Going All the Way (Knights of Passion Book 1) (6 page)

And there it was, the final nail in his coffin. As the words droned on, Jason could feel his career, his life, his future drifting way, being slowly pulled away from him like a slowly dying worm on the end of a fishing hook. Teasing, taunting, tantalizing him then yanking away without any thought of him.

“Why the hell are we here then?” Jason stood up, his chair almost toppling behind him. Scott lunged for the chair and Jason’s arm at the same time. “It’s obvious that I’m not your first choice, and probably not your second or third. In fact, I wonder if you even want me at all? Or was this just some grand joke – let’s screw around with Friar until we get who we really want? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not amused and don’t need this bullshit.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Friar. How do you think I, the son of poor factory workers, got to be the head of a brewery and a Major League Baseball team owner?”

Jason spoke, before he could call back the words. “I assumed you married it.” The room took a collective inhale and waited for Callahan’s reaction.

An odd light came to Seamus’s eye, a quick glimmer of rage that was ruthlessly suppressed. “Yes, that was part of it but the business has thrived under my control. We’ve expanded operations, are international now. That didn’t happen because of whom I married. No, I have a head for business and I know a winner when I see it. And I never go into contract negotiations unless I know the outcome. Sit down.”

Jason let Scott pull him down into his chair, and wondered where Callahan was going with his reasoning.

Scott leaned forward, hand still firmly planted on Jason’s arm. “Gentlemen, I have to agree with Jason. We came here in good faith, not to be insulted. Jason has passed all of the physicals and will pass any others you need. The drug story is old news and an outright lie. Are you going to negotiate or was this a waste of time?”

“Where there’s smoke, there is usually fire, Scott. Just because there was no proof doesn’t mean he didn’t do drugs.” Cole pointed out.

“And drugs aren’t the main issue,” Miranda broke in. “Jason has a wild reputation, one that may not fit in with the family atmosphere we want.”

“So we wasted our time?”

Before anyone could respond, Jason burst out laughing. “Family-friendly atmosphere? You think your current players are choirboys, in by ten, all alone? Bullshit. Your team is young, full of kids making more money than they ever imagined and having their pick of women. You can delude yourself all you want but they’re no different than I was at their age. And yes, I did grow up. Most of the rumors are just that, rumors. But who cares about the truth when the rumors are so much fun? You need me as much as I need you. Sad, unfortunate, unwelcome, but true. So what’s it going to be?”

Seamus cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him. “We didn’t waste your time. Yes, we need you and you need us. But you need us more. I can pull up someone from Triple-A. You can’t get another job unless you go to Japan.”

“A Triple-A player won’t bring home a series ring or even a division win. I can.”

Seamus’s face broke out in a broad smile and he guffawed. “Cocky. I like that.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, satisfied he’d made his point. “It’s not cocky if it’s true.”

Seamus grinned and slapped Cole on the back. “Yup, I knew he still had spirit. He ain’t broke yet. See, we both know you’re going to play for us, but there is one condition and, son, I’d advise you take it.”

Scott interrupted before Jason could speak. “What condition?”

“We need a first baseman and you need a chance. We’re offering you a shot for the year, no additional clause, no contract for next year. This is just for the next three months, if we get into the playoffs. A few financial incentives for you depending on your level of play and if we get into the playoffs. Standard stuff really. We’re giving you a shot to prove you can still play. Puts you in good position for next year. In return, you’ll stay squeaky clean and focus solely on the game – hitting, fielding, catching. No more, no less. You will be as monk-like as your name, Friar. Or else, we’ll drop you like yesterday’s garbage and leave you rotting by the side of the road. Got it?”

The initial exhilaration was slowly replaced by the numbing realization of his precarious position.

“To that end,” Seamus continued, “you’ll have a professional babysitter. Someone to watch your ass and clean up after you. Someone to clean up your image. I don’t have time for image issues, even with only a couple of months to go. Miranda has lined up a few options and will go over them with you after the contract is finalized. Are we clear?”

Jason studied the field for a long moment, watching the grounds crew work on the turf. He could almost smell the fresh-cut grass, the pine tar, sweat, not to mention the food from the stands. He ached to be on the field, it was the only thing he knew, his whole life. Could he seriously bend over for Callahan and let him run his life, personal and professional on the odd chance that he could excel here?

He glanced at Scott. His agent’s jaw was tense and shoulders held tight against the inevitable decision. He realized that it wasn’t just his life he was screwing around with but his agent’s. And Scott deserved better, after sticking with him through everything. His hand brushed a piece of cardstock in his pocket.

Decision made, Jason stood and looked Callahan square in the eye. He held out his hand. “We have a deal. But I have a suggestion for my babysitter.”

Callahan stood up also and shook his hand in a firm grip, continuing the shake for a few seconds longer than necessary. “Glad to hear it. Don’t blow it.”

*

Stacia opened the
door to her condominium and stale warm air slapped her. Damn it. Had she forgotten to leave the air conditioner on again? She tossed her purse and briefcase on the table and closed the door, then leaned against it and sighed heavily. Home sweet home. To her, it was no different from so many hotel rooms. A place to lay her head between jobs. Now that she was essentially unemployed, what would she do?

The first thing was to crank up the air conditioning and cool it down. Summer in Savannah was not a time to be without AC. A low rumble in her stomach dictated her second priority—food. She strode down the hall, pausing to adjust the temperature control and then into the kitchen. The blinking red light on her answering machine shone through the fine layer of dust coating the phone, the small desk, television and probably everything else in her small one-bedroom condo. Had it really been that long since she’d been home for any length of time besides to sleep?

