Fair Play

Table of Contents

 

PRAISE FOR DEIRDRE MARTIN'S ALL-STAR DEBUT,
Body Check

“A story that will delight lovers of sports heroes.”

—
The Romance Reader
(4 hearts)

 

“Ms. Martin's story is sparkling in creativity and spunky dialogue. It melts our hearts, not the ice, and uncovers the true meaning of the word
winner.
What a delight.”

—Suzanne Tucker,
Old Book Barn Gazette

 

“Heartwarming.”—
Booklist

 

“The promising Martin gives this debut story punch by adding a realistic feel for the high-stakes, high-pressure world of major-league hockey.”—
Romantic Times

BODY CHECK
FAIR PLAY
TOTAL RUSH
THE PENALTY BOX
CHASING STANLEY

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

FAIR PLAY

 

A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / February 2004

Copyright © 2004 by Deirdre Martin.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-04358-5

 

BERKLEY SENSATION®
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY SENSATION is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The “B” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THANKS TO:

My editor, Allison McCabe, and my agent, Elaine English,
for their hard work and faith.

 

Binnie Syril Braunstein, publicist extraordinaire.

 

Steve Haweeli, president of Wordhampton PR,
for giving me a glimpse of what
goes into doing PR for a restaurant.

 

My husband, Mark Levine,
for his hockey expertise and willingness to read
the manuscript numerous times to make sure I
“got the hockey stuff right.”

 

Paula Epps for use of her impressive collection
of New Age and occult books.

 

Susan Lerner, for her insight and compassion.

 

Daniela Gobetti for her book,
Dictionary of Italian Slang,
and Roland Delicio for
Merda!
The Real Italian You Were Never Taught in School,
both of which were invaluable resources.

 

Mom, Dad, Bill, Allison, Beth, Jane, Dave and Tom
for all their love,
support and patience.

Some women fantasize
about being wed on the beach at sunset as the warm surf gently laps at their bare, tanned feet. Others picture floating down the aisle in a cloud of ivory tulle. Theresa Falconetti's dream wedding was exchanging vows at St. Patrick's Cathedral, followed by a horse-drawn carriage ride to a reception at The Plaza Hotel.

And now it was happening.

Gazing rapturously into the eyes of her true love as two proud, white stallions conveyed them up Fifth Avenue, Theresa couldn't believe her good fortune. One year ago, she had been the co-owner of a struggling PR firm. Now she was the wife of Miles van Dusen, architect, equestrian and collector of Sumerian pottery. They met at the wedding of Elizabeth Taylor to Nicholas Cage, one of Theresa's premiere clients. All Miles had to ask was “Fancy a prawn cocktail?” and Theresa was smitten, the deep, sonorous tone of his voice its own aphrodisiac. By the time the lemon sorbet was served, she knew he was The One.

“Happy, my sweet?” Miles murmured into her hair as the cool night air embraced them.

“Ecstatic.” Theresa sighed, laying her head to rest on his shoulder.

“Theresa?”

“Yes, beloved of my heart?”

“Geez. That's a new one.”

Startled, Theresa blinked. She wasn't in a horse-drawn carriage, but an Aeron chair. And the person calling her name wasn't the imaginary Miles van Dusen, but Janna MacNeil, her business partner.

“You okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Theresa replied breezily, mortified at being caught conjuring a romantic fantasy so riveting it unmoored her completely from the present.

“Walking up the aisle again, huh?” Janna observed wryly.

“Maybe,” Theresa said, anxious to steer the conversation back to business. “You said you had a lead on a possible new account?”

“It's a restaurant,” Janna said as she sipped her coffee, a mutual addiction. This had been their routine ever since opening FM PR two years earlier: come to the office, check in over coffee, then split up and get down to work.

“A restaurant,” Theresa repeated thoughtfully. “Since when do we handle restaurants?”

“Since our accountant told me we need to drum up as much business as we can.”

Theresa sighed. “Hit me.”

“It's a mom-and-pop place in Brooklyn,” Janna began, reading the details from a piece of paper on her oversized desk, which dwarfed her. At five feet tall, with short blond hair, she was the physical opposite of Theresa, whose long legs and dark curls made her the envy of countless women. “It's got a strong local following, but the new owners, two brothers, are looking to expand the clientele,” Janna continued. “They want to start pulling in the foodies from Manhattan.” She raised her head to look at Theresa. “Are you free this afternoon?”

“I think so.”

“Then would you mind going out there and meeting with these guys? I've got to meet with Mike Piazza.”

“Mike Piazza? Of the Mets?”

“No, Mike Piazza the
plumber.
Of course Mike Piazza of the Mets.” Janna looked hopeful. “If we could get him, it would be huge.”

Theresa sank back in her chair. It always seemed to work out this way: Janna meeting celebrities, Theresa dispatched to check out what was probably a glorified pizzeria. Before starting their agency, Janna did PR for one of the NHL's New York franchises, the Blades. Theresa had haunted her long and hard about meeting the team's hottest new player, Alexei Lubov. She still suffered night-mares when she recalled what happened when her wish was granted: She and Lubov had gone out, and he had tried to rape her. When she dared to press charges, Theresa's self-esteem and reputation were nearly destroyed, but she persevered, and finally settled out of court. She used the money to set up the firm with Janna and swore off professional athletes entirely, except for a friendly relationship with Janna's husband, Ty, the former captain of the Blades. Well, Janna could deal with Mike-Piazza-the-Met, that was more than fine by her. “What time do the Brooklyn brothers want to meet?”

“Around two.”

“That's doable. Where's the restaurant?”

“Bensonhurst.”

“Really?” Theresa was surprised. She was born and raised in Bensonhurst. Her family lived there still, constantly making it clear they wished she did, too. Bensonhurst . . . She wracked her brains, trying to figure out what family restaurant Janna might be talking about. And then it hit her.

“You're sending me to Dante's, aren't you?”

Janna glanced away guiltily. “Yes.”

“I don't
believe
you!”

Dante's was the restaurant where the Blades held all their private parties. One of its co-owners was Michael Dante, a third line winger for the team. He'd made a lasting impression on her two years ago when he asked to buy her a drink, failing to realize he didn't have his two front teeth in. At Ty and Janna's wedding, he'd hounded her endlessly to dance. She had a hard time being around him, since he reminded her of everything she'd like to forget: an athlete who refused to take no for an answer.

“You tricked me,” she accused.

“I know,” Janna confessed. “But I knew it was the only way to get you to agree. Besides, his brother will be there, too.”

“Can't you switch your meeting with Piazza so that you can handle it?”

“It's business, Theresa.” Janna sounded weary, despite the early hour. “Besides, you're better at this stuff than I am.”

Theresa regarded her friend warily. “Better at what stuff?”

“Assessing potential clients, deciding what direction to go with a campaign, if they decide to hire us. You
know
you are. I'm better at the ego-stroking and damage control.”

“If that's the case, then let me meet with Piazza and you can go
stroke
Michael Dante.”

“That's funny, Ter. You know, I've never understood what you have against him. He's a nice guy.”

“A nice guy who reminds me of every Italian Brooklyn boy I grew up with and moved to the city to avoid.”

Janna gave a small grimace. “Well, try to keep an open mind when you're meeting with them, please. We could really use this account.”