On the Move (5 page)

“You,” he said again, trying hard to keep from smiling. She looked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

“You’re out of your mind,” she said.

“Come on, Vicky,” he said softly, lifting a hand to her face and touching her cheek. She had really soft skin. “How much is it worth for me to behave?”

“You’re insane,” she said, stepping back so fast she almost fell off the edge of the sidewalk. “You can joke around all you want, but in about thirty seconds, Mr. Knight is going to walk out of that conference room—if he hasn’t already—and something tells me that if that happens, then you can expect a summons from his attorneys shortly thereafter.”

“I’m not kidding,” Brandon said, although he really was, but he was also curious about what she’d say next.

“Of course you are. That’s what you do.” She rolled her eyes. “You say whatever outrageous thing that comes to mind. It doesn’t matter if you actually believe it or not, just as long as you shock the people you’re talking to. I’ve watched your media clips, the ones you sent Scott when you asked him to rep you. If an interview isn’t going your way, or if a reporter has pissed you off, then you always say something outrageous. It catches them off guard, maybe stirs the media pot. I was shocked at how many times something you’ve said made front-page news. I almost think that’s why you do it. One way to get your sponsors some attention.”

How the hell did she know that?

“You did that the first time you drove for KEM, too. You went into the driver’s meeting and insulted everyone in the room. That stirred up a hornet’s nest. I couldn’t believe the number of bloggers who posted something about it. Your friends in the media were pretty vocal about it, too.”

“Yeah, so?”

“But it’s not just a way of getting attention. It’s a defense mechanism, too. Whenever you don’t like what someone’s done to you, or said to you, you lash out.” Suddenly her face softened. She even slid off her black frames, her green eyes an incredible shade when they weren’t shielded by glass. “You’re going to ruin your career.”

“You think so?”

She nodded again. “Look, Brandon. Back at the office I saw something you should know about. A legal brief, one written by SSI’s attorneys. Apparently Scott asked them to look into the possibility of filing a civil suit against you should you breach your contract with KEM.”

“What?” he asked, shock making him forget for a moment that she really did look adorable.

“It’s actually a clever idea,” she said. “Leave it to my boss to think it through. The legal department thought it a good idea, too. They told him that based on the contract you signed with SSI, specifically the indemnity clause you agreed to, they felt it
might
be possible to bring suit against you for the unearned money you would have brought SSI if you hadn’t breached the contract. Granted, SSI would have to file a lawsuit and then actually
win
the case, but if they were successful, you’d end up owing our firm a potential million dollars or so, and you’d probably set a precedence for other athletes who blow it and indirectly screw their agents. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before.”

“You’re kidding,” he asked again, feeling sweat trickle down the back of his neck, and not because it was warm outside.

“Unfortunately, I’m not. Anyone can file a civil suit, I just don’t think a sports agent has ever sued a client before. It’s unheard of, but not impossible.”

“Why that no good, money-hungry, piece of—”

“Wait, Brandon,” she said, clutching his hand. “Don’t let it get that far. Listen to what I’m saying. Toe the line. You won’t regret it if you do.”

She held his gaze with an intensity that made it impossible to look way. Beneath the shade of the tree they stood underneath she looked worried. And concerned. She still held his hand, too, her fingers clutching his own now. Hell, it almost appeared as if she actually cared.

Yeah. She cares…she wants the money you’ll earn her if she keeps you in line—just like her boss.

“Why do you work for such a putz?” he asked.

She leaned away, dropped her hand and he was sorry for that, he admitted. He liked her touch.

“Because it’s my job,” she said, her left hand fidgeting with the glasses she held. “Working for Scott pays the rent. I’ll find another job with a different sports agency once I gain more experience.” She frowned. “I probably shouldn’t be admitting that to you, either.”

But he was glad she did. Not many people were that honest with him. In fact, he could hardly think of a single person.

Sad, Burke. Really sad.

“All right,” he said, turning away.

