Seduced by the Playboy

“Oh, but there is. Ask your coach. Ask your teammates. Hell, ask the fans.”

“I didn’t come down here to get batting tips from a reporter with no conscience,” he said, folding his arms. “I came to issue a warning. Go on the air and apologize, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Angela jeered, cutting him off. “Hurl a beer bottle at me like you did to that poor college kid in Newark? Or get one of your flunkies to rough me up?”

His nostrils flared, and the corners of his lips curled into a scowl. Demetri stepped forward, and when Angela jumped back, she bumped into one of the towering black light stands. A sharp pain stabbed her leg, but it was the menacing gleam in her adversary’s eyes that made her knees quiver.

“I’m not going to touch you, Ms. Kelly.” Demetri’s voice was calm, but his tone was colder than ice. “But if you don’t go on the air and apologize, I’ll sue you, your boss and this damn station.”

Chapter 2

Angela felt a cold chill snake down her back. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she discreetly dried her damp palms along the side of her fitted Chanel shorts. Since part one of her series aired two weeks ago, she’d received scores of hate mail. Several athletes had taken to Twitter to express their anger, but no one had shown up at the station threatening litigation—until now. It wasn’t the first time Angela had ruffled someone’s feathers, and usually she wouldn’t give a threat a second thought. But the way Demetri was staring at her, with his head cocked and his eyes narrowed, made her stomach coil into a suffocating knot.

“So, what’s it going to be?” Arms folded, he tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. “Are you going to issue that apology, or are we going to have to hash this thing out in court?”

Angela swallowed hard. Demetri sounded serious, looked serious, too, but she didn’t believe him. Not for a second. He was too busy getting into bar fights, throwing wild parties at his Chicago mansion and drag racing in his Maybach to show up in court.

“You’re not going to win this, so you might as well give up now.”

“Get out,” she snapped, pointing at the studio door. “And don’t come back!”

“I’ll leave, as soon as I get that apology.”

Angela glowered but said nothing. What could she say? “Leave or I’ll call security”? The baseball star was trespassing, but the security guards weren’t going to throw a future hall-of-famer off the property.

“I don’t want to play hardball with you, Ms. Kelly, but you leave me no choice. Your report was biased and unfounded. Not to mention full of outright lies.”

When Demetri took another step forward, infringing upon her personal space, she imagined herself smacking the broad grin off his face. But instead of acting on her impulse, Angela faked a smile. It was time to try a different approach because arguing with Demetri Morretti was getting her nowhere. “I’ll give some thought to what you said, and someone from the station will contact you by the end of the week. Okay?”

Demetri clapped his hands. “Well done, Ms. Kelly. Nicely played. For a second there, I actually believed you were a rational human being.”

“Well, at least I’m not a—”

Angela felt a hand on her shoulder and broke off speaking. She turned to her right, and groaned inwardly when she saw her producer, standing beside her, wearing a concerned expression. And worse, everyone in the studio, from the voluptuous makeup artist to the bearded engineer, was now staring at her, with wide eyes and open mouths. How much had her colleagues heard? And why were all of the men in the studio shooting evil daggers at her?

“Welcome to WJN-TV, Mr. Morretti. I’m Salem Velasquez, one of the head producers.”

Wearing a tight smile, he nodded and shook the hand she offered.

“If you have a few moments, I’d love to speak to you in private.”

“Great. The quicker we resolve this issue the better.”

“Please follow me. My office is right this way.” Salem motioned to the studio door, and Demetri fell in step beside her.

Angela stayed put. She didn’t want any part of this meeting, and she had better things to do than listen to Demetri Morretti whine about her report. Anxious to return to her office, she turned around and stalked off in the opposite direction. She needed to vent, and her best friend, Simone, was the perfect person to talk to.

“Angela!”

Angela stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart was hammering in her chest. The sharpness of Salem’s tone and the booming sound of her voice made Angela break out in a nervous sweat.

Glancing over her shoulder confirmed her worst fears. Now her boss and the surly baseball star were glaring at her. The air in the studio was suffocating, so thick with tension, Angela felt as if she was going to faint. And the way Demetri was staring at her—all serious and intense—made her skin prickle with goose bumps.

