The Striker's Chance (6 page)

“Uh huh.”

“And if everything goes to plan, you’ll not only get a fat slice of the de Klerk pie, there will be a desk in New York with your name on it. If you want it, that is.”

“I do,” Holly said too quickly, her heart racing at the very idea. She had hoped her work with Discovery might broaden her client base to D.C. or Atlanta, but corporate PR at a huge company like LKC Energy, based in New York City? It was way beyond her wildest ambitions for her career.

Although it would mean moving away from everything she had in Charlotte, the life she’d built for herself over the last seven years.

Then again, it wasn’t much of a life. As her friends had gotten married and started families she’d begun to see them less and less. Stumbling out of a taxi after too many Wednesday night happy hour drinks had slowly but steadily transformed into herbal tea on Saturday afternoon with a pause for breastfeeding.

And she had no love life to speak of, nor any real prospects on the horizon. Dating had become a tedious, demoralizing exercise in futility. She hated the way men’s eyes glazed over when she tried to introduce serious topics like politics or business. Hated the way they surveyed her from head to toe when they thought she wasn’t looking. And more than anything, she hated the way so many of them blatantly came to the decision that she wasn’t quite hot enough to be worth putting up with her strong personality. She’d seen that transition from evaluation to contemplation to disinterest so many times that after a while she’d simply given up.

She had to be honest with herself. She would never be low-key enough to have the easy camaraderie of the Russells. And she would never be pretty or fun enough to replicate Gina’s designer family. She was who she was: driven, ambitious and long past the ability to make the necessary compromises for a successful relationship.

Maybe this was her chance to break away from all that. To work hard and play hard in the city that never sleeps. To thrive on stress and glamour and nonstop excitement, and to never spend another baby shower sitting awkwardly in the corner listening to a debate about cloth diapers.

“Then I look forward to seeing more of the same.” Sharon interrupted her reverie. “You help de Klerk push Discovery into the top three, and we’ll be welcoming you to Manhattan. Deal?”

Holly swallowed hard, hoping to banish the unease that swelled in her chest. This was what she wanted—wasn’t it?

“Deal.”

Chapter Six

“What’s this magazine called again?” Kepler asked as Holly pulled her car into the gym parking lot and shut off the engine.

“
Women’s Wellness
,” she reminded him. “It’s ostensibly about health and well-being, but the articles are more about little life improvements to make you feel less guilty. No one’s going to read it and become an endurance athlete. But it has a national circulation and a big readership.” And their acceptance of her pitch and photo spread had been a real coup. The perfect expansion from local press to national—and hopefully one more step down the road from Charlotte to New York City.

She squinted at the raindrops obscuring the windshield.

“I forgot my umbrella. We’ll have to make a run for it.”

Wordlessly Kepler unzipped his windbreaker, which was red and bore the Archway logo on the left breast, and draped it over her shoulders.

“The photographer will want to do something to my hair anyway, so it might as well get wet,” he said, preempting her refusal as he pulled the hood over her loose chignon.

“Thanks.” The jacket was warm from his body, and the scent of cedarwood wrapped around her like a cloak.

“Pleasure.” At her frown of confusion he explained, “That’s the South African version of ‘you’re welcome.’”

They dashed across the rainy parking lot and into the gym where the photo shoot would take place.
Women’s Wellness
had hired a Raleigh-based photographer whom Holly hadn’t worked with before, and she crossed the room to greet the slim, attractive woman.

The photographer introduced herself as Laurel, dispatched Kepler to get styled and changed, and then gave Holly a quick rundown on the series of shots she was looking for.

“
Women’s Wellness
always wants pretty much the same thing. Lots of muscle and a sexy pout. Do you think he can do brooding?”

Holly smirked. “He practically invented it.”

As if eager to prove her point, Kepler emerged from his session with the stylist wearing a much smaller, tighter version of his Discovery uniform and a resolute scowl.

“This is ridiculous.” He gestured to the shorts that cut high on his hard thighs. “This is obviously a fake uniform. And why would I wear it to work out?”

“It promotes the team. This is a lighthearted shoot,” she assured him. “Don’t over-think it.”

He glowered at her but allowed himself to be directed through the first couple of shots in silent compliance.

“You’re very photogenic,” Laurel said warmly as she positioned him with one of the machines.

“These are all looking great,” Holly enthused from her place near Laurel’s laptop, which displayed the photos as they were taken. Kepler barely grunted a response, clearly unmoved by the women’s attempts at flattery.

After a few more snaps, Laurel let her camera rest on the strap around her neck.

“That was fantastic, Kepler. Now take off your shirt and we’ll get started on the second half.”

He froze. “What?”

