Keeper (Alpha Athletes #2) (2 page)

I
scrolled
through the media blast again on my phone before the flight attendant told me I had to turn off all electronics. I smiled politely at him, but I was hesitant to be detached from the firestorm of bad press for over eight hours.

I hadn’t stopped reading about the British soccer star’s scandalous night out since I awakened this morning. And the pictures. It seemed as if it was the only thing anyone was talking about on
Sports Now
.

Oh my God, the pictures.

If Lachlan Kenzie could upend everything in one night, he had the potential to take down my biggest account before I even touched down in Rio de Janeiro.

I pulled the strap on the seatbelt and tried to relax. That was crazy—I couldn’t relax, not even with a drink in my hand—not with two. There wasn’t enough alcohol to undo the damage he had done to his reputation or to ours.

I wouldn’t be able to take a deep breath again until I knew that rogue of a soccer player was under control. What in the hell was he thinking?

He had to know everything he did in public was recorded. I had watched the same thirty second clip on repeat. I told myself I was repulsed an ambassador of our company would lick a woman’s stomach in a bar while someone filmed it, but every time I saw it, I squirmed in my seat. He had bad judgment, but it didn’t come without undeniable sex appeal.

He eyed her with primal hunger before he lowered himself over her half-clothed body. I didn’t know who she was, but she was exotic and gorgeous with dark hair that reached her waist and long eyelashes that fluttered every time he lapped liquor from her navel. The entire scene annoyed me, but I didn’t know if it was because the girl was the complete opposite of me. I was a blond-haired, blue-eyed Southern girl with creamy white skin. There was nothing foreign and exotic about me.

It didn’t matter what the reason was—what Lachlan Kenize did was a publicity nightmare for me.

I closed my eyes when I felt the plane reverse from the jetway. I hated flying. I took a sip of the champagne, hoping it would do something for the rolling queasiness I felt when we launched into the air. An eight-hour flight was not my idea, but unless I wanted to hop around for two days on multiple flights, it was the quickest way to Rio. I didn’t have that kind of time.

The plane slowly started down the runway. I think it made me hate Lachlan even more.

Not only was he about to cost me my position with Revolution, but he also made me fly—two things that shouldn’e be happening. I was on a plane because he couldn’t keep his rash ego in his pants. I squeezed my eyes tighter, avoiding the view from my cushy window seat. First class couldn’t make me forget I was getting ready to be shot into the sky like a bird. I hated not having control. I hated not being able to know what was happening.

I heard the captain rev the engines as we accelerated.
Oh God.
I cringed.

Within seconds, I felt the plane angle into the air. The ground was gone and we were airborne. I opened my eyes one lid at a time. It wasn’t as bad once we were up. It was the getting there that scared the shit out of me. I peered out of the window. Miami looked small from here.

“Can I get another glass of champagne for you?” the flight attendant asked on his way through the aisle.

I nodded emphatically. “Please.”

It was true I was headed to Rio to reign in our highest paid ambassador for excessive drinking and partying, but I had eight hours to go—I needed another drink if I was going to make it.

He returned to my seat within minutes and brought an extra plate of fruit.

The lavish display reminded me of another reason I wanted to keep this job. I always traveled first class for the company. I stayed in the best hotels. My clothes were always new. I never wore the same suit twice. I had made it. Some people thought I had skipped a few rungs on the ladder, but I didn’t care.

Revolution was the pinnacle in the industry. The company had its hands in everything electronic: equipment, music, and gaming. We had the best tech developers in the country. There was nowhere else I wanted to be. And I had the hottest video game on the market. The launch was in less than two months. The timing couldn’t be better—until last night.

The marketing team counted on Kenzie walking away from the Olympics with a medal. He was already a world star in the sport, practically a household name. Anything he touched would sell, but for kids around the world, a video game with his name on it would be even more thrilling if he had a medal around his neck.

