Three

“Can I say that I truly hate whoever is behind that stupid blog?” Shay Janik reached across the kitchen counter and poured a generous serving of pinot grigio into Bridgett’s wineglass. “I honestly don’t get what her motivation is.”

Coming up behind his wife, Brody Janik wrapped his long arms around her before bending his head down to nuzzle her neck. “Wasn’t it your theory that the blogger might not be a she at all, Shannon?” he asked.

Bridgett tried in vain to ignore her brother’s PDA. She was beginning to regret her decision to stop by his house, but Carly had already alerted Shay that Bridgett was back in Baltimore. Her sister-in-law had wasted no time texting and inviting her to dinner. Besides, Shay, a PhD in nutrition, was a genius in the kitchen. Brody suffered from reactive hypoglycemia, a condition that affected his blood sugar, but the meals Shay prepared for him were not only incredibly healthy, but delicious, as well. After a month in Italy, Bridgett figured having Shay prepare her meals might be the one upside to being back in Baltimore.

“I did say that, yes.” Shay swatted Brody away and began furiously julienning carrots. “But the posts are just too bitchy to be a man. And God help her if I ever find out who she is.” Her whiskey eyes narrowed as she concentrated on her task.

Brody carefully edged away from the counter, his trademark grin lighting up his face. “Don’t mess with Texas.” He winked at Bridgett as he took a seat on the stool next to hers. “Call me crazy, but this is one time I’m glad for her latest installment.”

Shay froze with the knife poised in midair. Both women stared at him. Brody shrugged before leaning over to kiss Bridgett on the head. “I missed you. If her nasty words are the reason you’re back in Baltimore, then I’m glad.” He took a swig from his bottle of water. “Of course, for all we know, you could be the blogger and you set this all up just to get away from the wicked wedding planners in Boston.”

With an exasperated sigh, Shay shook her head at her husband and went back to cutting carrots as Brody laughed beside Bridgett.

“I guess this makes you unofficially part of the Blaze team,” he continued, snatching a sliver of carrot from the cutting board. Bridgett took a fortifying gulp of wine. When she’d arrived back at the office, Stuart had been adamant that he didn’t want to listen to any reasons for her recusal from the case. That was probably a good thing, because Bridgett had no idea how she was going to explain herself to her boss.

I just had my tongue down our client’s throat? I almost let him take me on the conference room table? Hell, I wanted him to take me. Or, I gave him my heart years ago and he destroyed it?

Apparently, the Antichrist had gotten to Stuart first because he’d threatened to fire the firm if Bridgett didn’t remain on the Blaze defense team. His logic made no sense. Jay knew as well as she did that they couldn’t work together. Their little make-out session in the conference room proved they were still as combustible as oil to a flame. Not to mention the fact that neither one trusted the other. She’d trusted him once. Never again. Of course, Jay believed she was the one who’d betrayed him. Somehow, that part hurt the most.

Her brother’s lightning-fast hand pilfered another carrot, distracting her from her painful thoughts. “I’d be careful there, Brody,” Bridgett warned. “If Shay slices off your finger, you might have to actually grow up and get a real job.”

Brody smiled fondly at his wife. “That threat doesn’t scare me as much as it used to. But since McManus would likely castrate me in court for not fulfilling my end of a contract, I’ll be a good boy and wait until Shannon puts the knife down.”

Shay finished slicing up the vegetables, handing Brody the remainder of the carrot before eyeing Bridgett shrewdly. “Will you be working directly with Mr. McManus, Bridgett?”

Bridgett had been careful over the years to keep her broken heart a secret. No one in her family knew about that summer in Italy all those years ago. None of them were aware of her relationship with Jay McManus and the scars—figurative and real—that had resulted from their affair.

But Shay was perceptive. And smart; smarter than Bridgett if she was being honest with herself. That was a rare find and it was one of the reasons she got along with her sister-in-law so well. But it also made Shay dangerous. The tall, gawky woman with the wild hair saw too much. Shay had sensed there was something not quite right between Bridgett and Jay and had called Bridgett on it more than once. Her brother’s house might not be the sanctuary Bridgett had hoped for after all.

“I doubt it.” Bridgett was careful to keep her lawyer mask in place. She couldn’t afford to slip up in front of Shay. “My associate Dan will be coordinating most of the work on this. I’m going to be handling a big tax evasion case out of Delaware in addition to the Blaze case.” It was the one consolation she’d been able to eke out of Stuart. She’d be the lead counsel for the Blaze case only on paper. Instead, she’d focus on defending a bunch of tax-dodging chicken farmers. The subject might be dry, but it beat having to deal with Jay McManus on a day-to-day basis.

