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  “Be careful. I don’t want to end up at the emergency room again because you tripped over something you and the mutt didn’t see.”

  “She’s not a mutt, she’s a mix of two pure breeds,” Yank said proudly as he opened his car door.

  “I still say you should have bought a real guide dog and not a pet.” J.D. came around and met him.

  Yank frowned. “Keep sounding like my wife and you’ll have to find yourself a new job.”

  J.D. merely laughed. “You say that every day,” he said as he helped Yank out of the car.

  Yank did his best to ignore the indignity of needing aid at basic tasks. A man accepted what a man had to accept. “You remind your father we’re playing poker tonight,” Yank said.

  Nobody asked how Yank played without being able to see the cards, and Yank refused to discuss it. He’d rather lose money every month than give up the things he loved. And J.D.’s father, Curly, had been in Yank’s poker game for years, even before Yank had become his nieces’ guardian when they were little girls.

  J.D. scratched Noodle’s fluffy fur and helped Yank pull the dog out of the car. “You think I need to remind Dad of something he’s been doing every month for most of his life? At least now with Lola around I know he won’t be smoking. You and my father. Neither one of you listen to your doctors,” J.D. muttered.

  “Wait till you get older before passing judgment. I’ll only be about fifteen minutes.” Yank pulled his heavy jacket tighter around him and let the dog lead him toward the door of the gym.

  Part Labrador retriever, part poodle, completely dense when it came to being in charge, Noodle wasn’t the guide dog Yank should have gotten, but he enjoyed the pretense. It was fun making people think he was a little bit crazy. There were worse ways to spend his life, he thought, laughing.

  He made his way to the weight room in the back of the gym. The trainers and employees were used to him visiting clients and bringing Noodle along. He headed for where he knew he’d find John Roper, letting years of experience lead the way. The main part of the gym was noisy and crowded, but as he approached the private rooms in the back, Yank could hear that there weren’t as many people there.

  Which Yank figured was the reason his not-so-star baseball player client John Roper chose to work out here and now. Unfortunately, the televisions were on and the sound coming from the speakers told Yank that morning sports talk-show host, Frank Buckley, was spouting off at the mouth as usual.

  “Spring training is around the corner and this New York Renegade fan still hasn’t gotten over John Roper’s disastrous last season or his role in the Renegades Game 5 World Series loss. Call in and let me know if your lack of expectations match mine for the highly overpaid hero. The Buck Stops Here, folks.”

  The television station went to commercial at the same time Roper yelled aloud, “Somebody shut that damn thing off before I rip the speakers off the wall.”

  When nobody moved, Yank added his two cents. “Can’t you hear the man? Shut off the noise or we’ll sue you for intentional infliction of emotional distress.”

  The weights clanged hard as Roper dropped them to the floor. “Morgan, what are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Visiting the dumbbells.” Yank laughed at his own joke.

  Roper didn’t.

  “You still upset over Buckley the Bastard’s tirade? Grow up and get over it,” Yank said. He’d already tried coddling Roper through his rough patch and it hadn’t worked. He was moving on to tough love.

  “Someone dropped off a Roper bobblehead doll with my doorman. Damn thing had a knife stuck in the shoulder.”

  Yank groaned. The fans wouldn’t let Roper forget his nightmarish last season. He hadn’t been able to hit or throw, and to make things worse, he’d sprained his shoulder in a failed attempt to stop a game-winning home run by slamming it into the center field wall. This in addition to striking out earlier when the bases were loaded and the Renegades had a chance at the go-ahead run. Their team had lost, the fans needed a scapegoat, and they’d chosen the highest-priced center fielder in the game to sacrifice. Not that the man wasn’t in a slump, but losing had been a team effort.

  Now Buckley insisted on continuing the torture in the off-season. Roper had every right to be pissed. He didn’t need Buckley riling up the fans against him in his daily tirades.

  “Are you sure Buckley doesn’t have a personal grudge?” Yank asked.

