Player's Challenge (16 page)

The fact he’d signed onto their firm to solely get into her pants hadn’t blindsided her. From recruiting her mother to the constant teasing, the writing had always been on the wall. But his utter lack of respect for her expertise felt like a sucker punch. Gemma gripped the steering wheel, practically strangling it. The self-centered bastard hadn’t cared if she could do her job or not because he’d still enlisted his former agent to look over her work.

Bring…bring!

Breathing heavily, Gemma peeked at her cell. If it was Devin, he could jump off a short pier. Her eyes narrowed. Why was her boss calling her? Gemma grimaced. She was probably calling about her cell phone and laptop. Like her company credit card, they’d been perks of the job.

“Hey kiddo, this is Yvonne.”

Confused by the cheery tone, Gemma frowned. “One of is having a good day?”

“Far from it. My husband just handed my ass to me on a silver platter. I hate being called a hypocrite, so I wanted…scratch that I need to offer you your job back.”

Gemma blinked. For the first time in her life, she didn’t get excited by an offer of employment. Still, she had a student loan and a mortgage to consider. “I’ll come back but only under one condition.”

“Name your price, but it better not be keys to a new Jaguar.”

“I can’t work with Devin anymore.”

“That ship’s already sailed?” Yvonne’s tone was filled with disbelief.

“More like shipwrecked.”

“I see.” There was a long silence on the other end, and then Yvonne finally said, “I’ll fold him into my roster.”

Gemma inhaled, then let it go as tears threatened her vision. “Thank you for giving me my job back.”

“No,
thank you
. You just saved me from my husband’s infamous silent treatment and a couple of miserable nights on the couch.”

“Maybe I deserve keys to a Jaguar.”

“Don’t try your luck.”

***

“Come to join the dog pound?”

Hands shoved in his pockets, Devin shot Reginald Clarke a sheepish grin.

Gemma’s father opened the door wider. “Gladys is in the kitchen. She just pulled some scones out of the oven, so you two can console each other over tea.”

The only thing he’d left out was ‘like two old biddies’, Devin mused as he inched past the former Royal Navy officer. In tip-top form, even seven years into his retirement, Reginald could wipe the floor with him.

Devin couldn’t fault him if he did. What he’d done was inexcusable and completely selfish. And he was paying for it. He hadn’t heard from Gemma in a week. At his wits in, he’d decided misery loved company.

“I see you haven’t heard from her.”

Crestfallen, Devin shuffled over to the kitchen banquette and sat down. Overlooking the back garden, this was his favorite place in the entire house. “She hasn’t answered any of my calls, and she turned away two bouquets. What about you, any luck?”

Teapot in one hand, a plate of strawberry scones in the other, Gladys took the seat across from him. The crabapple red vinyl burped as she poured them each a cup of hot water.

“She’s called.” Gladys plucked two packets of Earl Grey tea from a bamboo box containing several varieties.

Heart racing, Devin sat forward. “What’d she say?”

“She talked to her father for quite some time.” Gladys suddenly took an undue interest in her tea service.

“And?”

She slid him a tea cup along with a saucer of scones. “Sworn to secrecy.”

Hopes dashed, Devin sat back with a scone. Ever since Gemma walked out on him, he’d eaten anything that wasn’t nailed down. Right now, faced with this bit of news, he could probably eat an entire bakery. “I think I might not recover from this.”

“A little melodramatic don’t you think?” Gladys plopped a tea bag in his cup.

“The damage might be irreparable this time.” Devin glanced at the tea service. “Where’s the clotted cream?” He never ate his scone naked.

“What happened?” Gladys asked as she got up to retrieve the cream and jam. “Verbatim and no sugar coating.”

“Nothing much happened,” Devin hedged. “Grayson and I were having a pint or two…while he poured over my contract.”

Gladys sat back down slowly. “The contract Gemma fought tooth and nail over?”

Devin shifted in his seat. “Grayson would only cosign into my bit of devilment if I agreed to allow him a look at any and all deals. You know, to make sure I wasn’t getting stiffed.” Said aloud, Devin immediately realized what he’d done. “You have to understand,” he implored, attempting to convince her and himself of no wrong doing, “Grayson’s like a father to me. I trust him with my life.”

“And Gemma?”

“I see.” Mind devising a solution to his troubles, Devin ran his finger along his jaw.

“Do you?” Chuckling, Gladys slathered her scone with jam and clotted cream. Her eyes, so much like Gemma’s twinkled with a knowing look.

“Start with an apology?”

“If you only want to be passing acquaintances.” She paused to bite into her cake. “But don’t you fear, love, my door is always open.”

He adored Gladys but he wasn’t settling for a consolation prize. “More than an apology to a woman who won’t return my calls.” Devin shoved his entire scone into his mouth. “I’m bloody screwed,” he muttered.

“Pretty much.”

Gemma thumbed through a stack of linen button downs in search of an extra-large. The sun was shining, birds were singing and it felt good to concentrate on something other than Devin.

“Any luck?” Stu asked.