Women loved him. The fans loved him. Kids wanted to be him. Getting him to sign for this game was a clear coup. But he had screwed it up. How was I going to sell games to kids if he was whoring around? What parent would let their child play a game whose star licked shots off women? I cursed myself, thinking we should have gone with Taylor Dirks, the squeaky clean dad. Sure, we’d lose the twenty-something demographic, but I wouldn’t have to deal with the angry email assaults and posts from parents who had to explain to their children why Lachlan Kenzie’s game wasn’t welcome in their house.

It was a risk choosing Kenzie, but he was the edgier, sexier choice.

I took the frosted glass and pressed my lips to the rim. The tiny bubbles slid down my throat as I released the death grip I had on the arm rest.

When I awoke this morning, the last thing I expected was to pack a bag and head to the Olympics, but I didn’t see what choice I had.

If I let Lachlan Kenzie keep on this rampage, he would take the Kenzie game down with him. And that meant my biggest account would lose its ambassador and I would lose my position. It had taken over a year to develop the game. I’d spent six months preparing for the release. I’d worked too long and too hard to let some privileged, egotistical asshole ruin my life.

He was reckless. Arrogant. Selfish. All the things I wasn’t.

He had to get his life under control while he was in Rio, and I was the woman who was going to make that happen.

I
sat
at the bar while a lazy fan twirled overhead. I didn’t know what in the hell I was drinking, only that it made the hangover disappear in an instant. Liquid lunch worked for me.

“Another round.” I held up my glass to the man behind the counter.

He slid a cold drink across the bar. I slung it back, feeling the sting hit the back of my throat. The sweat beaded across my brow. It was hot as fuck here for winter.

Practice had ended hours ago. There was only one story that had emerged from the football world today. It was the only thing anyone was talking about. It didn’t help that we were a week out from Opening Ceremonies and the press was looking for anything to report. They were like sharks sniffing for blood.

The ticker ran along the bottom of the TVs mounted to the wall.

Lachlan Kenzie walked out on the UK football team after night of debauchery.

I glared at the headline. What did they expect? I was surrounded by pricks. They didn’t have boots or a kit for me. The pitch wasn’t ready. I wasn’t going to stand around while they got their shit together. I had played my share of amateur matches. I was done with it.

I reached over the counter, grabbed the remote, and hit the mute button. I didn’t want to hear any more speculation on why I left. I knew what a cock up the whole thing was, and that was the only thing that mattered.

“Bad day?” the bartender asked.

I nodded. The locals seemed laidback. But the last thing I needed was someone snapping my photo and announcing to the world I was in this bar. Last night I didn’t care, but my world was closing in on me today.

They couldn’t touch me inside the village. The press wasn’t allowed to enter, but out here I was fresh meat to them. A juicy story to devour one bloody bite at a time.

I kicked the stool out of the way. It was growing dark outside. I paid for my drinks and pushed the door, emerging into a blast of heat.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and kept my head down. But before I turned the corner, the flashes came out of nowhere.

“Fuck,” I muttered, putting my hands up.

“Lachlan, why did you leave practice?”

“Have you quit the team?”

“What did your mates say when you walked out?”

“Are you boycotting the Olympics for political reasons?”

I started jogging toward the village, but they swarmed me, making it a fucking nightmare to get away from them. They were on my heels. It didn’t matter if I turned down a side street or stayed in broad daylight. They tripped after me like yapping puppies.

“All right, bugger off,” I spat at them. I had enough. I finally stopped to address the crowd.

“Come on, Lach. Tell us what’s going on.”

“Give us a statement about practice,” they demanded.

I didn’t talk to the paps. There were some guys who did. They loved it. They loved this. But I fucking hated it.

“Statement? You want a statement?”

One of the photographers shoved a camera in my face, grazing my cheek, and the flash went off. I felt the warm ooze of blood trickle into my mouth with a metallic taste.

