Romancing the Running Back (21 page)

“There’s no club. But if there was, I’d give you both passwords.” She smiled a little at the comparison. “I married a man three years ago in Atlanta. Two years ago, I left him, and I’ve been fighting for the divorce ever since.” With a deep breath, she shared with them the explanation she’d given Josiah, leaving out very little. Aileen was a reporter, but she knew the woman wouldn’t run out and report on piddly information like this. Cassie trusted the other woman with her own private life, which Cassie had learned to keep guarded after the media shitstorm with her father and stepmother in the last year or
so. If Cassie could trust Aileen, then Anya had to believe she could, too.

“So,” she finished her tale of marital woe, taking her first deep breath of the day, “I haven’t felt married for a long time. It’s not even in the back of my mind anymore. But then this happened with Josiah, so unexpectedly, and I wasn’t sure how to stop it—or if I wanted to stop it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Cassie said, a tear rolling down her cheek. “If I’d know, I wouldn’t have thrown you two together.”

“You didn’t know,” Anya reminded her, “and you were doing what you thought was best . . . even if it was nosy and totally not your business.”

Cassie’s smile wobbled, as if she couldn’t quite believe that.

Mags sat forward. “What do you need us to do?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the instant support. “Just asking helps. Nothing, really. I simply felt like—no, I knew it was time to be honest about it. And as Aileen was kind enough to share with Josiah, the story of my marriage not being quite over yet could still get out. I can’t ask you to lie,” she added to Aileen, who was still quiet, “as that’s unfair to you. You’re stuck in the middle here.”

Cassie snorted even as she wiped at the corners of her eyes. “That’s nothing new for her.”

“Got that right.” Aileen rubbed her hands together for a moment. “I’ll think of something. I’m not doing the story,” she told Anya, “but I can’t promise he won’t have someone else do it. It might be better to get out in front of it. Maybe do a short interview where you—”

“No, I’d rather not.” The idea made her a little sick to her stomach, and she rubbed at the ache. “Not that I don’t trust you, it’s just I’d rather not invite trouble. For right now, I’m basically a nobody.”

“That’s changing,” Cassie reminded her softly.

“But maybe not before I can finalize the paperwork.” She paused, then asked Aileen, “Josiah didn’t mention how you knew about my marriage. Were you just looking into my background?”

“Nope. I don’t do background checks on someone just for fun. I don’t have time for that.” Aileen grinned. “I’ve got other things to do . . . namely Killian.”

Mags groaned and covered her eyes.

“But my boss got a tip from an anonymous source, emailed from what we can assume is a burner account. Just saying that you were still married and they should do a quick fact check before we started hailing you as a hero for your charity work. That you were cheating on your husband, essentially.”

“Chad,” she muttered. “I thought the phone calls and intentionally dragging his feet through the divorce were low. But this? He’s actually jeopardizing my chances to run a nonprofit organization?”

“That takes a certain kind of gross human,” Mags said, grimacing.

“He is,” both Cassie and Anya said together.

“Maybe it was him, or someone connected to him. Odds are, it was someone who doesn’t want you to succeed. Watch
your back,” Aileen warned. “That’s all I can say.”

“Thanks for having it,” Anya said sincerely. “You guys are great.”

“Hey, most people don’t know what it’s like to deal with this kind of stuff. It isn’t front-page news every time their boyfriend goes grocery shopping.” Aileen rolled her eyes. “I really need a new job.”

Josiah sat in his hotel room, having what he guessed was a nearly identical chat with his own friends about Anya’s impending divorce.

Matt sat back against the side of the bed and whistled low. “That rat bastard.”

“Asshole” was Michael Lambert’s succinct observation.

Trey said nothing, nor did Stephen. Killian gave him a sympathetic smile, but also stayed mum.

“Someone’s leaking information about her to the press. So far, it’s just to a Bobcats-centric blog, but that might change. I can’t imagine there’s anyone besides her scummy ex who would want to hurt her. She swears there’s no enemies in her past, no coworkers that would have it out for her or anything. I gotta believe it’s true. So I’ve got my agent helping me out, finding the nastiest attorney in the area to take him out at the knees . . . within the law, of course.”