“Just pull it over your head. Don’t worry, we can fix your hair if it gets messed up.”

Kepler shot Holly a desperate glance. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Laurel looked between the two of them and made a tactful move out to the parking lot. “I need to grab some equipment from my car. I’ll be right back.”

He dropped onto the weight bench and Holly crossed the room to sit beside him.

“What’s up?” she asked as he put his elbows on his knees.

“This is too embarrassing.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to do it.”

A celebrity confidence crisis. Now that was something she knew how to handle, even if it was erupting from the most unlikely of people.

“Kepler, you’re a professional athlete. You have the kind of body most men can only dream about. And women
want
to dream about it—that’s why we need these photos. Trust me, there won’t be a critical thought anywhere near these readers’ minds when they see the spread.”

“It’s not that.” His brow furrowed as he stared at the floor. “I’m a soccer player, not an actor or a model. I don’t trade on my looks. I get paid to play a sport, not to stand around with no clothes on.”

“It’s only the shirt,” she coaxed. “And maybe we can get you in your regular shorts for these shots.”

He sighed. “It just seems so...personal.” He looked up at her, his eyes big with pleading. “Please don’t make me do it.”

Holly forced a brittle laugh in an effort to conceal the way his gaze sucked the air out of her lungs and made her breathless. “You know as well as I do that I can’t make you do anything you don’t want.”

When he continued to watch her expectantly, she had to grit her teeth against the impulse to trail a soothing hand down his back, tell him he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen and suggest they sneak out the back door and go get a beer.

Because his completely justified reluctance to strip to the waist for a national magazine filled her with respect for him. He was right. He had become famous for his talent, not his looks. And if it weren’t for LKC Energy’s grand ambitions—and hers, by extension—he could be left alone to work on his game rather than spend a rainy afternoon having his photo taken and drafting responses to the magazine’s banal questions.

But she did want that job—wanted it more and more each day. And although she doubted Kepler would be thrilled at the idea of leaving Discovery so soon, she was sure an eventual transfer to a bigger club was in his long-term plan.

The front door banged open and shut. Laurel diverted to where the stylist had set up shop in the changing room, but Holly knew she’d be back any minute. She had to talk Kepler out of his shirt. Fast.

“I know it’s awkward,” she said with honest sympathy, “but you have to trust me. This magazine is read all over the country, and it offers us a massive step away from ‘that guy in the car accident’ and toward ‘the sexy striker from Charlotte Discovery.’”

“Us?”

A slip of the tongue. Holly felt her cheeks color. Although it seemed extremely unlikely that he could ever guess at LKC Energy’s offer, she decided it was time for some expert spin.

“Like it or not, I’m invested in your career. Beyond that, I’m invested in
you
. I want to see you happy at Discovery, playing the sport you love with the reputation you deserve.”

To her indescribable relief, he cracked a tiny smile. “And do you think a reputation as a sexy striker is one I deserve?”

“My opinion isn’t what matters,” she replied, deliberately coy. “But I will make you an offer. Get these photos done, and we can draft your answers to the interview question over a few beers instead of in the reception area here. What do you say?”

“I’m slightly offended you think I can be bribed with alcohol,” he replied, his playful expression belying his words. “But on this occasion I suppose I’ll let it slide.”

Holly grinned as Laurel stepped back into the room.

She slung her camera back over her neck. “Are we ready?”

Kepler got to his feet, pulled the tight blue T-shirt over his head and flung it to the side. “Let’s get this over with.”

Holly retreated behind the laptop and watched as image after image of his tanned torso filled the screen. Pure muscle. Yet his build was lean, with golden blond hair sprinkled across his chest and running in a tantalizing line south from his navel. When he pivoted according to Laurel’s direction, Holly saw he had the South African flag tattooed on the back of his left shoulder. Beneath it the word
Ubuntu
.

Kepler glanced at her over that same shoulder, and she shot him a thumbs-up and an encouraging smile.

He grinned back at her, and Laurel snapped like crazy. Holly looked at the image on the screen: tousled blond hair, perfect teeth, all that smooth skin and a warmth in those bitter chocolate eyes that hadn’t appeared in any of the other photos.

This is it
, she thought with a secret sense of triumph.
We’ll get the cover for sure.

* * *

“Come on, Kepler,” Holly implored, but the smile that teased at the edges of her mouth gave her away. “You have to answer these seriously.”

“I am,” he insisted, taking a swig of beer and leaning back in his seat. They were tucked into a booth at the back of a cozy, wood-paneled bar with a good selection of beers on tap and an unobtrusive jukebox. The summer drizzle had exploded into a relentless rainstorm, and slowly but surely the after-work crowd began to trickle in, shaking umbrellas and brushing water off their sleeves.