I didn’t think. I didn’t come up with a way to handle him. Everything in my body fired with instinct first. My fist reared back in a solid mass and I punched forward, slugging him and knocking him to the ground.

“What in the hell?” The photographer rolled on his side, gripping his nose. He looked horrified at the blood on his fingers.

I stood over him, clenching my fists.

If I thought it was bad before, the mayhem grew to a frenzy as soon as his back hit the pavement.

“You hit me, you bastard.” He looked up at me, startled. “I think you broke my nose.”

“You shoved a camera in my face.” I was ready to beat the shit out of him, but I was suddenly aware of what was happening around me. No one gave a shit that he had cut my cheek and I had blood splatters on my shirt to prove it. I wasn’t the victim here.

There were recorders, cameras, and a small crowd gathered on the street.

I took off in a full sprint, not looking back.

I knew I had royally fucked up this time.

A
s soon as
the wheels hit the tarmac, I powered on my phone.

“Come on, come on.” I coaxed it to life.

My heart seized and my chest tightened. “No, no, no. Not now. Not possible.”

I scrolled through the headlines. I saw the alerts pop up on the screen.
Oh my God
.

“Everything okay?” the flight attendant asked.

Now was not the time for more champagne. I nodded, but I knew my face gave him a different answer. There was nothing okay about what happened. He moved on to help prepare the plane for passenger arrival.

“Welcome to beautiful Rio de Janeiro,” the captain announced over the speakers.

My phone rang and I hesitated to answer it. I knew what my boss was going to say before I heard her voice. There were more headlines—worse than the ones from last night. My trip had just risen to level def-con five.

“Hi, Karen.”

“Aspen, thank God. Are you there? Where is he?”

We were still taxiing toward our gate.

“I just landed. As soon as I get my bags, I’ll find him.”

“It’s worse. He’s out of control.”

I closed my eyes. “I know. I saw the latest headline.”

“Bring him back to center.”

“I will,” I promised, but I had no idea how I was going to do that.

Lachlan had just punched a member of the Brazilian paparazzi on camera. The photographer was threatening to sue him. Things had snowballed faster than I could have imagined.

I thought I was flying in to deal with a hell-raising partier. Now he was being labeled as unpredictable and violent. The brand could drop the British soccer star before I even had my first conversation with him.

“And if you don’t, it’s going to cost us millions.
Millions
. Development is finished. The game is already in the hands of reviewers. If we drop him…” Her words trailed off.

“I know it is.” She didn’t need to tell me what stage of production I was dealing with. I had made the Kenzie game my life.

“I will handle it.” It had become my standard response. It worked, but I didn’t usually have sponsorship problems like this. Lachlan had taken things to a new level.

There was a silence on the line. I was waiting for my boss to tell me that the other thing on the line was my job, but she didn’t need to say it. We both knew without this account, I was finished.

“Karen, I need to get to customs. I’ll call you as soon as I talk to him.”

“It doesn’t matter what time. Call me.”

“I will.”

I hung up and waited to be escorted from the plane. I was quick to dodge the passengers ahead of me on the jetway so I could make it to the front of the customs line. I didn’t have time to waste. If Lachlan could lose his shit while I was in the air, he could be a complete loose cannon. He could have half of Rio burned down by the time I made it to the hotel.

I presented my passport at the counter and waited nervously while the customs official scrutinized my paperwork.

He studied it as if I had handed him counterfeit bills.

“It’s all right there.” I smiled. “Have you been busy with the Olympics?” I asked, trying to speed up the process with a little small talk. “I bet it’s non-stop,” I added. “This is my first time in Rio.”

He raised one eyebrow, inferring I wasn’t the one who was supposed to ask the questions.

I clamped my lips together and stood behind the glass. Finally, he slid the booklet through and I tried to look calm as I hurried to baggage. National security was important—I got it. The entire world was descending upon Rio, but they had no idea what kind of chaos I was dealing with. I had to get to Lachlan before he cost me everything.