“Good.” Trey’s fists clenched in his lap. “I hope you get to kick his ’nads out from under him . . . within the law, of course.”

Stephen’s face looked like it could have been carved out of stone for all the more it had moved since he sat down and started listening. His body almost vibrated with anger, but he didn’t say a word.

“Where does this leave you guys?” When Josiah sent him a dark look, Matt held up his hands. “Hey, not because I wanna step in, chill out. Just asking, from an academic standpoint. You’re not, like, breaking up with her, are you?”

“No.” He rubbed a hand over his face, dislodging his ball cap. He set it beside him on the bed, remembering her cute lectures about hats indoors. His hotel room hardly seemed to fit the parameters of her rule, but he kept it off. “I can’t walk away. I love her.”

Michael looked slightly nauseated by the idea. But the rest of his teammates, Matt included, nodded along.

“I just need to get us over this hump as fast as possible. No dirty jokes, Matt.”

Matt closed his already-open mouth.

“And in the meantime, if one of you catches wind of anything, or gets questioned, you stick to the party line we discussed. Please.”

They all nodded. None of them wanted to see Anya hurt, emotionally, and would have no problem playing a part in helping her end her divorce faster. The way Josiah figured it, if “Tiny Dick”—his secret, if not mature, nickname for her ex—wanted to drag his feet and make life for Anya difficult, he’d just turn the tables and make it difficult right back on him. Maybe feeling a little bit of the public censure would sweeten his resolve to finish the divorce proceedings amicably.

“Coach is gonna shit a brick,” Michael said softly after a few moments of silence. “With you dating a married woman and all.” He flushed and looked around at his friends. “Not that you’re actually dating a . . . you guys know what I mean. It’s not gonna look good.”

No, it wasn’t. But a united front would serve as a good step in the right direction. “I’m not saying anything to them. If they ask, I won’t lie. But my personal life isn’t up for debate with them. That’s not what I signed up for when I signed my contract.”

Trey looked skeptical. Stephen looked downright amused.

Josiah’s phone rang, and he checked it. Unknown Santa Fe number. He silenced it. A moment later, the same number texted him.

It’s Anya.

He grinned. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast.” He stood and let them out, diving for his phone to call her back the second he was alone. “Hey, you.”

“Hey. I got a new phone.”

Not surprising. He’d had his agent set it up with the phone company so when she went in, the phone would be waiting for her. “I’m glad you went in and got one. Feels better to have a private number again, huh?”

“Since I still have to answer the other one, it’s not as glorious as I’d hoped. But on the plus side . . .” She sighed. “I can turn that one off after business hours. This one will work just fine. But Josiah . . . you really didn’t need to upgrade me to a phone like this. It’s too much.”

Hardly. He hadn’t even gone with the absolute best model available, because he knew she would recognize that and immediately reject the offer. He’d hedged his bets and gone with a slightly older model, but still better than the one she currently had.

“It makes me feel better knowing you’ve got a good phone that will work with your online business. Please, just keep it.”

She grunted, and he decided to take that for acceptance. “Your Santa Fe number looks good.”

“Feels odd. I’ve never not had an ATL number,” she said quietly. “Is this another step toward living here permanently?”

God, he hoped so. “It’s another step,” he said, reassuring. “I need to get some sleep. I love you.”

“Mmm.” He imagined her humming it while relaxing in her bed. Preferably naked. Maybe thinking some naughty thoughts for him. “I love you, too.”

He hung up the phone smiling.

*   *   *

With the team traveling, Anya had vowed to meet Cassie for lunch every afternoon. They were both missing their men, and Cassie missed her father, to boot. As a distraction, Anya brought a surprise for her friend. A list of honeymoon destinations, good for March and April, that included a great deal of privacy.

Approaching the main desk, Anya gave Kristen a warm smile. “Hey, Kristen. Love the jacket.”

