Player's Ultimatum (4 page)

Doubling as a library and home office, Saito’s study was an enormous space-the square footage equivalent to his one bedroom apartment.

A combination of the old and new, the study consisted of art deco furniture dating back to the early twenties. Three of the four wal s contained built in cherry wood shelves filled with hundreds of books.

On the fourth wal a pair of French doors opened out into the garden. In front of these doors and somewhat cater-cornered sat a massive desk piled with more books and several stacks of magazines.

“Would you like a drink
Signor
Malfi?”

Joaquin tried not to gawk at his host as he entered the room. An exotic blend of Brazilian and Japanese, Paolo Saito was what al the women magazines he free-lanced for called the total package.

Blessed with a commanding height, a lean muscular frame and perfect symmetrical features Joaquin had to agree. Paolo Saito had a face that could sel thousands of magazines and he did on a consistent basis.

“May I offer you a drink
Signor
Malfi?” Paolo repeated, drawing Joaquin back into the conversation.

“No thank you. I like to keep my senses clear while conducting business,” he replied softly, suddenly insecure about his protrusive overbite. “I’m not keeping you from something more important am I?” Although the younger man’s feet were bare, Saito was elegantly at ired in a black suit and tie. Probably on his way out to pick up some groupie, Malfi speculated.

The footballer’s success with the opposite sex was legendary and wel -documented in the press. He ought to know since he’d shot most of the evidence.

“No, no sit.” Paolo gestured to a leather chair in front of his desk. “The Club is having a gala to celebrate the second half of the season.” Paolo said, settling down behind his desk.

Not wanting to appear rude, Joaquin sat down. “So why did you want to see me?”

“Our arrangement has come to an end.” Paolo reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a padded envelope.

Even though he resisted the urge to lick his lips, Joaquin sat forward. “H-how much is there?” Saito tossed the envelope on the desk between them. “Three thousand euro as per our agreement.” Joaquin thumbed through the envelope’s contents.

“Wel that wil be al then.” Paolo smacked the arms of the high-back chair as he moved to stand.

“Wait!” When Paolo’s eyebrows rose in surprise, Joaquin smiled apologetical y for his tone of voice. “I have something which might be of interest to you.” Joaquin dropped the money in his photographer’s bag then produced a manila envelope.

“What’s this?” Paolo asked his gaze on Joaquin’s bargaining chip.

“Pictures of Gutierrez and his lovely, new fiancée. She was at this afternoon’s match.” To Joaquin’s surprise, Paolo shrugged. “I already knew she was coming. Your job is done, Malfi. My first impression was obviously wrong.”

Joaquin rushed forward before the new Vespa he’d planned on buying slipped through his fingers. “Do you not find it strange that as soon as Gutierrez shipped his boyfriend back home he brought in the woman?” Paulo stood up, a sure sign their meeting was over. “Maybe they were just friends.”

“B-b-but
Signor
Saito.” Joaquin licked his lips nervously. “Don’t you think there is a certain advantage to this woman’s arrival?”

Saito frowned down at the unopened envelope as he fingered the clasp with a manicured fingernail. “What kind of advantage?”

“How many women have claimed to be in love with someone else and then slept with you?” Joaquin knew the instant Saito caught on. The other man’s eyes narrowed and he tapped a finger against the desk.

“Probably dozens, but that’s none of your business.”

Joaquin went in for the kil . “If you real y want to break Gutierrez, this woman is the key,” he implored. “Seduce her, woo her away from him. And of course, I wil be more than happy to document your secret trysts and leak them to the press. Don’t you want to finish what you started?”

Saito glanced back down at the unopened envelope. His expression unreadable, he shoved his hands in his pants pockets and rocked back and forth on his toes.

Joaquin could see the wheels spinning in his head. Paolo Saito might be too good-looking for his own damn good, but he wasn’t dumb.

“Do you have any plans tonight, Malfi?”

Joaquin shook his head. His wife was a shrew and his only child lived in Venice. Therefore he had no reason to rush home.

“Good. You’ve just been invited to a gala hosted by
Roma Internazionale
at The Atrium. I’l put your name on the media list. Don’t forget your camera.” Saito glanced down at his messenger bag.