“Wait,” she said, rushing to get in step with him, heels clattering on the concrete. “Are you saying you’ll behave?”

He stopped, looking down at her. She hadn’t replaced her glasses and out from beneath the shade of the oak tree, he noticed that her eyes were a true green—not muddied by brown or blue—but an intensely flawless emerald color that was striking.

“Oh, I’ll behave,” he found himself saying. “Some of the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” he said, his mood suddenly improving. “You’ll see.”

But contrary to her fears that his “some of the time” meant he’d hassle Mr. Knight when they got back inside, Brandon managed to do a credible job of apologizing. Still, her shoulders were as taut as a stretched rubber band up until the moment Mr. Knight turned the meeting over to Brandon’s new public-relations manager, Flora Parsons. The gray-haired woman’s addition to their meeting had been a surprise. Vicky reasoned out later that Mr. Knight had refrained from introducing the elderly Ms. Parsons until he’d been certain Brandon could be brought to heel.

“It’ll be Ms. Parsons’s duty to assist you at the racetrack,” Mr. Knight said. “She’ll be your liaison with members of the press.” He glanced at Brandon, narrowed his eyes and said, “You know the drill.”

Brandon apparently did because he nodded. But Vicky had to wonder, were all PR reps this old? Flora Parsons had to be pushing seventy. She reminded Vicky of the woman who used to run her high-school library. Maybe it was the bagel-shaped bun on the back of her head. Or the pinched mouth. Or maybe it was the frumpy ruffled shirt peeking out from beneath a somewhat older brown suit. Or maybe, Vicky suddenly realized, it was the don’t-mess-with-me eyes. The look had been trained on Brandon from the moment the two met.

“Nice to meet you,” Brandon said, reaching across the table and shaking her hand.

That’s the ticket, Brandon,
Vicky thought, nodding her approval.

“I suppose we’ll see if it’ll be a pleasure to work with
you,
” Ms. Parsons volleyed back and Vicky was tempted to let the woman borrow her glasses. That frown she gave Brandon would have been much more effective had she been peering over a pair of spectacles.

“Well, I suppose so,” Brandon echoed. He gave the woman a smile that Vicky felt certain was meant to charm the lady, but it didn’t.

This, Vicky decided, might turn out to be interesting.

“I’ve never had a PR rep that looked…” It was obvious Brandon searched for words that would flatter the woman. Equally obvious was that he couldn’t seem to locate any. Vicky almost laughed.

“Old,” Mrs. Parsons finished with a tight smile.

“I was going to say
seasoned,
” Brandon said with another grin.

“Mrs. Parsons has been with Knight Enterprises for nearly thirty years,” Mr. Knight said. “She’s been head of publicity for years. You should consider yourself fortunate that she agreed to take you on as a…” Now it was Mr. Knight’s turn to search for words. “Special project. You couldn’t ask for a better media liaison.”

“I see,” Brandon said.

Two seconds later, the meeting drew to a close. Brandon was given his schedule for the next week and Vicky noticed he was due to race that weekend which meant she’d be attending her first NASCAR event.

“I expect to see you at the track on Friday,” Mr. Knight said, looking no less stern than he had at the beginning of the meeting.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Brandon said, giving his boss a mock salute that caused Mr. Knight and Ms. Parsons’s eyes to narrow.

“Come on,” Vicky said, grabbing Brandon’s arm before he could say another word. “Thank you, Mr. Knight, Ms. Parsons, for your time.” She marched her client out of the room like a mother with an unruly child.

“Well,” Brandon said after they’d left the room. “That went well, don’t you think?”

“Um, yeah,” Vicky muttered, letting go of his arm. “After you settled down.” He had really warm skin. It made her fingers tingle.

“Can you believe the uptight biddy they hired as my PR rep?” he said with a glance back at the conference room.

“Something tells me that ‘uptight biddy’ will be good for you.”

“Yeah, but she sure doesn’t look like any PR rep I’ve ever seen before.” He shivered theatrically.