“Well, that’s got to be a relief for you,” Brody said as he stood and made his way to the refrigerator. Both women looked at him questioningly. A flash of panic coursed through Bridgett as she wondered if Shay had confided her suspicions about her and Jay to Brody.

“Yeah,” her brother said as he grabbed one of the portioned snacks Shay prepared for him each day. “We all know how you hate cheerleaders, Bridge.”

Bridgett slumped her shoulders in relief and it seemed as if Shay let out a breath she was holding.

“I’m with you there, Bridgett. My sister, Teran, excluded, of course,” Shay said. “And I agree with Brody. I hate the circumstances that bring you back, but I’m really glad you’re here.” She toasted Bridgett with her wineglass.

She gave Shay a warm smile in return. Perhaps she’d be safe hanging out here with Brody and his astute wife, after all. Bridgett just wouldn’t give Shay anything to go on. Her plan was to stay as far away from Jay McManus as she could while still doing her job. That plan hadn’t worked so well today, but now that she knew what she was up against, she’d be extra vigilant.

•   •   •

By seven thirty that night, the weight room at the training facility was deserted. The regular season kicked off that Sunday and most of the team was enjoying their normal Tuesday off before practice began in earnest the next morning. Jay took advantage of the empty room to blow off steam on the punching bag. His plan to keep away from Bridgett had backfired. Not only did he have to deal with finding a kicker before Saturday and a trumped-up lawsuit that was likely a publicity stunt, but his body now craved the one woman who probably hated him the most.

He slammed the bag even harder. A kinder man would have just let her walk away. His right hand struck the bag, swinging it wide out in front of him. Too bad Jay hadn’t been considered kind in many years. Steadying himself and the bag, he jabbed it again with a left cross. Instead, he was ruthless; he took what he wanted. And, by God, he wanted Bridgett. Still. Until he’d kissed her today, he hadn’t realized how much he craved her. Or how much she still craved him. The two idealistic twenty-somethings who’d shared a passionate summer in Italy thirteen years ago no longer existed, but it seemed the heat still burned between them. He could work with that. All he had to do was convince Bridgett.

“Remind me not to ever piss you off in the blogosphere.” Heath Gibson, the newly promoted Blaze offensive coordinator, stepped into Jay’s line of sight before he quickly dodged left to get out of the way of the swinging punching bag. Not much younger than Jay, Gibson was only two seasons removed from the gridiron, but he’d proven himself to be one hell of a coach in his first year with the Blaze.

Jay stopped mid-punch. “Did you really just say blogosphere?”

Heath laughed. “I should probably let you punch me just for that, but if you damaged the goods, then my wife wouldn’t have that terrible crush on you anymore.” He seemed to give it some thought before stepping in front of the bag. “On second thought, hit me. I’m sure I’ve deserved it at one time or another.”

The coach was married to the younger sister of Jay’s best friend, Blake Callahan, and he definitely deserved more than a fat lip. But that was for something that happened over a decade ago, when Heath and Merrit were in college. Merrit had forgiven him enough to marry the idiot, so Jay figured he’d leave his lip intact.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass tonight. You’re too valuable to the team to risk you going down with one punch.” Jay took a drink from his water bottle. He heard the metal clank of weights being placed on the bar behind him.

“I’m fully recovered,” Heath said a little bit defensively.

Jay turned to look at the coach. Dressed in cotton gym shorts and a Blaze T-shirt, his body was none the worse for wear from the ten years of punishing licks he’d taken as a fullback in the league. But it was a hit to the head that had sidelined his career—not to mention his prospects as a broadcaster. He knew Heath was referring to the severe concussion that had lingered for months.

“I know that. Trust me, if you weren’t, I wouldn’t have you on my payroll,” Jay said. “It wouldn’t matter who you’re married to.”

Heath shook his head before leaning back on the bench and sliding under the bar with the weights loaded onto it. “Yeah, I know. It’s all about the bottom line with guys like you. I almost feel sorry for those cheerleaders. They won’t know what hit ’em.”

Jay knew he was perceived as being callous and ruthless. But it was that toughness that had gotten him where he was today. Mental toughness is just as valuable a commodity as physical toughness, his stepfather had drilled into Jay. He may not be able to take the beating his players took every week, but he damn sure could outsmart them, and everyone else, in the boardroom.

