Chapter 8
Keylan Kingsley walked in a circle, admiring his surroundings before coming to a stand in the middle of the large NBA-inspired gym outfitted with an oversize scoreboard and arena-style seating. Standing with his legs slightly apart, bouncing a basketball, he wore a black handmade Italian suit, a taupe-colored collarless shirt, black loafers and dark aviator sunglasses.
He looked up and scanned the ceiling, admiring all the banners that hung overhead; thirty of them, to be exact. They all represented championships won by various community leagues that this foundation supported. Keylan’s mind flashed back to a time when he’d played on one of those community championship teams and the memory made him smile.
“My, how time flies,” Keylan murmured to himself, placing the ball on the floor.
“Yes, it does. May I help you with something, Mr. Kingsley?” a sweet voice asked.
Keylan James Kingsley, or KJ, as he was known by his family, friends and legions of fans, was the youngest son and only heir to the Kingsley family’s billion-dollar oil and gas conglomerate who chose not to follow his siblings into the business. The twenty-six-year-old basketball star was a marquee player for the Houston Carriers.
Keylan turned toward the sound and his breath caught in his throat. He felt like he’d just been hit in the chest by a wayward basketball. Damn! She’s stunning...and fine, too. This might not be so bad, after all. “I certainly hope so, little momma,” he proclaimed, offering up a sexy smile, removing his sunglasses and placing them in the inside pocket of his jacket.
The beautiful woman standing several feet away wore blue jeans and a white T-shirt, both splattered with green and yellow paint. She rolled her eyes skyward, dropped her shoulders and placed her left hand on her hip. “I may be petite, Mr. Kingsley, but I’m certainly not your mother,” she replied. Her voice had a sharp edge to its tone.
Maybe I spoke too soon. “My apologies.” Keylan raised both hands in surrender. “You have me at a disadvantage. You know me but I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, although you do look familiar.”
“Mia Ramirez,” said the feisty, olive-skinned beauty.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. You missed a spot,” he said, pointing at the pristine-white tennis shoes she wore.
Mia looked down briefly before returning her gaze to Keylan, where she gifted him with a wide smile that lit up her eyes. It was as if she’d just experienced a pleasant memory.
Wow! “So...is it Ms. or Mrs. Ramirez?” he asked with a slightly raised left eyebrow.
“I’m the foundation’s activities director. What can I do for you, Mr. Kingsley?” she replied, dropping her smile, clearly unwilling to answer his not so subtle question.
Keylan set his mouth in a tight line. His legendary charm clearly wasn’t having an effect on Mia Ramirez. By now he should have her number, address and be making plans to meet up later. He gave his head a slow shake, pushed out a quick breath and said, “I have some mandatory community service hours I need to—”
“Let me guess,” Mia interrupted, nodding as she slowly walked toward him. “You’d like me to work with your assistant or someone to set up some type of photo opportunity with the kids where you come in and present us with a check.” She stopped and stood two feet in front of Keylan.
“Well—”
“No, wait. I got it.” Mia held up her left index finger and her nose crinkled as though she’d just encountered a foul smell. “You have a couple of signed balls you want to give me to auction off for the proceeds. You get a photo op, the hours you need, of course, and I get a big check...literally.”
Mia might look like a kid with the cute high ponytail and minimal makeup she wore, but looks were deceiving. Keylan folded his arms across his chest and stared down at Mia. “Seems like you already have a set of brass ones. You certainly don’t need any additional balls from me.”
Mia’s mouth flew open but quickly closed as she matched his stance. They stood glaring at each other
