A Perfect Trade (Harlequin Superromance) (11 page)

But if she found out about the project from someone else and then discovered Tru had known about it, their tentative truce would be blown to hell. She’d hate him.

No. He banged his fist on the steering wheel. He wouldn’t lose the ground he’d made. He had to tell her.

But the timing had to be right; maybe when her job situation had improved. He’d already put out feelers for her. From the response, he was sure something would work out quickly. A week, two tops. Surely he could delay mentioning the memorial that long?

In the meantime, he’d figure out a way to derail the damn project without hurting everyone he cared about. Though he suspected he had a better chance of playing for the Ice Cats next season.

CHAPTER SIX

T
RU
HAD
LIVED
up to his promise...so far.

Jenny tapped her foot nervously on the faded carpet as she waited for her meeting with the editor of
Jersey Sports Talk
magazine.

This was the first of several interviews Tru had arranged for her, since their conversation a week ago, with the local press and a number of hockey-friendly media sites. She’d been surprised by how quickly he’d pulled it all together. She suspected he’d called in a few favors. Time would tell if he’d pushed for more than interviews.

“Ms. Martin?” The perky receptionist smiled at Jenny. “Randy’s delayed for, like, another fifteen minutes. Help yourself to coffee or whatever.” She pointed to a coffeemaker and a small, glass-fronted refrigerator containing sodas.

“Thanks.” Jenny smiled, but the receptionist had already turned back to her screen.

Pulling a folder from her purse, Jenny pretended to study the papers inside. She knew her résumé so well she could probably recite it backward, but she wanted to look busy. Not like someone desperate for a job. Although the letter from Irving’s lawyer hadn’t arrived yet, she knew it was only a matter of time. She wanted to repay Harry’s loan before she was actually threatened with court action—but she needed a job in order to do that.

None of the feelers she’d put out for PA or office management jobs had panned out. As she’d suspected, her lack of references and qualifications had hampered her.

Hockey was the only viable option left.

Smoothing a wrinkle in her blue skirt, she wondered if she should have worn pants. The tailored suit was smart, but even pairing it with a plain white blouse and midheels hadn’t made it less feminine. Probably not the best choice for the male-dominated sports media world. Especially as the reception area felt like a throwback newspaper office, rather than a buzzing media center. She hoped the editor wasn’t also a throwback.

A few moments later, her name was called and she was directed toward a large office.

Randy Packer was a balding, middle-aged man with a craggy face and a craggier voice. His Spinal Tap T-shirt stretched across a paunch, while his cargo pants slid perilously low, despite the belt with a huge, silver Super Bowl XLVI Champions buckle.

“I need a smoke.” He stalked past her to the elevator. “Come with me.”

The editor’s blunt words calmed her nerves. As Harry’s PA, she’d dealt with all kinds of temperamental people. “All right.” She stuffed her folder into her bag and followed him.

The cramped car smelled of stale smoke, sweat and coffee. Every few floors, it stopped and more people squeezed in. Jenny held herself stiffly and tried to appear nonchalant, though she was pressed against the rear wall, next to Randy.

“Tru Jelinek said you know hockey,” he barked.

“I’ve followed the sport closely for a long time,” she said carefully.

“Uh-huh. Who’ll win the Cup?”

Jenny explained her pick as she followed him outside the building toward the designated smoking area.

Another grunt. “What’s your take on why the Ice Cats failed to make the play-offs this year?” Randy’s eyes fixed on her through a haze of cigarette smoke.

“Lack of depth in both offense and defense meant injuries killed them. Phillip Hannah, the previous GM, should have done more at the trade deadline to boost scoring and protect the blue line.”

“A neat summary. Now tell me something I can’t get from anyone else.”

“Do you want fact, opinion or gossip?”

“Whatever you think will excite me.”

Jenny ignored the double entendre and racked her brain for a story.
Jersey Sports Talk
liked salacious headlines. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t know any gossip, but that she knew too much and didn’t want to expose players gratuitously. On the other hand, she couldn’t blow her chance to impress. Who knew if another editor would show interest?

Perhaps her love of the European celebrity magazines could give her a story that hadn’t made it over here yet. A few moments later, she had one. “Juergen Ingemar’s poor second half wasn’t due to a recurring groin strain. His fiancé was caught with her costar.”