She hadn’t closed his windbreaker as they’d raced in from the car, and when they first settled into the booth he’d gotten a peek at the outline of her bra through the damp, light-blue cotton of her blouse. It had dried now, he noted with some disappointment.

He’d been mildly embarrassed about his moment of self-consciousness during the photo shoot, but she’d handled the situation with such empathy and understanding that he easily shook it off. As he looked at her across the table, he realized that was what made her a success in her profession. The image weaving and fabrications were part of it, sure, but more important was her calm strength. She gave the impression that she could take anything in stride without so much as a fluttered eyelash. A reassuring contrast to his own tendency to indulge in flashes of hot, rash temper.

“Okay, next one,” she said, shuffling the papers on which she’d printed the
Women’s Wellness
journalist’s emailed interview questions. “What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for a girlfriend?”

Kepler bit his lip while he considered his answer. “I think it would be a stretch to refer to any of the women I’ve been with as a girlfriend.”

“They just want a cute anecdote. It doesn’t have to be technically accurate. Surely you’ve done something romantic at some point in your life?”

He drummed his fingers on the table as he racked his brain, but he’d so rarely spent time with a woman more than once or twice that he struggled to think of something printable.

Finally Holly rolled her eyes. “Forget it, I can make something up later.”

“I’ll keep thinking about it. Next?”

“What’s your favorite way to work out?”

“That’s an easy one. Running.”

She nodded, writing that down. “Care to elaborate?”

He shrugged. “I can do it anywhere, in my own time, at my own speed.”

Her head bent over the paper, her slender hand moving quickly.

“What about you?” he asked. “Do you like to run, or play any sports?”

She raised her face to his and as she wrinkled her nose he was struck, for the umpteenth time, by how beautiful she was.

“I go to the gym three times a week, but only because I know it’s good for me. I don’t particularly enjoy it.”

“Come for a run with me sometime,” he offered with a grin. “You’ll learn to love it.”

“I doubt that.” She chuckled.

He waved her on with his hand. “Next question.”

“What does the word in your tattoo mean?”

Kepler blinked. “What?” He leaned across the table, trying to snatch the paper from her hand. “How did they know—”

She held the paper out of his reach, grinning playfully. “It’s my question, not the magazine’s. You don’t have to answer, but I am curious.”

He sat back and regarded her steadily. She had the mischievous sparkle in her eyes that he’d seen at the house in Ballantyne. He couldn’t get enough of this side of her—the cheeky, teasing, incredibly unprofessional side.

“I guess you could say it’s an African philosophy. It essentially means ‘I am who I am because of who we all are.’”

She quirked a brow in interest. “How did you choose that?”

He paused before replying. He wasn’t sure he’d ever discussed his tattoo with anyone before. There were so many tattoos in the changing rooms of professional soccer teams that no one really noticed, and none of the women he’d been with had taken any interest.

This is all part of shaking off that old charade
, he reminded himself. Of letting people see the real man behind the bad-boy reputation.

Her expression was patiently expectant.

“I had it done when I signed with the club in Spain and moved to Europe,” he explained. “I suppose it has two meanings. It’s an expression of gratitude for the place that made me who I am and also a reminder of where it all started. Although considering how rarely I went back home in the few years before the car accident, maybe it wasn’t that effective.”

“You didn’t go back for visits?”

He shook his head. “Why spend the off-season being scolded by your mother in a town that barely has an airport when you could be gambling in Monaco or skiing in Argentina?”

“Scolded for what?”

“Unfortunately, this thing called the internet means that even my technologically challenged parents can read the British tabloids online.” He smirked. “I’d play a match on Saturday, go out that night, and by midafternoon on Sunday my mother would be on the phone, letting me know exactly what she thought of the photos from the night before.”

Holly winced. “Harsh.”

“Even worse than when I actually lived with them as a teenager. In those days I could get away with almost anything as long as I was home by curfew. I didn’t have to worry about the photographic evidence being splashed all over the web.” He clucked his tongue. “More often than not, I look at those old photos and don’t even remember the nights they were taken.”

“It must have been tough to go back home after the accident.”

“It was at first, although my parents were incredibly supportive amidst all the accusations. I sat in their garden for days when I got back, stuck in a plaster cast, waiting for my phone to ring with sympathy from all my so-called friends. It never did, and eventually it dawned on me that my mother’s cups of tea and my father’s cheesy jokes were worth a lot more than bottles of champagne and five-star hotel rooms. My thirtieth birthday party was held at my parents’ dinner table instead of on a luxury yacht in the Mediterranean, and it couldn’t have been better. I lost track of it for a few years, but I came back around to
Ubuntu
in the end.”