Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) (4 page)

“The Tsar?” Bam seemed displeased. “He’ll
hit on her, Murf.”

“It’s under control,” Murf assured him. “You
two have fun now. I’ll track you down in a while.”

Bam shifted his hand to the small of her
back and led her to the dance floor, where hundreds of partygoers
were already working up a sweat. Luckily, a slow, sexy marimba beat
began, courtesy of Michael Bublé, and Darcie rested her hands on
Bam’s shoulders, allowing him to guide her through it.

“So?” she murmured. “The Tsar? Does
everyone
have a nickname in the NFL?”

“They called him the Black Russian in
college, but once he dominated in his rookie year, he got promoted
to tsar. He’s okay, but don’t go off alone with him. Make sure me
or the Big Dog is with you. Or even Decker if you’re
desperate.”

“The Big Dog? Is that Johnny?”

“Who else?” He gave her a stern look. “The
point is, that Russian will treat you like a sex object. Or in your
case,
two
sex objects.”

Darcie rolled her eyes. “What happened to
the gag order?” When he just grinned, she smiled too. “Let’s change
the subject. Tell me about Sean Decker and his mysterious
girlfriend.”

“I’m not allowed to talk about her either,”
he grumbled.

“Why not?”

“I’ll put my foot in it—
again
—and
everyone’ll be mad at me.”

Darcie’s curiosity deepened. What could this
be about?

Bam seemed willing to be corrupted, but she
decided to take the high road. “Then let’s talk about football,
okay? I need some pointers. My ignorance already got me into hot
water once today.”

“You really don’t know anything?”

“I know you’re a halfback. Johnny’s a
quarterback. Sean’s a kicker. Other than that, I’ve got
nothing.”

He whirled her through a sexy upbeat, then
suggested with a mischievous smile, “Let’s start with the
positions.”

“Bam . . .”

“
Football
positions,” he scolded her.
“Get your mind out of the gutter.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Okay, so
there are halfbacks and quarterbacks. And I’ve heard of fullbacks,
too. Any other backs?”

“Sure. You’ve got your double-backs, right?
Two of them, just like the name implies. They stand on either side
of the quarterback.”

“Okay, what else?”

“Well, obviously there’s the throwback. If
John’s pass goes sideways, the throwback grabs it and tosses it to
me, the halfback.”

“Throwback?”

“Right. Then there’s the kickback—”

“Okay, okay. Very funny.” She smiled fondly.
“I’m going to love having you as a client.”

A strong hand landed on her shoulder and she
spun around, half fearing, half hoping to see Wyatt Bourne. But it
was someone equally gorgeous and infinitely tamer.

“Hi, Sean,” she said shyly.

Apparently she hadn’t imagined how adorable
he was. Not as huge as some of his colleagues, but tall and lean
with sandy hair, handsome features, and a casual, confident smile.
He looked great in his tux, like a groom on a wedding cake, and
Darcie felt a nice, sweet ache well up inside her.

“Hey, babe,” he said as though he’d known
her for years. “I’m here to rescue you from this loser.”

Bam laughed. “Don’t you have your own girl?
Where’s Kerrie?”

“She couldn’t make it,” Sean murmured, and
Darcie was sure she heard the unspoken “again” at the end of his
words. But he rallied and insisted, “Luckily, I’ve got Darcie.
Right, Darce?”

“Right.”

She thought Bannerman would harass him
further, but instead he seemed pleased. “Take good care of her. I
need to check on the teach anyway.”

Darcie smiled, knowing that “the teach” was
Bam’s nickname for Rachel.

“Just so you know, we’re not allowed to talk
about her qualifications,” the halfback added cheerfully. “Murf’s
orders.”

“Grow up,” Sean growled. “And go away. I
want to dance with my new agent.”

“You’re with Murf, remember? She’s all
mine.”

“Don’t worry, guys,” Darcie assured them
with a smile. “There’s enough of me to go around.”

“That’s a great point,” Bam agreed,
explaining to Sean, “She’s got two. One for each of us.”

Sean howled with laughter, ignoring Darcie’s
glare.

“I’m going to find a grown-up to dance
with,” she muttered. “Maybe Alexi Romanov.”

“Huh?” Sean sobered quickly. “No way. He’s
got a rep, Darcie.” When she just rolled her eyes, he told Bam,
“Erica’s getting us all a table, so find Rachel and we can meet up
in a few minutes.”