Randy licked his lips. “You’re kidding. That hot Norwegian model-come-TV-star made a show of coming over here to support him.”

“She attended games for the media coverage, hoping to catch interest from the networks. A part in a show over here would hit a wider audience than her local daytime soap. No one bit, so she returned home. A week later, ‘leaked’ pictures were all over the internet.” Poor Juergen had been devastated. “A week after that, she had a part in a new Scandinavian crime thriller.”

Randy nodded approvingly. Then the questions came thick and fast. When he asked about player trades, she hesitated, wondering if he was looking for gossip about her relationship to Tru.

She gave her opinion. “The Cats should re-sign Jelinek. He’s good value and brings veteran experience that the team sorely needs to help the young defensemen they’ve brought up.”

Randy stubbed out his cigarette. “Other teams could offer him a nice payday. Would he take a hometown discount?”

“To finish his career in New Jersey? Possibly.”

The editor indicated they should go in. “Let’s continue this in my office.”

Jenny wasn’t sure she’d enjoy writing the kind of pieces Randy seemed to like, but was pleased he sounded interested. Hopefully, enough to give her a job.

On the elevator, they were again pushed to the back of the car as people crowded in. Randy stood too close, but Jenny was jammed in a corner and couldn’t avoid the contact. She angled her body away in a move she’d learned long ago, to avoid anyone becoming too grabby with her ass. Experience had taught her to be wary.

Once in his office, Randy closed the door, indicating the chair in front of his desk.

Jenny sat. Warning bells rang when Randy leaned against the desk, instead of sitting behind it. She crossed her legs at the ankles and angled them away from him.

Her ploy to avoid contact didn’t work. Randy’s leg pressed against her knee.

She shifted, breaking the contact. He moved his leg back against hers.

Mentally, she rolled her eyes at his pathetic game. She uncrossed her ankles, then crossed her legs the opposite way, deliberately scraping her heel hard down his shin.

Randy flinched, then moved.

“Did I catch you?” She dared him to meet her gaze.

He didn’t. “Not a problem.”

Not a problem for her anymore, either.

“I can give you a trial over the summer,” he said gruffly. “Assuming you can satisfy my needs, there could be a permanent slot on my staff.”

Something about the way his eyes slid down across her chest, to her legs, heightened her wariness. “What kind of trial?” she asked carefully.

“The first rule of journalism is to keep your editor happy.”

“Right.” She forced a bright tone, though she suspected she knew how he expected her to keep him happy. “By meeting deadlines and getting scoops.”

“All in good time.” He leaned forward. “Once you give me what I want, doll-face.”

The endearment made her want to spit, but she gave him one last benefit of the doubt. “What would my first assignment be?”

“I’m sure the former ‘queen of the puck bunnies’ doesn’t need me to tell her what to do.”

Jenny’s insides froze. “Excuse me?”

“I bet you’ve got lots of tricks up this pretty sleeve.” He ran a finger down her arm. “I hear hockey players love a bit of wild stuff. I can’t wait to find out how wild you get.”

So much for a great opportunity. She should have known better than to expect her reputation wouldn’t bite her in the butt. Damn it, she
had
known better, but she’d ignored the signs because she was desperate.

Jenny fought back the disappointment that filled her; she was damned if she’d let Randy see her feelings. She focused instead on the anger bubbling inside.

She curled her lip. “You couldn’t even handle what I give rookies.”

Red blotches filled his face. “You want a job, you satisfy me.”

She laughed. “One of the perks of being ‘queen of the puck bunnies’ is that I choose who I sleep with and who I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.” Jenny leaned forward. “You’re in the pole category,
doll-face.
”

Randy erupted. He grabbed her arm, pulling her roughly to her feet and up against him. “You’d better put on your knee pads or I’ll make sure no editor will even take your call, let alone employ you.”

Manhandling her was a mistake. She might have worried about his threat to blackball her, but no one roughed her up.

“Take. Your hands. Off. Me.” Her voice could have cut through ice cleaner than a freshly sharpened skate blade. She ground the metal heel of her pump into his foot.

Randy yelped, then let her go.

Jenny didn’t wait to deliver a smart exit line but marched out of the office. It was only when she got back to her car that she began to shake.

What did you expect? Who’d take
you
seriously?

Angry tears burned her eyes at her uncle’s mocking voice. She’d been stupid to believe an editor would give her a job as anything other than his personal puck bunny.

