to get to know better. She couldn’t help wondering if Damian would feel the same way.
“Now remember, you can’t just rely on the outer dressing,” Sophie said, oblivious to Micki’s thoughts. Her sister was obviously just pleased Micki was showing an interest in all things feminine, for once. She hadn’t asked why.
“Attitude is everything,” Sophie continued. “Fortunately for you, you’re comfortable with guys, so that’s one hurdle down. Now just flirt a little and you’ll be all set.”
Micki squared her shoulders and shimmied a bit, intentionally shaking her boobs. “Like this?”
Sophie laughed. “That’s it. Work on the voice, too. A little breathy is sexy, you know?”
“Next thing I know you’re going to ask me to sing ‘Happy Birthday, Mr. President.’”
Her sister grinned.
Micki glanced at her watch and groaned. “It’s nearly midnight. Do you realize how early I’m going to have to get up in the morning to duplicate this look?”
“That’s the price of beauty,” Sophie said way too cheerfully.
“I might as well just sleep standing.”
“Whatever works for you.” Sophie shrugged, but couldn’t stifle a yawn. “I don’t know who you’re doing this transformation for, but I hope you’ll tell me one day.”
Micki didn’t know how to reply. She wasn’t ready to admit the truth aloud. She could barely admit it to herself.
“I also hope he deserves you.”
“I do, too,” Micki said and hugged her sister. The only consolation she had was that regardless of Damian Fuller, this step in Micki’s life was long overdue.