“I carry it with me al times because you just never know.” Joaquin rose from his seat. As he fol owed his client to the front door, Joaquin tried to rationalize what he’d just done. Unfortunately, he only came up with dol ar signs.

*****

“This is by far the best day of my life!” Robbie crowed set ling into the back seat of the limo the Club sent around to transport them to the gala. “Who would have imagined I would have scored the match’s winning goal?” For the last ten blocks, Robbie prat led on and on about his stel ar performance during today’s match. He was so excited he didn’t notice she’d been quiet during most of it.

The gala was her official debut as his fiancée and Yvonne was scared shitless. Tonight she would be introduced as Robbie’s fiancée not only to the entire team, but to the world as well. Thank goodness she looked the part!

Normal y a t-shirt and jeans kind of gal, she was now clad in a midnight-blue slip dress by some hot designer, who’s name she could barely pronounce much less afford. Of course, Robbie picked up the tab along with the entire wardrobe he’d treated her to the moment she’d stepped off the plane.

Satin ribbons crisscrossed the dress’ bodice, ending in tiny bows at her shoulders. Although cut at a modest length, grazing the tops of her knees, the dress hugged her like a second skin, reminding Yvonne of something a femme fatale would wear on some daring act of espionage. Al she needed was a martini, shaken not stirred.

Thanks to years of gymnastic lessons, she wore a pair of stilet o sandals, held up by satin ribbons wrapped around her ankles, with ease. To complete her look, Robbie had styled her shoulder-length hair into an abundance of loose waves and played up the boudoir effect by applying smoky eye shadow on her lids and slicking her lips with a deep burgundy lip gloss.

“You stil have that killer bod the neighborhood guys drooled after,” Robbie joked, pul ing Yvonne out of her thoughts.

“Without it I don’t think we would have been able to pul this farce off as successfully as I thought.” Bristling, Yvonne turned away from the window. “You couldn’t use an overweight fiancée to convince the team?”

“Yeah I could have, but I don’t think they would have believed she was once an exotic dancer.”

“A what!?” Yvonne exploded.

Robbie slid into the corner just out of arms reach. Smart idea. She had murder on her mind. “The guys and I were talking in the locker room after the game one day and I let it drop you were coming to town. I got so caught up in the lies, sex and deceit; I embel ished your background a little bit.”

“A lit le,” Yvonne fumed. “I refuse to be a part of some Jerry Springer episode Roberto Tomas Gutierrez. And if you think I’m taking off my clothes in public you have another thing coming like my foot in your behind.” Robbie reached over to pat her knee, Yvonne swatted his hand away. “I told them you
used
to be an exotic dancer,” he corrected. “And you only did it to support your way through graduate school.” Yvonne moaned. “Not the old
Playaz Club
excuse. That’s the oldest excuse in the book.” Appalled, Yvonne turned her back on him. She couldn’t believe Robbie’s spinelessness. How could a man who supposedly was gay and in touch with his feminine side, be such a chauvinist.

“I’m sorry Yvonne. It was crude and total y out of character for me. I took my desire to be accepted too far. It was like being in grade school all over again with me trying to be like one of the boys. If you want to back out now I would understand.” After a few moments of silence passed, Yvonne let him off the hook. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You know I forgive you.

But if you start making up stories about our love life and rehashing it for more locker room gossip, I wil be on the next flight back to Orlando. Agreed?”

“Agreed. Oh! I almost forgot something.” Robbie pulled out a smal velvet box from his jacket. “Yvonne Floyd wil you marry me?” Robbie paused to clear his throat. “I promise to never sleep with you. I wil respect you, take you to the best clubs in Rome and make you the most stylish woman in Italy.”

Yvonne couldn’t resist playing along. “Only as long as you promise you’l be my personal hairdresser, cook and make-up artist.”

“Already a given.” Robbie took his time opening the tiny box. “Bam!” he said revealing a pink diamond the size of an English pea.

“Robbie!” Yvonne gasped, practical y shoving her hand in his face and wiggling her fingers in anticipation. The ring fit perfectly.

“I guess I’m official y yours.” Yvonne admired the rock on her finger. “My first marriage proposal and it’s from a gay man.

How prophetic! By the way, how many carats is this?”

Robbie looked down at the ring with a winsome smile. “Two and a half. Does it meet your standards?”

“I guess, but didn’t Bennifer have five?”

