Know When to Hold Him (13 page)

“You want to be there, too,” Liam reminded her, his voice low and dark. “Just as much as I want you there.”

Spencer raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. I’m not stopping just because I want to be in your bed. I’ve backed off. I’ve played nice.”

Liam’s brows rose. “This has been playing nice?”

“Oh, honey. You haven’t seen anything yet.” She straightened her posture, her hands smoothing her blouse. “Thanks for dinner, Liam. Your house is beautiful. I hope you have many happy years here.”

Liam crossed the space between them and took her by the upper arms. Not too hard, but enough to get her attention.

“Don’t do that. Don’t dismiss me.”

Spencer searched his face. Anger blazed there. Maybe she’d gone too far.

“Let me go,” she insisted.

His hands dropped from her arms. Spencer took a step back, putting space between them—space she needed. Staying too close to him muddled everything. Every time she believed she could handle it, she was proved wrong, like tonight. Coming over had been a huge mistake, one she hoped she’d remember. “This is who I am. This is who we are. I’m not giving up on my job, on my client, just because you and I have a…” Liam raised his eyebrows. “…a thing,” Spencer finished. “I knew we shouldn’t see each other until…”

“After wedding bells?” Liam asked with an edge to his voice.

Spencer cocked her head. “You said it, not me.”

Liam jammed his hands in his pockets, letting out a long breath. “My second dates are usually killer.” He lifted his eyes, and Spencer’s heart twisted at their beauty.

“This wasn’t a date.” Spencer’s reminder was silky yet firm.

“God, no.” Liam frowned at her. “It was an offensive blitz.”

Finally, he understood.

Chapter Eighteen

Spencer flipped on the TV as she poured her first cup of coffee for the day.
Good Morning America
was sunny and fun and gave her the news in a don’t-worry-be-happy way. The anchor made a joke and then, with a concerned brow, read, “In today’s fast-paced, pop-culture world, many parents in twenty-first century America are concerned about the lack of role models for their children. That’s what the Reverend Wallace Langston and football star Troy Duncan are hoping to address with their new initiative, announced this morning in Dallas.”

Spencer’s cup froze in mid-air as footage of Troy and Pastor Langston on the steps of the church rolled. There was the good mega church pastor, familiar to millions of American households, commending Troy on committing himself to three days of prayer and charitable works until the NFL Draft, and inviting other professional athletes in Dallas to join him, to bring “honor” back to professional sports.

The camera panned back. Liam stood off to the side, clapping his hands. An arrow hit Spencer in the belly, sharp and poignant. Liam Connelly was a fantastically good-looking man.

And he’d just called her bluff.

Spencer dialed the private investigator’s number.

“Rodney,” she answered when he picked up. “You’re still at the university, right?” The commentators on
Good Morning America
began their analysis of Troy Duncan’s prayer-filled initiative. The words at the bottom of the screen read, “America’s Boy Next Door.” Spencer shook her head in disbelief. “Here’s what I need you to find.”

…

“I don’t get it,” said Nora as she, Rainey, and Spencer turned on the TV in the conference room. “I’m the PR specialist, and I don’t get it.”

“It’s not PR, it’s strategy,” Rainey explained. “This is a chess game, and our friend Spencer here is a freakin’ master.”

“But we have media coverage,” Nora stressed, “And the
Scandals Magazine
guy is there.”

“Excellent,” Spencer said, flipping the remote between the local stations. “Everyone is covering it. Watch.”

The Dallas local stations bled the public service of Troy Duncan and Pastor Langston all over the news. Combining two of Texas’ favorite past times-religion and football—into one feel-good, made for five o’clock top of the hour news. There were the two men of the hour, in work clothes, painting a senior citizen’s clapboard house in Fair Park.

Volunteers had come out in droves, the reporters explained, showing Troy and Reverend Langston shaking hands and directing willing volunteers to the paintbrushes and the yard tools.

“There!” Spencer pointed at a corner of the screen. Four pageant-worthy co-eds from Troy’s university in tight tees and cut-offs invaded the yard. The news cameras picked up their bouncy curves and straight white teeth and artfully highlighted hair.

“Are they Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders?” Nora asked, with a reverential tone.

“Rodney did a good job,” Rainey matched Nora’s tone.

A calculated curve spread over Spencer’s lips as Troy stopped painting and strolled over to chat with the beautiful volunteers.

The news reporter finished up with pertinent facts about the remainder of the Troy/Wallace public service initiative, and the program switched back to the studio and the gloominess of the regular news.

“That’s it?” Nora asked.

“Spencer moved the knight. Or pawn. Whatever, she set it up.”

“A hug?” Nora asked.