“You will be joining us.”

“Oh, of course,” Angela lied, nodding her head. “I was just going to...to...to...”

“Whatever it is can wait. Get in my office. Now.”

I’d rather ride a unicycle naked down the Magnificent Mile, she thought, dragging herself across the studio and past her gawking coworkers.

* * *

“Please, Mr. Morretti, have a seat,” Salem said, gesturing to one of the padded chairs in front of her large oak desk. “Make yourself comfortable.”

The small, cramped office was overrun with bookshelves, knickknacks, and the scent of cinnamon was so heavy in the air, Angela’s stomach grumbled. It had been hours since she had breakfast, but the thought of eating made her feel queasy. So did the way her boss was smiling at Demetri Morretti. He was the enemy, a man bent on destroying her, and if Salem didn’t toughen up and quit making eyes at him, they’d both be out of a job.

“Thanks, but I’d rather stand.”

“Very well.” Salem sat down in her leather swivel chair and clasped her hands together. “I understand that you’re upset about Ms. Kelly’s Athletes Behaving Badly piece, but I stand behind the story and what was reported. All of our stories are vigorously researched, and we pride ourselves on double-checking every fact and every report.”

“No one from your station contacted me or my team.”

“I assure you, Mr. Morretti, my assistant phoned your publicist for a statement.”

He crossed his arms. “I would like you to provide the name of the person who called and the time and date the call was placed.”

Nodding, Salem picked up her pen and made a note on one of the open file folders on her desk. “That’s not a problem. I can forward the information to you later today.”

Angela raised her eyebrows but didn’t speak. She stood at the back of the room, beside the door, and watched the exchange between Salem and Demetri with growing interest. Maybe her boss was going to come through for her after all. Salem’s eyes were glued to Demetri’s lips, but she sounded confident and looked in control.

“There are two sides to every story, but your report only focused on one side. The side filled with lies. As a result, my character and integrity have been compromised.”

What integrity? Angela thought, clamping her lips together to trap a curse inside. You’re a hothead who can’t control his temper! She thought back over every second of her argument with Demetri. And when she got to the point where her boss showed up, Angela decided that was the most humiliating moment of her life. She’d been reprimanded in front of her crew, then ordered into her boss’s office to speak to the enemy. Even more troubling, Salem was being nice to him. A little too nice. Her body was angled toward him, and she hadn’t stopped smiling since they entered the office. If Angela didn’t know better, she’d think Salem had a crush on Demetri, because the only time she’d ever seen her boss this happy was when she received her annual Christmas bonus.

“If your assistant had contacted me, I would have been here.”

“Really?” A quizzical look covered Salem’s face. “But it’s been widely reported in the media that you don’t do interviews.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

Angela wanted to gag. Demetri was lying and making it look easy. He hadn’t done an on-camera interview in years, and according to reports, his publicist had to preapprove the questions. The baseball star was a recluse, a man who liked to be alone, who kept to himself. Except when he was getting into bar fights or humiliating waiters and service staff.

Angela looked him over, slowly. Demetri Morretti was a man of great presence, with more natural charisma than an A-list actor. That was probably why people overlooked his bad behavior and made excuses for him. But Angela wasn’t one of his crazed fans or easily seduced by ridiculously rich athletes. She decided right then and there that she wasn’t going to let Demetri Morretti disrespect her again.

“You seem like a very nice lady, Mrs. Velasquez,” Demetri began smoothly, favoring her with a smile that warmed his entire face, “and I don’t want to sue you, but if Ms. Kelly doesn’t apologize publicly for slandering my name, I will.”

Silence filled the air and stretched on for several long minutes.

“I have an idea.” Salem’s voice was filled with excitement and she practically bounced up and down on her chair. “Why don’t you come on Eye on Chicago and do an exclusive sit-down interview with Ms. Kelly this month?”

No, no, no! Angela wanted to scream out in protest, but shot evil daggers at Demetri instead. He was bad news, someone she had to stay far, far away from. He was a rich, cocksure athlete who thought he could push her around, and she had absolutely no desire to have him on her show. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not ever.

“No, thank you. I’m not interested.”

“What if we gave you the questions beforehand? You and your team could even add a few of your own. We never do that, but I’m willing to make an exception for you, Mr. Morretti.”