Yeah, well, here was further proof that Mr. Knight was a smart man. She wondered if Brandon had a reputation for trying to seduce the women he worked with. That would explain his “sexy voice” remark to her earlier and his “I want you” comment. Obviously, it was impossible for the man to look at a woman—any woman—and not think of sex. Ergo: Ms. Parsons.

“Look, Brandon,” she said. “I’d really like to go over some things before the race this weekend. And we should probably finish reviewing your entire contract, since it appears as if you didn’t read it. Also, I’d like to go over how you want our relationship to work.”

They’d crossed the courtyard and reached Brandon’s fancy car, the red paint nearly blinding her it was so bright outside. “I’ll be moving down here temporarily,” she added. “And so I’d like to know what you expect of me. In turn, I’d like to give you a list of what I expect of
you.
”

“I told you what I expect of you,” he said, his car chirping as he pressed the unlock button.

“And what was that?”

“Sex.”

“Very funny,” she said. It was really strange because for a second or two she’d actually felt a little bit hurt that he was back to teasing her again.

“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m serious.”

“And that’s first on my list of things
I
expect from
you.
I’m not going to tolerate being the butt of your jokes anymore, so stop playing with me.”

He crossed around the front of his car. “Honey,” he drawled, “when I’m playing with you, you’ll know it.”

How did he do it? How did he make her cheeks erupt like barbecue briquettes? She might vow to stop lusting after him, but lord help her, it was damn hard when she came face-to-face with his potent male charms.

“Quit,” she said, turning back to his car. Brandon was the last person she should allow under her skin. He was the type of man who’d take what he wanted and then leave. And she’d had enough of that in her life already, thank you very much. “I’d like to get back to the hotel, if you don’t mind. I have a couple of apartments I’m supposed to look at this afternoon.”

“Vicky,” he said, somehow inserting himself between her and the vehicle. “Look at me.”

She told herself not to. She really did. Nothing good could come from looking up at him. Already her cheeks were radiating like the roof of the car. Only that heat had started to spread to other areas, too. It was a crying shame—not to mention vastly unfair—that she was so attracted to the man.

“Honestly, Vicky,” he said softly. “You’re selling yourself short every time you think I’m not interested in you.”

Her gaze shot to his. When their eyes met, Vicky felt as if she’d jumped off a horse at full gallop.

“Besides,” he murmured, his hand reaching up to stroke her cheek. “You don’t need to find an apartment.”

“No?” she asked, heart pounding. “Why not?”

“Because,” he said with a smile that should grace the cover of a magazine, “you’re moving in with me.”

“In you go,” he said with his perky charm.

She didn’t want to “go” anywhere. She wanted to go back inside KEM, maybe find herself an air-conditioning duct, one she could stand in front of to cool her face.

Man, she wished he’d quit messing with her. “Thanks,” she said, mouth dry.

When he opened his own door and slid inside, she expected him to continue the conversation, but instead he said, “Hey, you mind if we run an errand on our way back to town?”

Mind? Of course she minded. All she wanted to do was get away from him fast. To forget about how nice it’d been to have his palm cup her face.

“No,” she choked out. “Of course not.”

“Great,” he said, leaning toward her and resting a palm on her thigh.

She flicked it off.

“Oops, sorry,” he said. “There I go invading your box again, huh?”

She could tell that he wasn’t sorry at all. She looked out the window, struggled with a way to bring up the subject of her supposed “moving in” with him, but in the end she chickened out. Besides, he’d obviously been pulling her leg. He was inhaling something other than exhaust if he thought they’d ever live together.

“I’m
not
moving in with you.”

He flashed her a grin that echoed the twinkle in his eyes. “I know,” he said. “I was just pulling your leg. Although I
do
have nanny quarters.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling like a fool for buying into his joke.

She should have known it was all a jest. “Where are we going, by the way?” she forced herself to say.

