her phone, she made her way downstairs and started the coffee brewing. Next to the machine were three gigantic boxes of boutique chocolates courtesy of Nate Broder, her obnoxious ex. She hated throwing them out. That would be just so wasteful. Maybe she’d give them to her cleaning lady again. The woman had an unquenchable sweet tooth.
She was just filling her mug from her single-serve coffeemaker in the kitchen when she heard the staccato beat of drums that signaled an incoming call. Leaving her mug to finish filling, she grabbed her cell from the counter where she’d set it down, taking a moment to check the caller identification first. Nate. Crap. Didn’t this guy ever give up?
For a while he had stopped calling. She’d figured since she’d been deleting all his calls without answering them, calls that used to come in two or three times a day, he’d gotten the message. But yet, here he was again. What the hell? Maybe it was time to state the message a little more clearly.
“I asked you nicely not to call me anymore,” she opened with. “You took me at my word for a while. The situation hasn’t changed. Not a bit.”
Nate’s irritating chuckle floated over the connection. “Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”
Tyler gritted her teeth. “Listen to me, and please try to pay attention. I thought you’d gotten the message. We’re done, Nate. Finished. I don’t want to talk to you, text with you, have lunch with you… Nothing. We are finished. Don’t call me again. I mean it.”
He was silent for a moment. “Tyler,” he said at last in his all too familiar drawl. “I was just checking to see—”
“See what? Nothing about my life concerns you anymore. I thought we had that taken care of.” She resisted the urge to slam her fist on the counter. “Anyway, just so you know, I’m changing my number. Again.”
“I don’t know why we can’t at least be friends.” His voice had that oily, egotistical sound that she hated. “Maybe have lunch together once in a while. Enough time has passed I thought we could at least be friendly acquaintances. We did enjoy each other’s company.”
“I think only one of us had any enjoyment.” Tyler looked at the phone and frowned. “How did you get this number, anyway? I just changed it again.”
He laughed again. “I’m an attorney with connections. I can get anything I want.”
“Except for me. You can’t get me. We aren’t friends. We aren’t anything. Now go away and don’t call again.”
She pressed the End button with more force than necessary. They’d each had a reason for getting into the marriage, neither of which had anything to do with love. It was the one time she’d tried to do anything to make herself respectable in her father’s eyes. A last-ditch effort for a man who made it all too obvious he despised her lifestyle. Nate had thought it would give him a seat at the right hand of her father.
That hadn’t worked for either of them. Before three months were up, she’d known what a mistake it was and kicked him to the curb. For a while the persistent messages he left in her voice mail were rich with anger. Then began the deluge of flowers and candy and texts, a good indication that he wasn’t about to give up.
She was still holding the phone when it chimed again. This time it was Chad Sinclair, media relations director for the Hawks. Another big effing pest.
“What is it, Chad?” She didn’t need to ask him how he got the number. She was meticulous about leaving it with her father’s secretary every time she changed it. She didn’t need the ten tons of shit that came down when she didn’t, although she had no idea why he even cared.
“No hello? Or, hi, Chad?” His voice was nearly as smooth as Nate’s and irritated her just as much. She really hated the occasions when she had to spend time with him.
“I’m really busy. What do you want?”
“Okay. Okay.” He dialed it back. “Just wanted to remind you of the event this Saturday night at the Conquistador Club.”
She wrinkled her forehead. “This Saturday?”
“Yes. The big fundraiser for athletic scholarships. The Hawks are big benefactors.”
“Oh, yeah, another command appearance.” An obligation forced on her by her father—if she wanted to keep the money in her trust fund flowing.
But he never left the choice of escort up to her, probably thinking she’d bring someone from her skanky nightlife. So Chad got the nod and made sure she got to each and every one. Maybe she’d once hoped if she continued to attend, her father would see a different side of her, see she wanted to please him and maybe even…like her.
But it hadn’t made even the tiniest dent in the situation. She’d finally got the message nothing she did would change things with her father, but couldn’t seem to stop herself.
Did he think that by forcing her to attend these, she’d begin to bond with the Hawks? She hated the effing football team. She saw it as the child that had usurped all her father’s affections.
“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Chad told her.
“Fine.”
“So, I wondered if you’d like to have lunch with me today?”
This was only about the fiftieth time he’d asked her. She had no interest in spending time with him beyond what she had to.
“Thanks, but I already have plans.” Or she would as soon as she made them.
“You know,” he said, in what she assumed was his most seductive tone. “I’m really a nice guy if you’d get to know me outside of our obligatory dates.”
“I’m sure you are. I’m just not interested. See you Saturday.”
She clicked off and finally managed to get her mug from the coffee machine.
Chad was always the perfect escort, dancing attention, even after she started drinking too much, often making a real fool of herself. A few times when he brought her home, he’d actually had to half carry her into the house and up the stairs. She always had enough wits about her, though, to make sure he left before he could try to take things further.
When she heard the chimes for the third time, she let out a string of curses.
Ed Spinelli. What did he want now?
Had she pissed someone off royally? Was that why the three men who annoyed her the most all just happened to call her this morning? Or was Mercury in retrograde or the stars out of alignment? Did that mean she could expect a call from her father, too?
Ed wrote a sports blog that was followed by half a million people. He’d hit on her at a Hawks barbecue where she’d given one of her many command appearances. She’d gone out with him for a couple of reasons. For one she was curious about someone who had a blog that people followed religiously. For another, he’d written a lot of unflattering things about the Hawks, so it had been another big Fuck you to Kurt.
The man was hardly her type, tall and skinny with an ego bigger than the stadium. She’d expected him to be funny, charming, full of exciting and interesting things to do. Instead she’d