“No way!” Angela hollered, the words bursting out of her mouth. “He shouldn’t get preferential treatment just because he’s a—”

Salem’s eyes thinned. In an instant, Angela’s jaw locked and her tongue seized up.

“I don’t trust reporters.” Demetri cast a glance at the back of the room. “Not even the ones who look sweet and innocent. They’re the worst kind.”

Angela ignored the dig. Sticks and stones, Morretti. Sticks and stones. There was nothing the surly baseball player could say to hurt her. Life was good. Great. For the first time ever, her show was on top of the ratings, and next weekend she was covering the grand opening of Dolce Vita.

The posh three-story lounge was the first of its kind in Chicago, and Angela had been looking forward to the event for weeks. Because of her busy schedule, Angela hadn’t hung out with her girlfriends in weeks. And since they would be in attendance at the star-studded launch, she was excited about catching up with them and eating some award-winning Italian food.

“If you’ll both excuse me,” Angela said, gripping the door handle. “I really have to go.”

Salem shook her head, and Angela dropped the door handle as if it were a roasted stone. Her boss spoke to Demetri in a soft, soothing voice, but her eyes were glued to Angela. “I want to hear your side of the story, and I bet America does, too.”

“I know I don’t,” Angela grumbled. Her colleagues would probably jump at the chance to interview Demetri Morretti but the thought of interviewing him, under the bright studio lights, made Angela feel queasy. The camera captured everything—every pause, every nervous glance, every awkward movement—and she feared her nerves would get the best of her and she’d drown on live TV. Add to that the fact that she had to worry about keeping Demetri and his ego in check. Angela didn’t like him, didn’t trust him and had a feeling he was up to no good. He’d embarrassed her once in front of her crew, and there was no doubt in her mind he’d do it again. What if he outsmarts me on my show? she thought, swallowing hard. What if he makes me look like a fool on national television?

“This would be your opportunity to finally set the record straight,” Salem continued. “And imagine what the press could do for you, your team and your charity foundation. It’s a win-win situation for everyone involved, and...”

Angela tuned her boss out. Catching sight of her reflection in the wall mirror, she straightened her shoulders and cleaned the scowl off her face. There was nothing she could do about the hatred in her heart, though. Angela was fuming, her pulse pounding violently in her ears.

Her gaze bounced around the room and landed on Demetri. It was easy to see why fans disliked him. Charming one minute, acerbic the next. Former coaches, rivals and the media criticized him for his conduct on and off the field, and after having the misfortune of meeting Demetri for herself, Angela believed the criticism was due. She only wished he wasn’t so good-looking. He gave her chills—the ones that started in her toes and shot straight to her core—and it was impossible to ignore his raw masculine energy. Everything about him was a turn-on.

“I’ll give it some thought.” Demetri took his sunglasses out of his back pocket and slid them on. “My publicist will be in touch.”

“That sounds great, Mr. Morretti. I look forward to hearing from her.”

“Thanks for your time, Mrs. Velasquez. Have a nice day.” Demetri nodded, then turned and strode out of the small, cramped office.

“Angela, I know you’re upset because I ordered you into my office, but I had no choice,” Salem said, her facial features touched with concern. “You were losing control.”

“Of course I was! Demetri Morretti is a complete jerk!” Gesturing to the door, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, she raged, “Who the hell does he think he is?”

Salem picked up the latest copy of People magazine off her desk and held it in the air. “The sexiest man alive, that’s who!”

“I wonder who he had to bribe to get on the cover.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, Demetri’s a jerk, and in my opinion there’s nothing sexy about him.”

Salem snatched her phone off the cradle and started dialing.

“Who are you calling?” Angela asked, frowning.

“My optometrist.” She was wearing a straight face, but her tone was rich with humor. “I’m booking you an emergency appointment.”

“Why? My eyes are fine.”

“No, they’re not.” A smirk lit her glossy, pink lips. “There’s definitely something wrong with your vision and your hormones because Demetri Morretti is the finest man on the planet!”