“A question,” Spencer mused. “And then a follow up. And then a feature in
Scandals Magazine
.”

“We’re dealing with
Scandals Magazine
?
That
is not our style,” Rainey pointed out.

Spencer shrugged. “This is war. We’re going to do what we have to win. And for the baby.”

…

By the next morning, as sure as the sun rose, a story appeared on
Scandals Magazine’
s website, featuring a picture of Troy Duncan in an enthusiastic beauty queen sandwich.

Liam’s Google alerted him to this story about Troy, along with about a thousand other stories about the public relations success story of the year. Capitalizing on Troy’s wholesome image, the football player had dominated the news coverage for a whole news cycle leading up to the NFL draft. And it wasn’t just the sports pages. It was the local stations, the blogs, the
US Weekly
and
People
magazine websites. Troy Duncan was poised to be more than a football star. He was going to be the Michael Freaking Jordan of football. Bigger than a sport, his name would be synonymous with good works, and decency, and the American way. Corporations would line up with nice big blank checks for him, and it was all thanks to Spencer.

The irony of it made him chuckle. If she hadn’t brought Troy’s pastor into the press, none of this would’ve happened. There was no reason not to do the joint charity event immediately, each of them taking advantage of the timing for the maximum publicity. To borrow a phrase from the esteemed Spencer Hightower—it was a win-win.

With the barrage of news coverage, calls from the press, and calls from other agents and scouts, Liam didn’t notice the number of stories about Troy and girls rising throughout the day. And he certainly didn’t keep up with Twitter hashtags about Troy. If he had, he would have noticed when the tide started to turn on social media-right about the time someone tweeted a picture of a very pregnant Dalynn at a baby store with the comment, “#TroyDuncansexgirlfriend??”

The picture went viral, and by the time Liam realized what was going on, there was a story posted on the
Scandals Magazine
website featuring side-by-side photos of Troy with the Dallas Cowboy cheerleader recruits, tight clothes and short shorts and big smiles, and one of a very lonely and very pregnant Dalynn.

This had Spencer Hightower written all over it.

Scandals Magazine my ass.

Public opinion could be swayed so easily. Once they got used to pictures of Troy with sexy ladies, it wouldn’t be too far of a jump to conclude that his claim of virginity was a giant pile of horseshit. And once he lost the public, he lost the soup commercials and the peanut butter campaign.

“Jared!!!” He yelled out the door of his office. “Hold my calls.”

“But you have the New York Jets scout and a guy from Wheaties on hold.”

He can’t lose the cereal box.

“Take their numbers,” he growled, and slammed the door.

Liam sat at his computer and stared at the website. It was almost as if he could distinctly hear the “tick tick tick” of a bomb, somewhere in the distance. Ready to blow. Any…second…now…

His cell phone sat on his desk, mocking him. She wasn’t going to call. Dammit, she’d make him call her. A begrudging respect rose in him. He’d do the same in her shoes.

Liam dialed Spencer’s number with one click. “Spencer Hightower,” came the cool voice on the other end of the line.

“That was some bullshit,” was the growl in response.

“Hello Liam,” Spencer greeted him with a perkiness she must have borrowed from those cheerleaders she’d rounded up. “Long time no chat.”

“He hasn’t done anything.”

“Then a paternity test will confirm that.”

“You’re delusional.”

“And you can explain to your client how pictures go viral.”

“Pictures of what? He was friendly to random girls-”

“Pretty girls,” Spencer interrupted.

“Very pretty girls,” Liam agreed, just because he was mad and he knew she wouldn’t like it. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. You’re crucifying him for being twenty-one and an athlete. You’re setting him up for some bullshit PR, and it’s going to be a cold day in hell before I let some Texas socialite princess force my client into doing anything he doesn’t want to.”

“You know what I would do, if Troy was my client?” When Liam didn’t answer, Spencer continued. “I would explain to him that this Texas socialite princess is a very reasonable person. She’s not trying to hurt his career. She’s trying to help him, by making a difficult situation go bye-bye as quickly and quietly as possible.

“If he takes a paternity test and he’s not the daddy, everyone goes home, and life continues for the Next Great All-American Virgin Football Hero. If he is, by chance, a father, which is a gift from God and some kind of miracle that’s only been repeated once in history, as far as I know, then we deal with things like adults—quickly and quietly. I would tell my client that Spencer Hightower wants a win-win. If he doesn’t agree, well, it makes him look like a hypocritical liar, and you know who likes hypocritical liars? Not Christians. Not sponsors. Not football teams. No one. No one likes a hypocritical liar.”

“Wait one second, Spencer. I hate to interrupt you, but I’m checking my dictionary…” Liam drew out the word. “Yep. There it is. Your picture right there next to the definition of ‘hypocritical liar’.”