Jenny called Tru’s cell. She wouldn’t go through the humiliation of another interview.

He answered on the first ring. “Hey. How did it go?”

Jenny gritted her teeth. “It was a waste of time. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but please cancel the other interviews.”

“Whoa. What happened?”

She ignored the concern in his voice. “Exactly what I expected. This is a nonstarter and there’s no point wasting their time or mine.”

Thankfully, he didn’t press for details. “Where are you? I’ll meet you.”

Part of her wanted to share with Tru what had happened. The other part couldn’t face reliving the meeting. “There’s no need. I’m going home to put this behind me.”

“Not like you to give up at the first hurdle.”

Though she knew his tactic, his words jabbed her ego. “I don’t fight losing battles.”

“Sometimes you have to lose the battle to win the war.”

She rolled her eyes. “Really? You want to bandy clichés for the rest of the afternoon?”

“If that’s what it takes.” He laughed. “Seriously, I’ll buy you a coffee. We can work on a new game plan.”

She was tempted. The alternative was sitting alone, in an empty house, trying to figure out how to stretch her savings ten different ways. Besides, if there was one thing she could rely on, it was Tru’s determination to fix things. If there was a solution to this job saga, he’d find it. “All right. Exeter Diner, in an hour.”

“Can’t wait.”

It was a throwaway line. Yet, as Jenny pulled out of the parking lot, a flush of pleasure shimmied through her. That
was
a surprise. For the first time in years, she was looking forward to seeing Tru, too.

* * *

I
T
WASN
’
T
LIKE
old times, but better than his last visit to the Exeter Diner.

Tru’s heart lifted as Jenny headed toward him. Her presence brightened the dining area, with its dark wood and bare brick walls.

Her suit, the same blue as her eyes, was businesslike, yet sexy. The tailored jacket clung to her curves and the hem of her skirt flirted with her knees. The matching high heels showed off her fabulous legs. Damn, she looked great.

Jenny almost looked pleased to see him as she slid into the high-sided booth. Tru was stunned. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d been anything but irritated by his presence. “You made it.” He sounded pathetically eager.

“I said I would.”

“I know. It’s good to see you.” Jeez. His teenage self had been far more composed.

Thankfully, Shirley, the gum-snapping waitress who’d served them before, appeared at the table with two coffee jugs. “Regular or decaf?”

Jenny turned her mug upside down. “I’ll pass on the coffee and have a strawberry-and-banana milk shake, please.”

“Make that two,” Tru said. “And a slice of your chocolate cream pie, with two forks.”

Jenny’s eyes widened as she realized he’d remembered her favorite dessert. “You expect me to share?”

He sighed dramatically. “Okay, two slices of pie.”

Tru waited until Shirley had served their order before asking Jenny what had happened with Randy.

“He was a jackass.” She skimmed cream off her pie with her fork as she filled him in.

He bit back his anger. “I should go over there and set him straight.”

“Thanks, but I took care of it.” Her smile sent pleasure zinging through him. “I’d rather forget about the whole thing.”

“Don’t give up because of Randy.” Tru pulled his list of contacts from his back pocket and laid it on the table. “There are plenty of editors who won’t treat you like that.”

Her smile faded. “Maybe. But enough will. I’m not a masochist. I won’t go through that again. Frankly, I’d rather stack shelves at the grocery store.”

“It’s my fault. I knew Randy was a dinosaur.” He jabbed his fork into his pie, wishing he could jab it into the sleazy jerk’s head. “I should never have put him on the list.”

“I’m a big girl.” Jenny shrugged.

“Give it one more try. There are loads of good men in sports media.” He angled the page so they could both see the names. “We’ll go through and cull the Neanderthals. All you need is one straight-up guy willing to give you a break.”

“I suppose,” she allowed reluctantly.

“Have you got a pen?”

“Sure.” Jenny handed him a ballpoint from her purse.

“Okay. Let’s scratch Randy off the list.” He put double lines through the jerk’s name.

Jenny sipped her shake. “Delete the next three, too. They’re all good old boys.”

He crossed out the names. “I’m not sure about Michaels, from the
Star.
”

“He’s all right. His editorials are fair, and Jamie Benson, who covers the Cats for him, writes a decent column.” She ate a mouthful of pie. “Mmm. That’s as good as I remember.”