“You’l have to sleep with me to get five, honey. And we both know that’l never happen.” Robbie grabbed her hand and tugged. “Come on Bride of Frankenstein.

I can’t take this anymore. We’ve been sitting in traffic for over thirty minutes,” Robbie looked down at his watch. “We can get there faster if we walk.”

Three city blocks and less than fifteen minutes later they stopped across the street from The Atrium. An enthusiastic crowd of people, barely contained by velvet ropes, snaked down the block.

“
Gutierrez, te amo
!” Someone yelled. Soon the entire line took up the chant.

“Game on,” Robbie whispered.

They barely cleared the curb before they were bombarded with autograph requests and pictures. Unused to such adoration, Robbie hesitated.

“Go on, super star.” Yvonne pushed him toward his adoring fans.

“I won’t be long,” he promised.

“Take your time. I’ll keep the bouncers company.”

To Yvonne’s delight, Robbie signed everything from game programs and team jerseys to body parts. After dutiful y signing for more than ten minutes, he final y had to beg off any more requests as the knot of people had become a mob.

Escorted by security, he grabbed a hold of her hand and rushed them behind the velvet rope and into the gala.

*****

Formerly an orphanage, The Atrium had been gutted and renovated to resemble a vil a during the Roman Empire. Consisting of two levels, each floor gleamed with luxurious pink marble and wal s decorated with frescos depicting scenes of ancient Rome.

Columns, several inches thick, lined the palatial dance floor and stars twinkled above through the open air roof, spil ing moonlight onto the rich and beautiful as they gyrated and cavorted on the first floor.

Despite the club’s beauty, Paolo would rather have his entire body waxed than be here. His idea of a perfect evening included catching up on the pile of landscaping and gardening magazines next to his bed.

Paolo smirked. He wondered how the gossip rags would react if they knew their reigning playboy cared more about ensuring the life expectancy of his Japanese plum trees than sleeping with a supermodel. As a child growing up in the dusty streets of Santos’ most violent
favela,
all he wished for was a soccer ball and a patch of grass to cal his own. Now he had more than he could handle-his estate in the country encompassing almost ten acres.

Even now he wanted to get up and slip out a side door. The bevy of beauties his teammate Marco Linvachek brought along with him didn’t interest him. Like most women he had come into contact with, they were too eager to please or too self-absorbed.

Excusing himself, Paolo walked the perimeter of the second floor mezzanine. Careful to stay inside the teams’ VIP area, he avoided making polite conversation, signing autographs or posing for photographs with fans. He loved his fans, but they would only delay his departure. And if he left now he could stil catch Luigi, The Renaissance Guy. Tonight’s episode was on repurposing old newspaper to fertilize ones gardens.

Paolo’s burning desire to leave suddenly cooled as he spotted Roberto Gutierrez making the rounds with the Club’s manager Stefano Gal o. Coming to a standstil , he watched the two of them hold an impromptu press conference with Natalia Conti host of one of Europe’s most popular sports shows.

Every now and then Gutierrez would throw his head back in laughter, his pearly white teeth contrasting with his dark skin.

Bile rose in Paulo’s throat. Gutierrez didn’t deserve so much happiness while João’s body lay rot ing in the ground. His contempt for the Club’s latest rising star was so palpable he practical y choked on it whenever he was around him.

And to think a simple favor had resulted in his best friend taking his life!

Two seasons ago, Gutierrez had been al owed to side step the feeder teams and the second squad as a favor to a friend of the general manager. Quick of foot, the American easily made the team and eventual y displaced João. Distraught over the loss of his lifelong dream, among other things, he’d put a gun in his mouth and ended his life.

Unable to digest anymore, Paolo decided to go the other way. He didn’t get far. Gutierrez wasn’t alone. He’d reached out and pulled a woman, despite her profuse protests, over to him.

Not as tal nor as thin as the women usual y associated with footballers, the woman’s differences set her apart and made her even more appealing. Like an exotic bird in a sea of pale swans, her almond shaped eyes and round face topped off with a pert but on nose, high cheek bones and a wide mouth intrigued him.

Despite his better judgment, Paolo stepped closer. He couldn’t tell her eye color from this distance, but who cared with breasts like hers. They strained against the low décolletage of her form-fitting dress and emphasized the sexy nip in her slender waist.