Kristen fiddled with the wide lapel, a distracted look on her face. “Cynthia’s, of course. You’re both my savior and my
worst enemy for telling me about that place. I’m over there way too often now.”

“Word is you’ve been passing around the name like wildfire.”

“Hey, when you find a place like that . . . you have to share the wealth.” Kristen gave her a small smile and shrugged. “Are you here for Cassie?”

“Lunch,” Anya confirmed. “Did she mention if we were ordering in?”

“No . . .” Kristen shifted her eyes toward the other woman who manned the second desk, then crooked a finger for Anya to lean closer. “Have you been online this morning?”

Anya shrugged. “Not really, other than to check my email when I got up. I’ve been doing some phone calls and stuff. What’s up?”

Kristen took another glance around, then turned her monitor so it faced Anya. Anya still had to lean way over the desk, grateful she’d worn wide-legged trousers for today’s lunch date. “What . . . okay, that’s the photo of me and Josiah from the fund-raiser. Is this an old blog?”

“Not old,” Kristen corrected. “Just rerunning the photo.”

“Okay, what . . . oh. Oh . . .” Anya sighed, and her stomach plummeted as she saw the headline. “That’s not good.”

“No,” Kristen agreed, “it’s not. Is it true?”

“Am I married and involved in a love triangle?” Anya grimaced. “I’m in the process of finalizing my divorce. There’s no triangle. Josiah and I are together, full stop.”

Kristen reached out and put one hand over Anya’s on the desk. “I believe you. I just have to warn you though . . .” Kristen looked back at the screen, then at Anya. “The word’s out. Even though it’s not true, it sounds sensational enough to be spread on sites that have nothing better to talk about. Just know that.”

“Thanks.” Anya walked through the double doors, past the two security guards standing sentry—was it her imagination, or were they judging her? Then she worked her way back toward the Nerd Herd office.

Just as she rounded a turn, she bumped into someone. “Oh! Oh my gosh, I’m sorry.”

The man—early to mid-thirties, slick suit, slender build, and didn’t strike her as an athlete—took a step back and surveyed her. “Not a problem, happens on this corner all the time.” He gave her a smile that showed a few too many teeth, then it dimmed a bit. “I know you.”

She smiled, trying to keep the mood upbeat. If she acted like nothing was wrong, people would take her at her word. “I’m a friend of Cassie’s, so maybe you’ve seen me around the office. Just meeting her for lunch. Really sorry about the collision.”

“No, you’re Anya . . . something.” He held out a hand and she took it on instinct to shake. “Simon Poehler. Let’s talk.”

“Oh, uh . . .” She shook hands, glancing around. “I’m actually in a hurry to meet Cassie, so—hey.” She tried to tug her hand from his grip, but he held firm. “What the heck do you think you’re doing? Let go.”

He pulled her into what looked like a conference room and shut the door. She jerked away, gripping her purse tightly
and wondering if she had anything in there she could clock him with. You just didn’t
grab
someone that way, in broad daylight, in a business office. Whoever this guy thought he was, he was way out of line. She didn’t work here, and he had no right.

“Move away from the door,” she said in her firmest voice. “Move now, or I’ll scream.”

“No, you won’t. Because you aren’t going to cause yet another scene.” The man—Simon—rubbed at his forehead. “How is it these guys find a woman and immediately their common sense flees the scene?”

“I . . . who are you?” she asked furiously. “Who do you think you are, talking about me like that?”

“Simon Poehler,” he snapped, as if he was pissed he had to repeat it and she should have already known. “Public relations for the Bobcats organization.”

Oh. Oh, shit. Here was a guy who had the power to twist words with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel, and she’d yelled at him. “Look, I’m sorry, but you grabbed me and I wasn’t expecting it, and you pulled me into a room and—”

“Forget it. What I want to know is if you’re truly still married, or if we can throw our lawyers at the blog to get them to retract, apologize, and cut this shit off at the knees.”

This was getting old. “I’m in the process of getting a divorce,” she said through her teeth.