  Roper rose to his feet, looming large over Yank. “I screwed his ex-girlfriend. She just didn’t see fit to mention she was no longer his ex on the night in question.”

  Yank chuckled. “He oughta let it go.”

  “She’s his wife now,” Roper said.

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah,” Roper agreed. “You do realize that if this was a lesser market, nobody would pay attention to anything Buckley said?”

  Yank shook his head. “But it isn’t a lesser market. It’s New York.” And that said it all.

  Athletes were like movie stars here, back-and front-page news and fodder for gossip. “You used to love the attention,” Yank reminded him.

  Prior to his funk, Roper had been known for being a high-maintenance outfielder. ESports TV, Magazine and Radio named Roper among the top metrosexual athletes of the year. Yank didn’t get why grown men like Roper spent good money on the best clubs, gyms and hairdressers. What normal man had his back waxed? Yank had no idea. But Roper’s good-looking mug had made them both a boatload of money, so Yank wasn’t about to complain.

  “I did love the attention,” Roper said. “Until my talent went south.” Roper leaned forward on the bench, elbows on his knees, and stared ahead at nothing in particular. “So what are you really doing here?” Roper asked.

  “I came to cheer you up. I don’t want the media to see you down and I sure as hell don’t need you taking a swing at one of them, no matter how much they provoke you.”

  “That sounds like a message from Micki.”

  Yank’s niece, Michelle, was Roper’s close friend, as well as his publicist. She was the resident expert at the Hot Zone for keeping her high-maintenance client out of trouble and out of the press.

  Then again, maybe some good press was exactly what Roper needed. “I have a present for you. Here’s a gift certificate.” Yank pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. “Go get yourself a massage and a manicure.”

  “Not in the mood.”

  Yank didn’t know what else to do in order to help his dejected client. “Don’t you want to look your best for the annual Hot Zone New Year’s party?”

  “I’m not going.”

  Yank smacked him upside the head. “You sure as hell are. You’re going to hold yourself up and make like life’s grand. Attitude is everything and right now yours sucks.”

  Yank couldn’t see well but he figured Roper was scowling at him about now. “I’m sure you’re having a rough time after the series, but obviously something more has you bent out of shape. The happy-go-lucky guy I know wouldn’t be sulking like a pansy.”

  Roper rose and Yank felt the other man’s height close beside him.

  “You want to know what’s bothering me? Where should I start? I could live with last year’s disaster if I thought I was definitely coming back, but we both know the shoulder’s not healing the way it should. That means my career may be shorter than we’d anticipated. Not a financial problem given my huge contract, right?”

  “Unless you pissed it away…” Yank said, not at all serious.

  “You know me better than that. But my family’s working hard at doing it for me.”

  Yank blinked. “Ever hear just say no?”

  “You try telling them that.”

  Yank wasn’t worried about Roper’s future. The younger man had come to him for investment advice and Yank knew he’d diversified wisely. But if his career was shortened due to injury and his family was going through his money like water, Yank could understand the man’s distress. “Slow ’em down, then,” Yank suggest
ed.

  “Yeah, I’m trying,” Roper muttered. “Do me a favor? Tell Micki I need time to myself. If she doesn’t quit worrying and sending you around to check on me, I’m going to let the Hot Zone go. Who knows? If I can’t play this season, I may not need a PR firm at all.”

  Yank frowned. “Micki’s not worried about you as a client, you ass. She’s worried about you as a friend.”

  “I know that,” Roper said, sounding more subdued and apologetic. “I appreciate her concern, but there’s nothing she can do unless she’s got a magic cure for the shoulder.”

  Even Yank knew when to give a man space, and John Roper needed it more than Yank had realized. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said to the man he both liked and admired.

  “What’s that?”

  “Come to the party and I promise nobody will be talking business. You could use some time to relax. No media invited. What do you say?”

  Roper remained silent for too long.

  Obviously the man was tense and strung tight if he couldn’t bring himself to say he’d come to a party. “When was the last time you got laid?” Yank asked, voicing the first question that came to mind.