“Just as long as none of the players are hitting on them,” Jay said as he resumed his one-sided sparring.

“Is that what they’re saying?” Heath asked as he easily completed a set of chest presses.

“Their list of grievances is a long one and it includes everything from teeth whitening to spray tans. But, yes, one of the complaints involved some alleged sexual harassment by the players.”

The bar clinked loudly as Heath lowered it back into its holder before sitting up and wiping his hands and face with a towel. “Teeth whitening? Really?”

Jay looked at the coach sharply. “That’s what you got from all that?”

Heath laughed as he lay back down and grabbed the bar for a second set.

“I don’t take sexual harassment lightly, Gibson. And neither should you,” Jay said. “We have zero tolerance for that kind of behavior in this organization.”

With a heavy sigh, Heath sat up again. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Jay. But you’ve got to remember I was a player on those sidelines not too long ago. There’s not much opportunity for fraternization between players and cheerleaders. Except for the occasional public appearance. The lines can get blurred easily at some of those events, though.” He shrugged. “A lot of these women see this as an opportunity to further their modeling career or land a pro athlete. A lot of the guys will take what’s being offered and think about the consequences afterward.”

“Are you saying this could be a simple case of a lover spurned?”

“Who knows, man? Women have their own agenda and they aren’t above using a man to achieve it.”

“Spoken from experience?”

Heath lay back down and grabbed the bar. “First wife. But, trust me, I learned my lesson. Some other young guys on this team might not have, yet. I’ll keep my ears open. Of course, now that that damn blogger has whipped the female fans of the league into a frenzy, I’m sure it’s all I’ll hear about. According to the grapevine, they plan to picket the stadium this weekend.” He grunted as he powered through his reps. “Whoever’s behind that blog really knows how to hit a team.”

Jay gave the bag another thrashing. This wasn’t the first case of cheerleaders suing a team, but for some reason the activists championing women had targeted Jay and the Blaze. Of course, this was the first time that damn blog had mentioned one of the class action suits. He was beginning to think Hank was right and whoever was behind the blog had something out for the Blaze.

“She seems to have this team in her crosshairs,” Jay said as he wiped down his face. “She even picked on you before she unleashed on DeShawn and Brody last season.”

“Oh yeah, she tried hard to screw up my career—not to mention my reconciliation with Merrit.” He was breathing a little more heavily as he dropped the bar back into place. “But I think she’s been an equal opportunity pain in the ass. Just ask Blake. He’s had more than one client targeted with her venom.”

Blake Callahan was the vice president of his father’s successful advertising company. But he also managed a small public relations firm that handled elite professional athletes from a variety of sports. Jay tossed the towel in the basket the trainer left out. “You’re probably right. I’ve been so concentrated on my own guys that I haven’t noticed who else she’s targeted. I should probably recruit Blake to help us out whoever’s writing this crap.”

“Good luck with that. Blake’s got his own sexual harassment problems.”

Jay looked at the coach questioningly. He and Blake hadn’t spoken for a few weeks. Their most frequent mode of correspondence was text messages ribbing each other over their local sports teams. “He hasn’t mentioned that.”

Heath grunted again as he lifted the bar. “Probably because most of it is bullshit. He thinks a former employee is trying to smear the firm.”

“Grant?” Merrit’s former fiancé had been a partner in the Callahan agency until he unceremoniously dumped Blake’s sister and stole several clients.

“Who knows,” Heath said with a huff. “But even alleged sexual harassment is a stigma a guy doesn’t want.”

Jay couldn’t have agreed more. He knew this case would open up a can of worms. And two could play at using the opposite sex for personal gain. Hell, he was about to launch a war on Bridgett Janik to gain . . . what, exactly? He’d never trust her with his heart again. Jay was just too selfish to allow her to give her own heart—or her body—to anyone else. And that meant possessing her himself.

“Hey, boss.”

Linc’s voice startled him into nearly missing his mark. Jay steadied the bag and looked up at his assistant, who was still dressed in shirt and tie.

“Did Stuart call back?” Jay asked, surprised at how unsure he felt about how Bridgett would respond.

“He did. Bridgett Janik is still on the case.”

Relief surged through Jay. Not wanting to have this conversation in front of Heath, he just nodded at Linc.

“You sure she’s the lawyer for the job, though? She looked like she’d rather be defending a serial killer than her brother’s football team.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised that his assistant wasn’t as circumspect. “She’ll be fine.”