They’d pulled out of the parking lot, tall trees blocking the sun. Vicky pretended an interest in their surroundings, but in fact, it was all she could do not to scoot to the farthest edge of her seat.

“I want to go look at some homes.”

“To build?” she immediately asked.

“Something like that,” he murmured.

She didn’t like the idea of going sightseeing with him
at all.
What if he pulled off the road? Tried to kiss her? Maybe attempted to prove to her that he really did want her?

You’ve been inhaling more than exhaust fumes, too,
a little voice said. Relax, Vicky. It’s not as if he’s going to force himself on you.

She knew that. She just didn’t like the thought of being alone with him any longer than necessary.

“Um, what kind of house are you going to build?” she asked, more to distract herself than anything else.

“You’ll see,” he said noncommittally.

And that was it. That was the extent of their conversation. He never touched her again. Never said another word, and Vicky found herself feeling—all right, she could admit it—disappointed. She liked him flirting with her.

And you, Vicky, have lost your mind.

They arrived at their destination less than fifteen minutes later, although it was not where Vicky expected. She’d assumed they’d drive though North Carolina’s countryside, perhaps pull over and study some of the area’s more palatial mansions. Instead, they had driven into Cousin Larry’s Modular Home Sales and Repair.

“You want a
mobile home?
” she asked in shock, staring out the front windshield at row after row of manufactured buildings.

“Actually,” he said, pulling into a parking lot that bordered the busy road they’d just pulled off of, “I do.”

When he slipped out, Vicky wondered if she should just stay in the car. That’s what she wanted to do. But Brandon came around and opened her door for her, so Vicky was left with no choice but to slip into humid, North Carolina air.

“This won’t take long,” he said, having to raise his voice over the sound of the cars that zoomed along the busy road.

“Brandon,” someone boomed. Vicky turned and immediately realized this must be the “Cousin Larry” mentioned on the sign. “Glad you could make it,” he said, clapping Brandon on the back as if they were old friends.

“Me, too,” Brandon said. “Larry, this is my agent, Vicky VanCleef.”

“An agent, huh?” Larry said, his blue eyes sweeping her up and down. “I didn’t know agents could be so pretty.”

“So what have you got for me?” Brandon said.

“Well,” Larry said. “I think we have several designs that would suit your needs. Down at the end there’s a few three-bedroom models that would work well. You could put bunk beds in each room and sleep six at a time. Or double up and sleep twelve. That’s the siding I was talking about,” Larry said, pointing toward a logcabinlike home that loomed three feet off the ground. “Really looks like wood, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Brandon agreed.

“Slap that puppy down on some of your acreage and it’ll look just like the label of a syrup bottle. Go on,” he said. “Look around. They’re all open. A few of them even have furniture. Let me knows which models you like and I’ll work up a price.”

“Okay, thanks,” Brandon said. “I will.”

“You really want a modular home?” Vicky said the moment they were out of earshot.

“What if I do?” Brandon asked, amusement clearly tingeing his voice.

“Nothing. I mean, there’s not a thing wrong with modular homes, but I would have thought someone with money would want to—you know—build something custom.”

“Mr. Burke,” Larry called. “I almost forgot. I’ll give you however many homes you need at just above cost if you make sure Cousin Larry’s is mentioned in all your print advertisements and whatnot.”

As many homes as he needed? What was Brandon building? A compound? Vicky wondered.

“That’s great, Larry. I’m sure we can work with that.”

“And I just wanted to say that I think it’s a real great idea. Children today, they need all the help they can get. A boys’ ranch is just what this area needs.”

“Well, thanks, Larry. I think so, too.”

Vicky stared up at Brandon in shock. He glanced down at her. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go check these things out.”

He didn’t give her time to respond, and in all honesty, Vicky didn’t know what to say, anyway. She was left standing there, staring after him, her mind reeling in surprise.

Brandon Burke wasn’t such a tough guy after all. In fact, she admitted with a growing sense of dismay, he might just have a heart.