  “None of your damn business.”

  Yank chuckled at the quick answer. “Then it’s been too damn long.”

  Yank had seen the symptoms in other good men, as well. Men who spent too much time alone and needed a woman in their lives. Not that he’d know…No sir, but he knew Roper needed a distraction from focusing on his World Series screwup or the start of spring training in February.

  Too bad Yank had already hooked up his three nieces with solid men. But just because his girls were taken didn’t mean Yank couldn’t work his magic with Roper and another woman.

  But who could he find to put up with a man who liked things orderly and neat, designer and upscale? He went through the women in his office, then smacked himself for being so dense. He should have thought of the female solution to Roper’s problems sooner.

  Amy Stone, the niece of his partner, Spencer Atkins. She was feisty, pretty and single, and only an idiot could have missed the sparks between Amy and Roper at Sophie’s wedding. Roper’s date had been a bimbo but not an idiot, Yank thought, recalling the drink she’d spilled down Roper’s shirt and their immediate exit right afterward. And since Amy had just moved to the city and taken a position at the Hot Zone, she didn’t know many people in town. Yes, sir, Amy was his answer.

  He didn’t intend to tell Roper, though. Yank loved surprises. “Come to the party,” Yank insisted.

  “You’ll leave me alone if I do?”

  Yank nodded. “Scout’s honor,” he said, raising his hand.

  Roper shrugged. “Okay, then. Why the hell not?”

  Yank tugged on Noodle’s leash, and as they walked out the door, Yank whistled, pleased with his handiwork.

  J.D. met him by the car. “Why are you in such a good mood?”

  “Because I’m not a Boy Scout and I never have been,” Yank said, laughing. John Roper was about to benefit from Yank being a lying, meddling son of a bitch.

  AMY LOVED FLORIDA. SHE enjoyed the warm weather all year, the ease of never having to wear a winter jacket. It was one of the reasons she’d stayed down South instead of going away to college. She also was a person who appreciated comfortable surroundings, and her home and family in Florida represented the familiar.

  Her father had died of a heart attack when she was young. But thanks to her mother and aunt, and her uncle’s frequent visits, she’d never felt alone or neglected. Still, she’d been old enough to remember her father and she’d always felt his absence in her life. While her mother was wild, spirited and free, her father had been more reserved, the epitome of good manners.

  When she was a kid, she’d had some wild antics of her own, like when her father had insisted they give the puppy she’d found to the pound. Granted it was a no-kill shelter, but she’d wanted that dog, and to prove her point, she’d picketed—with signs—from the garage roof below her bedroom window. He had insisted she come down before she fell off, making his disapproval with her technique clear along with his fear for her safety. He preferred she use traditional, safe methods to make her point instead of alerting the neighbors and causing them to panic and call both him and 9-1-1.

  She laughed at the memory, because it had been one of the few times she’d made use of her mother’s genes—the ones she usually kept hidden inside her. From that point on, she’d tried to please her father and rein in any wildness. Even after he was gone, Amy had never stopped trying to please him.

  Being a social worker, helping out others in need, was something she knew her father would have been proud of. When she’d lost that job, thanks to one of her mother’s more outrageous stunts, she’d been devastated and she’d retreated home to lick her wounds. While there, she fell into the habit of looking out for her mother and her friends, again something her father would have approved of. She’d ended up as the social director of the seniors’ community and she had to admit the job had been a good fit for her.

  But she’d spent enough time watching over her mother and she missed being with people her own age. Amy had woken up on her birthday and realized not only hadn’t she accomplished her old dreams, she’d forgotten to make new ones. Uprooting herself from the familiar was the first step in forging a new life. One that included a new career—with the Hot Zone thanks to her uncle Spencer and the generosity of the Jordan sisters in giving her a chance.

  Now, on New Year’s Eve, she stepped off the elevator at the Park Avenue offices of the Hot Zone and glanced at the guests, the male ones in particular, and an immediate feeling of déjà vu swept over her. Just like at Sophie and Riley’s wedding, she felt out of her element. Would she ever get used to being surrounded by buff, hot men? She hoped not, she thought, as she glanced around at her new normal.

