The Catching Kind Page 3

  Receptionist Girl shrugged, as if to say, even if I called the assistant, there really wasn't anything anyone could do for me.

  I got it. She worked with super famous people. I had to assume the rudeness was a defense system to keep the press and non-clients—as well as all Connor Ryan’s ex-girlfriends—from sneaking into the land of hot ball throwers.

  "I assume Dex is meeting with Connor?” I gave her my best I belong here smile. “Could you let them know I'm here?"

  "Sweetheart.” Gone was the cultured, throaty accent. "If I let every girl who was looking to get next to an athlete—especially Connor Ryan—by, I would have lost this job thirty minutes in. Now, if you don't mind, I'll have to call security if you keep this up."

  "I completely understand.” I tried to stay nice. This was her job. “But they're expecting me."

  She looked at me as if I'd just claimed I lived on the moon.

  I was beginning to doubt my makeover. I ran a hand over my hair hoping it wasn’t doing something really weird.

  Receptionist Girl finally broke and gave me a smile that most likely cost her more than I made last year.

  "I'm sure they are. If you'll just have a seat..." She motioned to the waiting area in a windowed alcove. "As soon as they’re ready for you, I'll let you know."

  "Oh, great. Thanks." Well, that was draining.

  I wandered over to the waiting area and slid onto a butter-soft, oversized leather couch made for giants where my feet barely brushed the floor. The glass and chrome coffee table was covered with a smattering of sports magazines and business journals.

  There was nothing remotely feminine about the waiting area. Except Throaty Receptionist, Guardian of the Agents. She more than made up for the testosterone soaked domain.

  I pulled out my Kindle and started a read I was doing to give feedback on a friend’s manuscript. Luckily, it was fascinating and the next twenty-minutes flew by...until I realized it had been twenty minutes.

  Maybe they'd changed their minds and I was off the hook and Catherine had forgotten to tell me. Or she was fighting to try to keep the deal alive since she'd convinced herself it was an Epic Win of PR.

  Or maybe, I'd forgotten to charge my cell phone.

  That happened about three times a month and sometimes took days for me to realize. I'd suddenly grasp that no one had called me and BAM. Dead battery.

  I dug to the bottom of my new Becca-approved leather tote, looking for the cell. Pens. Post-its. Gum. All the essentials

  When I finally found the phone, it was…yup. Dead. I must have run it down yesterday doing the catch-up thing with my girls after the shopping death march of makeovers.

  Before I could work up the courage to approach the receptionist again, a door opened down the long, polished hall, voices mumble-spilled into the lobby before Dex, Catherine, and Connor came around the corner. I stood, dead phone in hand, the Post-its, pens, and gum falling from my lap onto the floor.

  They all came to a halt, looking past the reception desk to the waiting area I'd all but converted into an office in the last twenty-seven minutes.

  "Hailey, what are you doing out here?" Catherine moved across the lobby in the strong, sleek way she walked that managed to convey power, yet still be completely feminine. It was halfway between a storm and a swagger. "We were waiting for you."

  I brushed my hand down the sides of the burgundy skirt Becca assigned for today.

  "I..." I didn't know what to say. "I was told Dex was still in a meeting."

  I glanced at Receptionist Girl waiting for her to clarify. But, she looked halfway between annoyed and panicked.

  "Ava," Dex's voice was smooth. Nice. But there was an undertone that made me nervous. "Is there a reason you didn't let me know Ms. Tate was here?"

  She glanced between us all and sent me a look that was pleading. I'm not sure what she thought I could—or would—do.

  "Well, she wasn’t in your planner." She sounded so nervous, I almost felt bad for her. "And, your hour is blocked out as Cross-Promo Meeting." Now she sounded defensive. As if she hadn't been given the correct information.

  "That's right. And Ms. Tate is a bestselling author who had been invited to the meeting to discuss a charity event opportunity with Mr. Ryan." Dex leaned against the receptionist counter and laid his portfolio on it.

  Receptionist Girl—I mean, Ava—glanced at me. Another accusatory look. I must not have appeared Bestselling Author enough for her. It was obviously my fault. "I'm sorry Mr. Falco."

  While she groveled, Connor moved around Dex to come to my side. Ignoring the scattered office supplies, he held out his hand.

  "Connor Ryan.” His gazed ran over me in a sterile, calculating way, even as he pasted a charming smile on his face. “It's a pleasure to meet you."

  I was so far out of my depth. This must be part of the game, although the drama going on about the missed meeting was beyond me.

  But, I'd read too many Rom Coms to not play along.

  "Hailey Tate."