Her shocked gasp said he’d hit his mark.

“What was it you said? ‘I’m not going to
Scandals Magazine
. I’m going to help you. I make problems go away. Win-win.’ Etc. Et al. Now I’m dealing with
Scandals Magazine
again. Because of you. Who’s the liar now?”

“Charity.” Frustration filled her voice. “You pulled a charity stunt. That’s just…low.”

Liam wished he could record that quote from Miss Children’s Hospital Benefit. She was fired up, and, God help him, he loved it. His juices were flowing, adrenaline pushing through him, like he was in a huddle, the first play of a playoff game. “You know what I would tell Dalynn, if she were my client?”

“What?” He heard a mix of snappishness and amusement.
Awesome
.

“I would tell her that she had very good taste in boyfriends. That Troy Duncan is a solid, dependable, upstanding young man. I would tell her that Troy Duncan loves Jesus, his country, and his mama, and that there is nothing that people love more than a football star who loves Jesus, his country, and his mama.” A mischievous smile tugged on Liam’s mouth. “Wait, I just remembered. There is something that people love more. That’s a football star who loves Jesus, the USA, his mama, and Miss Texas.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, it’s looking like a very romantic evening.”

…

Spencer yelled down the hallway. Nora was back in a flash with the details. “The reigning Miss Texas is Kaylee Finley. She’s a twenty-two year old graduate of Sam Houston State, communications major, has aspirations to be a news anchor.”

“Don’t they all,” Spencer sighed. “Call your pageant contacts; we need her coach now.”

Spencer dialed her phone and a familiar voice answered, “This is Roberta. What do you have for me, Ms. Hightower?”

An hour later, Kenny Rogers started singing on Spencer’s phone. “How the hell did you give Miss Texas appendicitis?” Liam growled when Spencer answered the phone.

“Really? Huh. That’s so sad. I heard she was getting something contagious. Like the West African Mosquito Measles.”

“Troy had a nice dinner set up with a beautiful woman, and you ruined it. That wasn’t nice.”

“I think they call it cock-blocking,” Spencer said seriously. “It sounds lethal. I hope Troy recovers soon.”

Liam just laughed softly in response, and Spencer was glad that he was taking this so well. She took the opportunity to clarify a few more things for him.

“Just so you know, I own this town. I own the PR people, I own the reporters. I own the people who deliver pizzas, and I own the people who mow the yards. You got your three days of prayer and community service, because I’m a big fan of those myself. But if you want anything else, it’s going to go through me.”

There was a screech from the direction of the conference room that distracted her when Liam said, “Good to know you won’t cock-block charity works and church-going.”

Someone was yelling her name. Nora. Spencer hustled down the hall, keeping the phone between her cheek and shoulder. She still had to put Mr. Liam Connelly in his place.

“One, there’s something wrong with that statement. Two.” Spencer smirked. “Honey, you could have Troy photographed helping paraplegic blind nuns, I don’t care. Have all the charitable works you want. It’s not stopping this train.”

Spencer found Nora with a bowl of microwave macaroni and cheese standing in front of the TV. “I was hungry,” Nora explained, on the defensive. “I thought I’d see… But then… I see him! Look!” She pointed at the local broadcast. Troy Duncan’s handsome, earnest face was filling the screen. The camera panned back and showed a litter of kittens climbing all over him, and Ashley Cadence—the platinum blonde, pixie-faced sweetheart of country music, beloved by sixteen year old girls (and their moms) across America who adored her innocent lyrics and her outspoken vow of chastity. Spencer turned up the volume. “…While Mr. Duncan and Miss Cadence are just friends, Troy sure looks happy to be volunteering for Ashley’s favorite stray animal charity.”

“Watching Channel Ten?” Liam asked.

Spencer made a few attempts at speech. “How? You! Fucking kittens?”

Nora gasped in shock. Then there was that uber-annoying chuckle on the other end of the line. “You really think I’d set him up with Miss Texas? With her slutty reputation?”

“You…” Spencer searched for just the right name to call him.

Nora made a face and glanced back at the news, now covering a city council meeting. “It makes sense, given their PR strategy. You know, the whole virginity thing.”

Liam’s voice was friendly. “Spencer, here’s one thing I’ll teach you about football. Trick plays. You gotta know how to fake out the other side, sweetheart.”

She stood there, fuming about all that energy she’d put into bribing Miss Texas with a temporary gig at the television station while Liam was faking her out.

Liam’s voice came over the phone again. “What was that you were saying? About owning this town? Tell me more about that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t. Call me. Sweetheart,” was all she could say before hanging up on the only Kenny Rogers-loving jerk who could cock-block her.