Bare-chested, he stood half in, half out of The Bespoke Male’s dressing room. The rugby player had been the first person she’d called when she left Devin’s. They’d been joined at the hip ever since. Stu not only provided a shoulder to cry on, he was her cheerleader as well. He also talked her from the ledge, even going so far as to delete Devin’s constant text messages. And if it weren’t for him and his so-called need for her eye for fashion, she would be at home wearing flannel, eating a tub of black walnut ice cream and watching old episodes of “Coronation Street”.

Beaming, Gemma pulled a periwinkle dress shirt from the pile. The color would offset Stu’s gray eyes to perfection. She held the garment up like a prize trophy, and caught a movement in the mirror.

Standing directly behind her, Devin looked great in a green, lightweight jumper and jeans. He stepped closer and she got a whiff of his cologne. The familiar scent affected her libido like flipping the light switch. A shiver ran through her body and try as she might, she couldn’t help wanting to be alone with him, to talk to him, and ask him how he’d been holding up since she’d left.

Stu intervened before she caved.

“What the fuk are you doin’ here, mun?” Stu growled.

Gemma placed her hands on Stu’s chest to calm him down. “This isn’t the place for a showdown,” she said, reminding him they were in a public place.

“Listen to her, Stu, before you find yourself flat on your arse.”

Stu pressed against her hands so hard, Gemma had to dig in her heels. “Shut up,” she glared at Devin, “You’re only making this worse.”

Stu’s lips curled into a sneer. “Why are you here? I knew you were off yer rocker for that stupid shite you cooked up, but I never took you for a stalker.”

Flesh connected with bone. Stu stumbled backward into a folding table, knocking it on end. He wobbled, tried to regain his balance, but fell to his knees. In top shape, he recovered quickly. Fists clenched, he rolled into a crouching position, ready to pounce.

Gemma shook her head at him. “Don’t Stu. Be the better man.” She glared up at Devin. “Get out of here,” she demanded. “You…you…maniac.”

Devin opened and balled his hands as if warring with himself. After what seemed like an eternity, he retreated.

***

“You should have let me at ’im,” Stu growled. He sat on her living room sofa, a soggy bag of semi-frozen English peas pressed against his black eye. “I could’ve taken that lightweight pancake catcher wit ease.”

Gemma took the vegetables from his hand and replaced it with a bag of ice. “When did fourteen stone become lightweight?”

“Tah me he is. I beat him by almost three stone.”

“So that’s why he got the jump on you.”

“You got jokes,” Stu grumbled.

“Your eye’s going to swell, if you don’t hold it right.” Gemma adjusted his hand. “I’m just giving you a hard time, mate. I know you could have laid him low and I appreciate the chivalry. But it’s over now, so don’t go looking to retaliate. Remember you’re on probation.”

Despite everything, Gemma didn’t want to see Devin hurt any more than Stu. To dispel some of the tension, she picked up the remote. “How about EastEnders?”

“Oi! I luv me some Honey Mitchell,” he said, twisting his big frame to and fro’, settling himself deeper into the couch cushions.

Gemma smiled. Like all her clients, she knew Stu’s likes and dislikes. “Who knew a big mun like you loved the soaps.”

“I’m a sookah for drama.”

And a master at creating it. The black box wrapped around his ankle wasn’t decoration. A precautionary measure, the monitor kept him in line until his court date and five hundred feet away from his ex-wife, their home and her current boyfriend.

Gemma checked the time. “We have a few minutes to burn. Mind suffering through the evening news?”

“I’m no wanker oblivious to tha world ’round him,” blustered the rugby player who once endorsed an Ecuadorian coffee company notorious for using child labor.

“And that’s why I love you, such a Renaissance man.” Gemma powered on the flat screen.

“I like their other set,” Stu sniffed. “This one’s too techy.”

“We’re sure our audiences have been sitting on their hands all evening,” Peter Feenty, BBC1’s evening anchor, said. “Now to Tori Bennett for sports.”

“Hold onto your seats Edmonton fans, goal keeper Devin Spencer has refused the Club’s offer, and is still on the open market.”

Incredulous, Stu dropped his ice pack in his lap. “Lover boy passed up thirty million?” He swiveled toward her, hair slightly askew and looking like a hybrid raccoon. “How can you be in love wit sooch an idiot?”

Gemma answered Stu’s question by slamming the ice pack back over his eye. Cell phone in hand, she bounded from the couch and didn’t stop until she was on the garden patio.

Yvonne answered on the second ring. “Thank your lucky stars your number’s programmed into my contact list. You’d think the sky has fallen and I’m the fox.”

Gemma ignored her boss’s perpetual reference to fairy tales, chalking it up to an odd quirk of motherhood. “I’m not sure if I should scream or vomit. What happened?”

“He didn’t want to go to Edmonton. Even worse, he won’t enter negotiations without you handling the deal.”

Gemma’s stomach dropped. “You told him he’s no longer on my roster?”

“Told him, yelled, screamed at the top of my lungs, he won’t budge.”

“The transfer window closes on Friday.”

“Aware of that. You’re going to have to whip the terms out of your ass.”