Chapter 3

The moment Demetri entered MVP Sports Bar & Grill and smelled fresh garlic wafting out of the open kitchen, his mouth began to water. Located a half block from Skyline Field, the sports bar was insanely popular among young and college-aged sports fans. Every time Demetri stopped inside the restaurant bar, the staff gave him a hero’s welcome.

“Demetri, my man, so good to see you!” The manager, a portly man with a double chin, grabbed his hand and gave it a hearty squeeze. “How are you doing?”

“Good, Mr. De Rossi. How’s the family?”

“My sons are growing up fast and getting in all sorts of trouble.” Chuckling, he bent down and pointed at his receding hairline. “The kids are the reason I’m losing my hair, and the little I have left is turning gray!”

Demetri laughed heartily. The fellow reminded him of his dad, right down to his wrinkle-free pants, buffed leather shoes and thick Italian accent. Shooting the breeze with the jovial bar manager always put Demetri in a good mood. And after the tongue-lashing he’d received from Angela Kelly at the station, he needed something to laugh about.

“I just put your calzone in the stove,” he said, patting Demetri on the shoulder and steering him toward the dining room. “I’ll bring it out as soon as it’s ready.”

“Thanks, sir. I appreciate it.”

Spotting his staff sitting in one of the cushy, padded booths, Demetri acknowledged them with a nod of his head. Nichola Caruso, his savvy, no-nonsense publicist and personal assistant, waved, but his manager and agent were too busy on their cell phones to notice he’d arrived. Every Friday, he met with his team at MVP Sports Bar & Grill, and because Nichola rented out the entire restaurant, they could eat and talk in peace. Demetri didn’t have to worry about paparazzi snapping pictures of him with barbecue sauce on his face or crazed fans hitting him up for autographs or cash. “If it’s not too much trouble, can I have a basket or two of bruschetta?” Demetri patted his stomach. “I’m starving, and I bet the guys finished what was on the table.”

“No problem. I’ll whip up a fresh batch for you.”

Demetri thanked him again and strode into the lounge. Dark wood paneling, vintage sports memorabilia and plush burgundy couches created a sophisticated decor. The tall, oversize windows provided a tranquil view of downtown Chicago and plenty of warm sunshine. It was the perfect weather for gardening or reading out on the deck, and as soon as Demetri finished his meeting, that was exactly what he was going to do.

“Sorry I’m late, but the I-94 was backed up for miles,” Demetri said, taking off his hoodie and chucking it inside the booth. Sitting down, he snatched a menu off of the table and flipped it open. “Did you guys order already?”

His agent, Todd Nicholas, answered with a nod of his head. Buff, with blue eyes and tanned skin, he looked like the quintessential all-American boy. “I have a meeting across town in an hour, but I couldn’t leave here without having Chef Sal’s delicious lasagna. I’ve been craving it all week.”

Demetri stared longingly at the barbecue chicken wings and licked his lips.

“Want some?” Nichola picked up the basket and offered it to him. “Go ahead, Demetri. They’re all yours.”

“Are you sure? I know how much you love Sal’s wings.”

“I’m sure. I shouldn’t be cheating on my diet anyway.”

Demetri plucked a wing out of the basket and took a big bite. “Thanks, Nichola. I can always count on you to give me just what I need.”

“Just make sure you remember that when my birthday rolls around in August!” she said, swiveling her neck. “I want shopping money and Porsche Cayenne in pink just like Mariah Carey!”

Demetri released a hearty chuckle. Small and petite, with a short, funky haircut, Nichola looked more like a high school student than a Princeton graduate. A friend of his family for years, he’d hired her as a favor to his father, Arturo, and in the twelve years Nichola had been working for him, he’d never once regretted his decision.

“You’re moving a lot better today.” Nichola wore a concerned expression on her face, but her tone was upbeat and bright. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Not bad. It’s only been a couple weeks since the surgery, but my surgeon and physiotherapist are pleased with my progress.”

“Is that where you were this morning? At your doctor’s office?”

Demetri glanced to his right. His manager, Lloyd Kesler, may have needed a haircut, and an extreme fashion makeover, but when it came to negotiating deals, he was the best in the business. “No, I’ve been around. Just maxin’ and relaxin’.”

“Around, huh? Doing what?”