“Got it. Thanks for the dance,
beautiful.”

She watched as he ambled away. Then she
turned to Sean. “You guys are so funny together.”

“He’s a bad influence,” Sean said, moving in
closer and arousing her with a charismatic smile. “I haven’t known
many girls with green eyes. It’s cool.”

“It’s our secret connection,” she agreed,
enjoying the feel of his warm breath on her bare shoulder and neck.
The she added dutifully, “I’m sorry your girlfriend couldn’t make
it. I was hoping to meet her.”

“Yeah, it sucks.” He hesitated, then said
quietly, “How much do you know?”

“Nothing. Murf’s very protective of our
clients’ personal information. He said if I wanted to know, I
should ask you. But I’m not asking,” she said quickly. “Do you want
to change the subject?”

“No, it’s okay.” His tone grew bleak.
“Kerrie was stuck in a bad marriage for years before I met her. Now
she’s in the process of divorcing the scumbag. She was supposed to
file yesterday, and then we’d go public tonight, but she decided
she needed a few more days. And I don’t blame her. It’s been rough
on her for a lot of reasons.”

“Well, the important thing is, she’s getting
away from the scumbag,” Darcie insisted, her heart going out to
anyone in an abusive relationship. “You two will have plenty of
chances to—well, to go public when the time is right.”

“Thanks, Darce,” he said, his expression
brightening. Then it darkened again as he glared at something over
her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“Wyatt Bourne keeps checking out your
ass.”

“What?”

“He’s so full of himself,” Sean
complained.

She wanted to turn and see for herself, but
decided to play it cool. “At least it’s my ass he’s noticing.
That’s a nice change.”

Sean grinned. “I thought we weren’t supposed
to talk about those.”

She laughed too. “I’m the worst offender,
trust me. I’m always worried people will judge me by—well, my
qualifications.”

“All they have to do is talk to you, and
problem solved. Plus,” he added in a husky tone, “your eyes are the
real stars. You know that, right?”

Darcie’s confidence swelled. “That’s
such
an amazing thing to say. Thanks, Sean.”

“No problem,” he murmured, then he smiled to
erase any possible confusion. “Do you want me to introduce you
around? I know a lot of these guys. My guess is, they’re
all
gonna want to sign with you.”

“I don’t think Murf actually wants me to
sign anyone yet. Learning the ropes and shadowing Bam’s
negotiations will be a full plate for me. But you’re right, I
should mingle.” She touched his cheek. “You said Erica’s getting a
table. Go and join them, and I’ll find Murf. He wants to introduce
me to the quote-unquote Tsar. And to the commissioner—which always
makes me think of Gotham City.”

“Just stick close to Murf. No side trips
with Romanov.” Sean wrapped his arm around her waist and led her to
the edge of the dance floor. “I should call Kerrie anyway. She gets
crazy jealous. Not
actual
crazy,” he added with a sheepish
wince. “Just normal stuff.”

“I knew exactly what you meant. You’re
adorable, Sean.
Any
girl would be jealous. So just spend
time with Rachel and Erica, since they’re already taken.”

A shadow passed over his face, and Darcie
was dying to ask what it meant. But all she said was, “You should
call Kerrie for sure. Oh!”’ A buzzing sound from her evening bag
made her smile. “Good timing.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“I wish. It must be business, since I only
have my Patrick Murphy phone with me.” Sheepish, she admitted,
“This is my very first text as an agent. Let’s hope it’s not
spam.”

“Yeah.” His green eyes sparkled, and without
further warning, he pulled her close and kissed her gently on the
lips. “Have fun, babe. We’ll see you in a few.”

Darcie stared after him as he hurried away.
The kiss had taken her by surprise, but only in a charming,
nonthreatening way, especially because she had seen him do the same
to Erica and to Rachel when she first met the group last
weekend.

Smiling, she remembered how neither Johnny
nor Bam had seemed pleased, although Johnny had made a joke of it,
calling the women Sean’s “harem.”

If Darcie was in that harem now too, she
wasn’t about to complain. But she could definitely sympathize with
Kerrie!

Laughing at herself, she pulled out the
phone and saw that it was an email, not a text.

The content shocked her with a message that
read:
You have received an e-book from Wyatt Bourne. Click
here
to accept the gift.