Already running the numbers, Gemma started to pace, “He’s really put me in a bind—”

“—with your hands tied behind your back—”

“—by refusing Edmonton’s deal, Croydon or any other club for that matter doesn’t have to match the offer—”

“—they’re going to play dirty, even low ball you—”

“I’m in.” Gemma didn’t even second guess her decision. She thrived on a challenge. And since she’d memorized his wish list, she didn’t need to see or even talk to Devin to conduct business.

“One more thing. Before you reach out to any other clubs, Devin wants to meet with you.”

“Let me guess, to iron out the terms?” The bloody bastard wouldn’t give up! “That’s not going to happen. I remember his terms.”

“Throw them out. He wants to start fresh.” The play of words hadn’t been lost on Yvonne either because her rueful laughter drifted through the receiver.

“I saw him today.”

“What…wait…where?”

“While I was out shopping with Stu. He egged Devin on, they got into it and he bested him.”

“Whoa! The underwear model got the better of the dump truck?”

“Stu’s sitting on my couch right now, nursing a black eye.”

“I’m dropping him. I run a sports management firm not an escort service slash fight club.” Yvonne made a shuddering sound. “I don’t know about you, but I feel used and manipulated.”

“Join the club,” Gemma muttered. “The night I left him, I sat in the shower for an hour.”

“I’m about to propose something absolutely crazy, but hear me out.”

“You’re my boss, you pay me to listen.”

Yvonne chuckled. “As your boss, I suggest we teach Mr. Tighty Whities a lesson.”

Gemma perked up. “I’m all ears.”

“Do you think you can close this deal?”

This was not the cold plate of revenge Gemma was expecting. “Inking a multimillion dollar deal doesn’t seem like a lesson,” she demurred.

“Have you ever heard of a cock blocker?”

Accustomed to her boss’s lack of a filter, Gemma didn’t even blink. “I’m slightly familiar with the term.”

“Well call me, C.B. from here on out because Devin is going to hate me by the time he inks his deal. Anytime you two meet, I’ll be the third wheel, a buffer against any of his shenanigans. He gets to see what he wants, but can’t have. He’ll be a multi-million euro man with blue balls. You’ll save face and walk away with twelve percent of his earnings.”

Gemma’s eyes widened. Her boss had sweetened her proposition with an increase to her normal commission. Somewhat on board, she aired her doubts, “I appreciate the raise, but I’m not sure if I can stomach working with him long term.”

“No worries. We’ll front load his contract. After a year in, I’ll drop him. What do you say?Are you in?”

For once she wanted to get the best of him, have the last laugh. Yvonne’s plan looked great on paper, but so did the Iraq war and look how that ended up.

“After all your hard work do you really want to hand your commission over to someone else?”

“This could end up being a bad ass moment of epic proportions or a hot mess.”

“Either way, you need to go find your big girl panties because you’re going to need them.”

***

In the best mood he’d been in for weeks, whistling a merry tune, Devin chucked his car keys to the parking attendant.

“I’ll take good care of her, Mr. Spencer.”

Devin didn’t give a whit if the car hop completely totaled the Panamera. In a few moments, he would be reunited with the only thing he cared about, the only thing that mattered—Gemma. Impatient and eager to have her in his arms again, he walked into 30 St Mary Axe, better known as The Gherkin because it resembled a pickled cucumber.

Practically walking on sunshine, Devin swept through a set of revolving doors into the building’s all-white lobby. A slick, high-tech exterior skin of clear glazed panels contributed to the abundance of sunshine. Sleek and ultra-modern with sweeping lines, the rotunda was devoid of internal walls or columns.

“Oi! Spencer?”

Devin hesitated. Unsure if it was a media ambush or a sole heckler, his eyes roamed the lobby seeking out the source. One of the two receptionists, her red hair tightly wound into a topknot, waved at him.

“Staying at Croydon, lovie?”

“You’ll be the first to know,” he hedged like a practiced pro. The media was everywhere so it always paid to have one’s representation make the official announcement. A slip of the tongue or comment taken out of context could break down negotiations faster than getting booted from the World Cup. With a wave, he made a beeline to the bank of elevators.

Thankfully, the ride up was a solo endeavor. Hard to play coy in a steel box with nowhere to go. From experience, Devin always scheduled his appointments at ten thirty. This guaranteed he’d beat the lunch crowd and that black hole called the evening commute. Also, since the time fell so early in the work day, he’d be the first item agenda on most people’s calendars. A natural born competitor, he loathed coming in second.

Eyes trained on the cab’s brushed aluminum doors, he suddenly second guessed his choice of wardrobe. Aspiring to put his best foot forward, but not wanting to give the impression he was trying too hard, he’d opted for a pair of black trousers and a white button down rolled up at the sleeves. What he’d assumed would be classic…safe, now felt boring.

Devin shook his head. As if anyone in their right mind would buy the BS he was pushing. To think he’d almost tucked his tail between his legs, and retreated for another eight years. Instead, he’d presented an ultimatum which retained Top Flight as his representative and kept him in arm’s length of Gemma.