yeah,” Mike said. “You want to. It’s good stuff. Exactly what we need for this negotiation. Read it. Like it. Thank God for it after that Ohio piece. Give me more stuff like this and you’ll lock up that contract in no time.”
Brad threw off the blankets and grabbed a robe before heading toward his front door. Though it didn’t sound as if the news was about his arm, he wouldn’t be calm until he knew for sure.
Brad prodded for more information, hoping to ease his nerves. “What exactly did it say?”
“The Tribune did an exposé titled, Undressing the Rays and you were the feature. Brad Rogers stripped down to a good guy who loves his mom. Man, oh man. It couldn’t get better than this if I had bribed the reporter.” Brad could hear Mike rustling papers. “Now we need that record. Ready to rock the world tonight?”
“Not tonight. Friday night. And I was born ready. You know that.” But even as Brad said the words, he knew he wasn’t ready. Already his arm hurt and he’d just woken up.
“That’s what I want to hear,” Mike said, approval lifting his voice. “Bring me three shutouts in a row. That’ll go a long way in negotiations.”
“Right.” Brad yanked open the front door and grabbed both morning papers. “Good press. Great pitching. No problem.” Hopefully his arm agreed with that declaration.
After a quick goodbye, Brad kicked the front door shut and headed for the kitchen. He sat at the table and read the piece Amanda had written about him, breathing easier with each line.
No mention of his arm.
With one worry behind him, his mind switched gears. This article gave Brad the perfect opportunity to make his move on Amanda, to open the door to more intimate communication. He considered his options, a variety of rather tantalizing plays to launch his campaign to victory flashing in his mind. Soon Becker would know who ruled this show. And who was man enough to make Amanda moan.
ON TUESDAY MORNING, the day of her column’s debut, Amanda whipped her piece-of-junk rental car into a parking spot outside the Tribune with only minutes to spare. How she’d managed to snag a rental that seemed on the verge of a breakdown was beyond her. The last thing she needed was to be late for work only a few days into her new job. Of course, it might not matter. She could very well be fired after writing such a daring story.
She’d hit the Send button on her computer the night before, delivering her story to her boss just in time to meet her deadline. Afterward, Amanda had stared at her inbox waiting to hear his feedback. It never came.
This morning, having slept through her alarm, Amanda had been forced to dress in a frantic rush, leaving her no time to find a newspaper. For all she knew, some Associated Press filler had taken her story’s place.
Shoving aside self-doubt, Amanda walked toward the building, running her palm down the slim-fitting black dress she wore, hoping she didn’t appear wrinkled. She knew she was fidgeting so she wouldn’t focus on the nerves making her chest tight and her stomach flutter.
She’d done the right thing, she told herself. Considering the short window of opportunity she’d been given to succeed, she had to make a splash, and fast. Adopting the Nike motto of Just Do It had worked in the pool. It could work here, too.
Amanda walked through the newsroom, turning heads and instigating hushed whispers as she passed. Great. Everyone but her knew she was getting fired. She let out a relieved sigh at the sight of her boss’s closed door. She preferred seeing the paper before she faced Kevin.
But all her fears and concerns disappeared as Amanda stepped inside her tiny corner cubicle and spotted the front page of the sports section laid on her keyboard. She picked it up and stared down at story center page. Her story.
Undressing the Los Angeles Rays. Beneath the racy headline, she saw her name. Beneath that, the words staff writer. A smile touched Amanda’s lips. She wasn’t a flunky anymore and, damn, it felt good.
“Whatcha think, sugar plum?”
Reggie appeared in the opening of her little space. “I think I’m a ball of nerves,” she told him, examining the rows of thumbnail pictures on either side of her story. “And you’re my hero.” She’d asked him to dig up photos that showed Brad on and off the field, and he’d come through. “I can’t believe what great shots you found.”
He flashed her a bright white smile. “That’s what a wingman is for.”
“So…what did you think about the story?” she asked, anxious to hear but afraid to at the same time. So much so, she continued talking before he could respond. “I went for a dual audience. Draw in the men with the facts. Entice the women with the real man and a promise of lots more to come.”
“Stop already,” Reggie said, leaning on the wall. “You scored big-time. You’ve got just enough sports to keep it real, but you’ve got that edgy, speculative quality that sells papers.”
She bit her bottom lip. “So as a guy, you’d still read it? You weren’t turned off by the real man stuff.”
He shook his head. “Actually, as a guy, I loved the part about Brad’s lucky necklace. It made him seem human. Besides, men are all about superstition when it comes to our sports. It’s something a guy could relate to.”
Before Amanda could comment, Kevin appeared, resting his arms on the top of her partition walls. The shininess of her boss’s bald head did nothing to detract from the scowl on his face—the one he’d worn in her interview that she would have sworn meant he hated her.
“My phone is ringing off the hook,” he declared, his tone clipped and rough.
Amanda and Reggie exchanged a concerned look. “About?” she prodded because Kevin seemed to expect her to ask the obvious.
“Some of the players are worried about your promise to expose the real men.”
Reggie made a sound. “Then they must have something to hide. Sounds like news to me.”
Kevin didn’t say anything. He stared at her, ignoring Reggie. Amanda’s heart settled in her chest and proceeded to beat so loudly she was quite certain the entire building could hear. “Right. I—”
Kevin cut her off. “The papers are flying off the racks.” Then, to her shock, he smiled. Almost. His lips sort of lifted on the sides a bit. She doubted the man ever full-out smiled. “You need to ease up a little. I printed the story, so obviously, I thought it worked. Every newspaperman worth a grain of salt knows sex and scandal sells. Good work.”
Amanda blinked, taken aback and thrilled by the compliment. “I, uh, well, thank you.”
“Speaking of ‘Undressing the Rays,’ there’s a rumor of steroid usage on the team. Jack’s working the story.”
Steroids? That was the kind of story that ruffled feathers. The kind of story one treaded lightly around. The wrong information could ruin careers. “Do I get to know your source?”
“No.” His tone was clipped. “I’ve been around a long time. I’ve earned my contacts. You haven’t yet. All you need to concern yourself with is getting this story before Jack. Understand?”
Her