Raising her gaze, she spotted him across the
room, his hand still on the redhead’s backside, his attention fixed
on the glitzy couple with whom they were conversing.

What the heck?

Why would he give her a gift? To make up for
teasing her on the plane? To start up a professional conversation?
A social one?

Surely not a romantic one, since he already
had his hands full, almost literally.

Turning her back to him, she clicked the
link and watched as the book downloaded into her phone.

A Child’s Guide to the Language of
Football.

Pivoting back toward him, she saw he was
looking right at her, a teasing smile on his face. With one hand
still firmly planted on his date’s ass, he raised the champagne
glass in his free hand in a toast to Darcie.

If he had been alone, she might have
mistaken it for flirting.

The truth? He was mocking her. Reminding her
she was the only person in the room who didn’t know the difference
between a halfback and a quarterback.

Mortified, she forced herself to stand her
ground. To roll her eyes, then stifle a fake yawn before turning
away from him again. As had happened before, she wanted to crawl
into a hole and lick her wounds, but a friendly voice presented a
better option.

“Darcie?”

Her gaze shifted gratefully to the chiseled
features of quarterback Johnny Spurling. She had liked him a lot at
their first meeting. Now, knowing he had decimated the Surgeon in
the Super Bowl, she loved him with a white-hot passion.

The Big Dog.

“Hi, Johnny.”

He smiled in clear sympathy. “Murf abandoned
you? On your first night out?”

“Not at all. He handed me off to Bam and
Sean.”

“Even worse,” he said, chuckling. Then his
tone warmed. “Are you nervous? This turnout is insane. Worse than
our wedding, and
that
was a mob scene. Just ask Erica.”

“I will,” Darcie promised, torn between
obsessing on Wyatt Bourne’s playful jab and moving on to her new
career. Luckily, the career won out. “I’m so glad you and Erica are
here. Aside from Murf, you’re the only people I really know.
Although Bam and Sean have been great too.”

“Come hang with us,” he said, the suggestion
sounding more like an order. Or at least a game plan, and she
reminded herself he was used to calling the shots.

“I’m supposed to mingle.”

“It’s too crowded for that. Better to sit at
our table and wait for folks to stop by. They will, believe me.
They either want the photo op with the Triple Threat, or they’re
friends of ours. Or . . .” His blue eyes twinkled.
“They can’t resist the pretty women. Erica and Rachel are hotter
than hell. With you? We’ll be swamped.”

“That sounds like so much fun. I’ll join you
in a few minutes. After I check in with my new boss.”

Johnny nodded, then asked carefully, “Do you
want to meet Wyatt Bourne? I need to touch base with him before I
head back to the table.”

“Your nemesis?”

He laughed. “According to the press, yeah.
But he’s okay. And politically, folks would notice if he and I
don’t interact.”

“That makes sense. But I’ll pass if you
don’t mind. He supposedly has a big ego, right? That’s why they
call him the Surgeon?”

“They call him the Surgeon because he can
thread a needle like a master. But yeah,” he added with a chuckle.
“He’s got the ego to go with it. Plus, I doubt if he’d sign with
Murf—or you—given the situation. So you’re right, you should
concentrate on legitimate prospects.”

“Good idea.”

He straightened and eyed her intently.
“You’re okay?”

“I really am,” she said with a sheepish
smile. “Don’t let the deer-in-the-headlights expression fool
you.”

“Luckily, no one’s looking at your
eyes.”

“Oh, my God, you too?”

“Bannerman’s a bad influence,” he said,
grinning. “That’s my excuse.” When she laughed, he added more
sincerely, “Knock ’em dead, Darce. Then come hang with us for the
rest of the night. We’ll be good—
all
of us—I promise.”

• • •

Despite returning home in the wee hours of
the morning, Darcie was up early on Sunday, completely energized by
her new career. The agency’s existing clients had treated her like
an old friend, combining respect and warmth with hilarious flirting
under Murf’s watchful eye. Even Alexi Romanov, a young stud with a
bad reputation, had surprised her by talking football nonstop,
apparently unaware that she hadn’t yet read her children’s
book.

Unsurprisingly, respect for Patrick Murphy
ran rampant, not just with clients but with the NFL higher-ups,
other agents, and players represented by other agencies. Given the
meteoric increase in Murf’s finances, Darcie had known he was doing
well, and had suspected he was doing it with class and aplomb.