  The coat-check woman greeted her and took her jacket. A server offered her a glass of champagne, which Amy declined. She wanted a clear head for all the new faces and names she’d encounter, as well as access to her memories of those she’d already met at the wedding. Those memories were vivid. Especially the ones of John Roper and how disappointed she’d been by his deception. Of course, maybe he’d have told her about his date given more time.

  And maybe he hadn’t leaned close enough to kiss her cheek, she thought, still disappointed by the outcome. No matter how much she wanted to believe he’d been as blindsided by their attraction as she’d been, that he couldn’t help but act on it, date or no date, she knew she was deceiving herself. In all likelihood, the man was exactly what he seemed to be—a guy trying to juggle more than one woman at a time.

  The man was a superstar athlete, a celebrity who was probably used to women falling at his feet. Amy had grown up listening to her uncle’s stories of his famous clients. And Amy had inadvertently played the role of doting admirer. But that wasn’t who she was. Amy wasn’t into the glitz, glamour and fame celebrity brought.

  She exhaled a stream of air, annoyed at herself for giving Roper any thought at all. She forced herself to focus to the holiday decorations that lingered from Christmas and the pretty silver balls hanging from the ceiling. A professionally decorated tree sat in the corner twinkling with lights that were sure to be taken down soon after the first of the year. The decor outdid anything she, her mother and aunt back in Florida had managed to set up in the clubhouse each year.

  “Amy?”

  She turned at the sound of her name above the noise of the happy crowd. Sophie Jordan approached quickly, a warm smile on her face. No matter how many times Amy saw Sophie, she was always shocked by her beauty and perfection. Tonight her honey-blond hair was pulled back in a neat knot, her face beautifully made up.

  Amy hugged Sophie, the sister who was the organizer behind the Hot Zone. She had met Sophie for the first time in Florida last year. Though Sophie wasn’t as touchy-feely as Amy, she hugged right back.

  “You look happy. Marriage to my cousin
must agree with you,” Amy said, taking in Sophie’s glowing face.

  Sophie grinned. “Well, marriage to Riley is pretty darn good.”

  “I just bet it is. Where is my cousin, anyway?”

  “He’ll be here soon.”

  “And your sisters?” Amy glanced over Sophie’s shoulder. “Are they around here somewhere?”

  “Unfortunately Micki’s still on the island—her husband, Damian, owns a slice of paradise. Her daughter had a respiratory infection and Damian insisted on taking the family to a warmer climate for a little while. From what they say, it seems to be helping. But Annabelle is here working the crowd. I’m sure you’ll see her soon.”

  Amy nodded. “Well, please send Micki my love.”

  “I will. And you can do it yourself at the first staff meeting in a few days.”

  Amy already knew she was stepping into a high-profile, high-pressure place with loyalty and dedication in spades, and she wanted to play a successful part. Nepotism might have gotten her the job, but only proving herself would keep her here. She was definitely ready for the challenge.

  “Well, look who’s here!” a booming male voice said. Her uncle’s partner, Yank, pulled her into a big hug at the same time Amy caught sight of his wife, Lola, standing behind him.

  Amy waved to the other woman, who smiled right back.

  “Just tell me your crazy mother and aunt are still at home in Florida,” Yank said as he stepped back.

  Lola groaned. “Ignore him. He’s had a drink or two and doesn’t know what he’s saying.” She smacked her husband on the shoulder.

  “I’m stone-cold sober. You’ve been watering down my drinks all night.” He leaned closer to Amy. “She thinks just because I can’t see, my taste buds have gone, too.”

  And he thought Amy’s relatives were crazy? She shook her head and laughed. “No problem, Lola. I’ve heard from Uncle Spencer that Yank says whatever’s on his mind.” She shot the older man a grateful look. “Thank you for giving me a chance here,” she told him.