“She’s not exactly the ball buster I thought she was,” Linc went on, ignoring Jay’s glare. “I mean, she was kind of emotional when she left your office.”

Jay heard the weight bar clank into the stand as Heath dropped it none too gently.

“I thought you were meeting some woman in Fells Point?”

Linc checked his phone. “Yeah, I gotta hit the road. I just wanted to let you know that Princess Charlotte called.”

Jay heaved a sigh. “She’s in the country?”

“Worse. She’s on her way to Baltimore. And she wants to bring some friends to the season opener this weekend. She’s pretty insistent that you call her back. Said she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Too bad she’s not a lawyer, because she’s the definition of a ball buster.”

Charlotte was that and a whole lot more. This day was just getting shittier and shittier.

“Anything else you need tonight, boss?” Linc’s look was only slightly pitying.

“No, at least one of us should enjoy himself tonight. Get out of here.”

With a wave to both men, he made his way out of the weight room. Jay toweled himself off and was halfway to the showers when Heath spoke.

“A princess, huh?”

Jay didn’t bother responding. Let the coach think what he wanted.

“That might be useful to you if she has her own country you can hide out in,” Heath went on, his voice quiet but steely. “Because if you’re making Brody Janik’s sister ‘emotional,’ he won’t care who you are. He’ll kill you. Don’t even get sucked in by that cheesy smile of his.”

“Thanks for your concern, Gibson, but you’re way off base.” Jay wasn’t worried about his glamour boy tight end. He was more worried about what problems Charlotte was going to deposit on the doorstep of his penthouse.

By the time Jay arrived home an hour later, the scent of Charlotte’s heavy perfume had already settled like a thick fog over his living room. The doorman informed him that she’d arrived thirty minutes earlier and it had taken everything he had not to hop back into his Jag and head for points unknown. This day was definitely one for the book of all-time crappy days. Ignoring the woman lounging on his leather sofa, Jay headed straight for the liquor cabinet.

“Hard day in the corporate sandbox?” Charlotte asked as she slowly shifted her long legs along the sofa. They were clad in thigh-high leather boots that likely cost more than Jay’s doorman made in a month. Apparently it was Jay’s lot in life to be surrounded by women who were attracted to the finer things. Since Charlotte was born with a trust fund that rivaled the budget of some small countries, her elitist nature wasn’t such a surprise.

The rest of her was wrapped in a blanket of cashmere; the only other apparel visible was the three sterling silver bands that always dangled from her wrist. Her indigo eyes were artfully made up to look like she belonged in a sultan’s harem. Long auburn hair—so similar to her father’s—flowed over the cushions of the sofa.

“Make yourself at home, Charlie,” he said sarcastically before taking a healthy swallow of Scotch. He let his gaze drift over the panoramic view of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. It wasn’t the Manhattan skyline or the spectacular view from his home in the foothills of Napa Valley, but the ships bobbing in the water always seemed to soothe him. Tonight, though, he wasn’t sure even the Scotch would relax him. “I take it you and your friends are finished running amok in Europe?”

Charlie made a sound of disdain. “Everyone is so on edge there, worried about the economy and the Middle East. It’s really put a damper on all the fun I could have been having.”

Jay shook his head. Typical Charlie. Always thinking of herself. “Good to know nothing has changed.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. Jay did a quick double take trying to determine if that was moisture he’d glimpsed on her mink-like lashes. Charlie crying? That never happened. Not since her father had died thirteen years ago.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me. I’ve missed you,” she said softly. “Haven’t you missed me? Not even just a little bit?”

He squeezed the back of his neck with his hands. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken out his bad day on Charlie. That was one of the reasons their relationship had deteriorated these past few years. But he refused to accept all the blame. She hadn’t been a saint, either.

“Should I not have come home?” she asked.

Jay downed the rest of his Scotch before answering. “I told you that you always have a home here with me.”

She sighed again and he wandered back to the bar for a refill.

“Maybe you should pace yourself, Jay. The night’s young.”

He laughed. “Says the woman who started stealing booze out of the liquor cabinet when she was thirteen.”

“I’ve given it up.”

A piece of ice got stuck in his throat and he coughed. “Since when? Don’t tell me alcohol has lost its appeal now that you’re twenty-one and it’s no longer illegal?”

Charlie sat up on the sofa. Damn, those were tears in her eyes. “No. I’ve given up lots of things. For health reasons.”

This time when he choked, it had nothing to do with anything clogging his throat.

“Congratulate me, Jay. You’re going to be an uncle.”