In his dark suit, with his slicked-back, dark hair and nearly black eyes, he was hard to look at. Too much somberness all rolled into one hard-edged package. He prowled in front of the door, looking like a large jungle cat in a zoo. “That means yes, you’re still married. Because
of course
you are. What’s a season with the ’Cats without a little scandal? What’s wrong with having a nice, normal season where the biggest train wrecks involve two linemen hitting each other on the forty-yard line?”

“Excuse me,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’d like to leave now.”

“No.”

No?
“I don’t work here. You can’t hold me hostage.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and started to scroll for Cassie’s phone number. He plucked it from her hands and held it away like an adult taking a toy away from a toddler. “Hey! What the hell?”

“I did my research on you, Anastasia Fisher. You ran away from your husband and moved here to shack up with a football star. You care more about buying pretty clothes than about people, and you have no soul.”

Her jaw dropped, and her hands started to shake. Swallowing back tears, she asked, “How . . . how could you . . . say that? That’s not t-t-true.”

His smile was as slick as his suit. “Maybe not, but if I were your
husband’s
attorney, that’s exactly how I’d spin it. It might inspire you to pay out cash to make the divorce go away faster. Or it might just hurt you, period. Someone wants you to feel the pain, Ms. Fisher. They sent an anonymous email to our home offices—though just to a generic contact email, not to anyone specific. That tells me they don’t know us, and likely aren’t local. They also contacted a few Bobcats-focused fan sites and blogs, but small potatoes. My guess is they couldn’t figure out how to get ahold of anyone major—yet—so they
settled for the small time, hoping the fire would catch. Sound like anyone you know?”

“My ex,” she muttered. “Maybe. I haven’t seen him face-to-face in nearly a year.”

Simon eyed her, as if trying to decide based solely on her appearance if she were telling the truth. “You’ve lived within a twenty-mile radius of each other for years. Or at least, at your last known address, in Atlanta.”

“Atlanta’s big. We had no reason to see each other, except for the rare court appearance when he actually showed up. My marriage was over two years ago, and that dickhead is dragging out the divorce simply to torture me.” She lifted her chin, fighting to hold back more tears. “Is that personal enough for you, Mr. Poehler?”

He watched her, then nodded once, decisively. “That’ll do. Take care, Ms. Fisher,” he warned as he held out her cell phone. “Josiah Walker is going to receive blowback from this. Your new nonprofit will also receive blowback. Think about the ramifications of your actions. People are vicious.”

“People should mind their own business,” she snapped, snatching the phone from his hands.

“People would, except for how you handled this. You didn’t move to Idaho, meet a completely unknown potato farmer, and decide to live in sin and have twelve babies with him while working as a receptionist at some dental office. You moved to Santa Fe, and started dating a Bobcats player, and a well-known, well-loved one, at that. You started a charity and solicited donations from movers and shakers in our community, receiving national attention thanks to your association with the Bobcats organization.” He lifted a brow when she clenched her fists. “I would be careful, if I were you, who you get angry with in this scenario.” With that, he opened the door and made a lavish gesture for her to precede him through the opening.

She didn’t look at him before speeding off down the hall toward Cassie’s office. She veered off when she found a bathroom, ducking in to check her makeup and give herself a moment to recover.

That had been unexpected. Unpleasant. Unwanted.

Deserved?

Was she screwing things up for Josiah? God . . . for the nonprofit? What if . . .

She gripped her stomach at the thought. What if her stupid lack of a signed divorce paper meant she had to shut down the charity? Schools could see her as someone they wouldn’t want around their students, or parents could rebel. Donations could dry up.

Josiah could get in trouble.

She knew Coach Jordan was already shooting for a scandal-free season. Would Josiah be held accountable for her bad choices?

When her phone buzzed with a text from Cassie asking where she was, she’d expected Anya half an hour ago, she wiped once more under her lashes to get rid of the last remaining mascara smudges. Cassie deserved her friendship, not her problems. She’d think it through, and then run it by Cass.