“You know, this and that.” Demetri continued eating the barbecue chicken wings. They were onto him. He was sure of it. He couldn’t do anything without this terrible threesome finding out, but he wasn’t going to let anyone make him feel guilty for confronting Angela Kelly. The television newscaster had it coming to her. Or at least that was what he told himself when guilt tormented his conscience.

“Why are you giving me the third degree for being a couple minutes late?” Demetri said, choosing to stare at the mounted flat-screen TV instead of at his chubby, high-strung business manager. “I said I was sorry, man, so let it go. It’s no big deal.”

Nichola and Todd exchanged a worried glance, one he’d seen a million times over the years they’d all been working together, but it was Lloyd who spoke.

“You disregarded my advice and went down to WJN-TV station, didn’t you?”

Demetri shrugged. “So, what if I did?”

“I told you I would handle it.”

“You were taking too long,” he said, shrugging his shoulders once more.

Nichola pointed a finger at him. “You went down to the TV station dressed like that?”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Nothing if you’re a street sweeper!” she quipped, laughing. “Why didn’t you wear a suit? You look gorgeous in Armani, and you have the entire fall collection in your closet. I should know. I hung everything up when it arrived last week.”

Demetri opened his mouth but quickly closed it. His team wouldn’t understand. Every time he left the house, he felt as if there were a giant bull’s-eye on his back, but with sunglasses, a baseball cap and workout gear on, no one recognized him. He could go about his business without pushy fans or sports reporters breathing down his neck. “To be honest, I didn’t think much about what I put on,” he lied.

“Well, you certainly fooled me.” Todd snickered as he draped an arm along the back of the oversize booth. “I didn’t recognize you when you walked in, and I’ve been your agent for more than a decade!”

“I didn’t even know you owned sweatpants.” Nichola’s short strawberry-blond curls bounced all over her head as she laughed. “I thought you were a delivery guy!”

Good—my disguise worked, Demetri thought.

“I’m scared to even ask what happened down at the studio.”

Lloyd looked stiff, like a statue in a wax museum. His eyes were narrowed so thin, Demetri couldn’t see his pupils.

“What did Ms. Kelly say when you confronted her?”

A picture of the titillating newscaster flashed in Demetri’s mind, and despite himself, a grin tickled his lips. “What didn’t she say? The woman reamed me out, and at one point things got so heated, I thought she was going to give me a Chi-Town beat down!”

Todd chuckled and then said, “I really wish you hadn’t gone over there, Demetri. You’re supposed to be focusing on rehab and restoring the strength in your shoulder, not...”

Demetri’s eyes wandered in the direction of the open kitchen. He spotted the waitress sashaying toward him, bread basket in hand, and licked his lips in hungry anticipation. When their eyes met, she stumbled and her legs buckled out from underneath her, sending the bread basket into the air. Dozens of buttered rolls shot across the shiny tiled floor.

Everyone at the table laughed, except Demetri.

“Are you okay?” Demetri slid out of the booth, clasped the waitress’s forearm and slowly helped her to her feet. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

“No, no, I’m okay...just really embarrassed.”

“Here,” he said, bending down. “Let me help you clean up.”

Demetri gathered the discarded rolls, tossed them into the wicker basket and handed it back to her. “Be careful. These floors are slick,” he warned, offering a reassuring smile. “I almost fell flat on my face the last time I was here!”

“I—I—I am so sorry, Mr. Morretti. It’s my first day on the job, and I wasn’t expecting to see you seated there.”

“Baseball players have to eat, too, you know.”

The redhead giggled. “Sorry again. I’ll be right back with your order, Mr. Morretti.”

“Call me Demetri. And good luck with the new job.”

Smiling from ear to ear, she dashed back through the dining area and into the open kitchen.

“Don’t forget the rolls!” Todd hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth. “And hurry up, tootsie! We don’t have all day.”

“Relax, man. She’s new.”

“Finish telling us about what happened at the station,” Lloyd demanded, leaning forward in his seat. “I hope you kept your cool, because the last thing you need is any more bad press.”

“Oh, I was as cool as an alley cat. Can’t say the same for Ms. Kelly, though.”

Nichola glanced up from her salad bowl. “You let her ream you out?”

“I let her rant and rave for a few minutes, and then I said my piece.”