She turned to the landscapes calendar on the fridge and noticed it was still on June and but it was August. That did not bode well for breakfast, at least not at home. She opened the fridge, hoping something edible remained. She ignored the voicemail notification from her cell phone, even though every cell in her body screamed for her to answer it. Maybe Glazier had reconsidered firing her. Maybe her boss had another job for her. Maybe her father had apologized.

She snorted. Yeah, this was her new reality—fantasies.

Although last night’s fantasy was just what she had needed. A hot steamy night of sex and no worry to her job, future, ruined life. At the thought of Jason, her stomach fluttered and she shuddered. Lord, that man was the balm to her bruised ego, along with her long-neglected lady parts.

Back to reality. She opened the fridge and pulled out a bottled water to quench her sudden thirst. A quick glance confirmed her fears. Not a damn thing to eat except a few takeout containers which looked like a science experiment and some milk that smelled suspiciously spoiled. She slammed the door and strode to the small desk in the kitchen. May as well check in before heading to the store.

“Stacia, it’s me. Sophie. What happened last night? Are you okay? Are you dead by the side of the road? Or are you weak from pleasure? Call me. Must. Have. Details.”

She grinned. Oh yeah, Sophie would want details. She’d have to wait. Stacia wanted to keep the glow to herself for a little while, at least through breakfast.

“Stacia, it’s Mike. What the hell happened with Glazier? Senator Kendall called last night, said you had been replaced. By Donna, an intern, of all people. Call me. Immediately.”

The fantasy bubble popped, all thought of Jason, sex, and fun evaporated leaving a familiar gnawing ache in her belly that had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with why she had to buy stock in antacids.

She shrugged out of her business jacket and tossed it over the chair. She sat and wiped the dust off the phone, fixed the sparse items on the top of the desk, and fiddled with a pencil and paper. Finally, she dialed her boss before she lost her nerve.

“Stacia. About time. I expected a call from you last night, not your father, not Glazier, and certainly not Donna. What the hell happened?”

She succinctly recited the events of the past week or so, when everything went to hell, and then paused. The silence at the other end of the phone dragged on, a low buzzing of background noise and heavy breathing the only indication Mike was still there. Her stomach twisting further, she crossed the small kitchen, opened the antacids and tossed a couple into her mouth, drowning them with the water.

“Your father wants you replaced on the campaign.”

“I thought that had already been decided.”

“
I’m
your boss, not Senator Kendall or Glazier. You work for me, as does Donna. I thought you and Glazier were an item. Is it true—she slept with him?” His words were clipped and short, revealing the pressure he was under.

Stacia paused. Mike was fanatical about ethics with his consultants. They fixed images, not destroyed them. She could tell Mike the truth, but would it really matter? It wouldn’t get her job back; that much had been made clear by both her father and Glazier. Or she could move past it. “There was no relationship between the representative and myself beyond business. What he does on his own time is his business.”

“Bullshit.” His words shot through the phone like a speeding bullet. “He’s a politician and knows better than to be caught. Donna is finished with me. If he wants her, he can have her.”

“That’s fine, Mike. What about me? I can’t return to the campaign, even if he continues with an independent bid.”

“He’s declared an independent bid, assured that he could overcome this. But no, you aren’t requested back. Apparently, they don’t believe you can handle the finesse required to whitewash this campaign.” Mike paused, letting his words sink in. “I don’t believe you screwed up. We can only work with what the candidate gives us.”

There was something off in his tone. While he sounded like he supported her one hundred percent, he was dancing around something else.

“But?”

He sighed. “But. Your father is very powerful. He’s decided that he doesn’t want you near this or any campaign. I have to listen. He’s thrown me a lot of work in the past few years. I can’t afford to alienate him.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears and she slumped in the chair. Her own father was throwing her under the bus. She should have expected it. Family and blood meant nothing when it came to politics but the reality was like a knife to her gut.

“It’s fine. Maybe it’s time for a change.” She took a deep breath to quell the panic deep inside, impressed that her tone was even. “Do you have anything else?”

He paused again, much longer this time. When he finally spoke, his words were tentative. “I have one situation that just crossed my desk. I was about to tell them no, but…”

“Mike, what is it? I need a job!” She clutched the phone as if it were a lifeline and gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to scream.

“Are you sure? You’ve been on the roads for weeks, barely home long enough to sleep. Maybe a vacation wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

She glanced around the sparsely furnished and barely lived-in condo. If she had to sit and stare at those four walls for the foreseeable future, she would need a straitjacket or medication. Her father would find some discreet facility for her breakdown, avoiding any embarrassment for the Kendall name. No, a vacation was not an option. Work was her only chance to get back on top, back in the game, back in her father’s good graces, the actions of a desperate little girl trying to gain her father’s attention. When would she outgrow that clawing, desperate need?

“I want it.” She hoped Mike couldn’t hear the quiver in her tone, tried to infuse it with decisiveness.

“Okay, I’ll email you the 4-1-1, not that there is much. It’s with the Georgia Knights. Their owner, Seamus Callahan, asked for you specifically. They’re expecting your call. In fact, they asked for you by name. How could they know you were available?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it. I know Miranda. She’ll look out for me.” She resisted the urge to dance across the small kitchen, relief pushing away the initial panic. She was on her way back to the big leagues.

Even if it was a different league than she expected.

*