  "I hear there's a chance we might be hosting an event together." He held onto my hand, even as I gave it a gentle tug. "While these two high-powered types sort out details, why don't we hop down to The Purple Lemon and I'll fill you in on everything."

  He gave my hand a quick squeeze. I had no idea what it was supposed to say. Go along with this? Pay attention? Or, was he annoyed? Was the squeeze echoing his thoughts about the two high-powered types running our lives?

  I'd have to agree with him on that, but I was in. I even had a new wardrobe to prove I'd sold my soul to the devil.

  "I'd love to." I tried to bat my lashes, but he just looked at me funny. Oh, well. "Let me get my things together."

  It took more than the moment I think he expected. In the meantime, Connor wandered back over to the receptionist desk where Ava was batting her lashes at him. Why did it look coy when she did it?

  I headed back toward the receptionist’s desk, afraid I’d have a hard time pulling him away from the woman throwing herself in his direction. But, before I reached them, Connor had already taken a step back and half-shifted his body toward me.

  "Great to see you again, Ava." Connor's hand fell to the small of my back, giving me a light shove toward the door.

  We waited at the elevator, which seemed to be where we'd spent ninety percent of our time together since we'd met. Both of us quiet until I realized how odd that was.

  "You need to chat me up," I said under my breath, hoping he was as quick on his feet off the field as on.

  He knew exactly what I was talking about. First, he glanced toward Ava—who was still watching us with an annoyed look—and then toward Dex and Catherine—who appeared to be quietly banging out a plan for world domination—and nodded just a bit. And then, The Smile.

  Dear stars, what did these people do to their mouths to make them look so shiny?

  "Italian? I know this great trendy little bar around the corner."

  Of course he did. It was probably five-figures out of my pay grade.

  "How about somewhere we can talk without being watched?"

  He turned to face me, giving his back to the rest of the room which I suddenly realized wasn't typical of him. He seemed to like seeing everything going on...or have everyone see him.

  "That makes sense. Somewhere we don't have to worry about being overheard. Somewhere a fan or two might snap a picture and post it, but not where we'd have to deal with any craziness."

  My stomached dropped at the idea of someone taking my picture, but I gave him a smile and a nod, knowing this was my life for the next month. If this worked, if it gave me enough exposure to get my books traction to sell wide, then I wouldn’t have to worry about pictures that often.

  The ding sounded and we stepped into the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, a subtle tension attacked him, tensing his shoulders, drawing him in on himself just enough to notice in that tiny, enclosed, mirrored area.

  I almost didn’t say anything, but in the end,
I was worried it was something I should know. That the meeting had been worse than expected.

  Doubting I really wanted the answer, I asked, "What?"

  He looked at me as if he'd already forgotten I was there. "What, what?"

  "What's all that weird tension about?” When he didn’t answer, I tried to break through it with a joke. “I'm sure it has nothing to do with finally getting me alone."

  A flash of alarm slipped over his eyes as he glanced up at the slow decent of numbers on the elevator panel and shifted a step away from me.

  "Seriously?” My own nerves seemed to disappear as my temper kicked in. “You think I'm Crazy Stalker Girl."

  It figured. Every guy with any type of ego thought every girl was hitting on him. What was I supposed to expect from a guy who almost every girl actually was hitting on him?

  "No.” He drew his brow down and shook his head, a complete look of forced denial if I’d ever seen one. “No, of course not."

  "I should remind you. I didn't want to be here. It isn't my career that was torpedoed by the press...or my own stupidity.” I felt bad as soon as the words left my mouth.

  I started to apologize, to backtrack, but before I did, he sighed and nodded.

  "I know." He said the right words, but he stared at the lit up number on the floor panel. It was definitely, humor the girl tone that got me. “I get it. This is a job to you and you’ve already done a lot to move it forward.”

  He gave me a once over that demonstrated he was obviously referring to my makeover.

  “So, I meet your standards now?” I asked.

  He must have missed the sarcasm, because he shrugged and said, “You’ll do.”

  I…Well, I don’t know what I thought I was going to say. You’ll do had to be one of the most passively insulting things anyone had ever said to me. I tried to come up with a witty comeback, but I was already maxing out my together time with Connor after less than five minutes.

  “I mean,” he backtracked into the silence. “You’re invested. I appreciate that. I get that you’re not here just to date me.”

  Or to date him at all.

  I sucked in a breath, knowing I had to do this now before we went any further. If there was ever a time to stand up for myself, it was now.

  "Oh.” I turned to face him directly, forcing him to meet me head on or be even ruder. I couldn’t believe how mad I was…at him, at the situation. I wasn’t someone who got angry. But, the words just rushed out, fast and uncontrolled. "Let me put you at ease. You don’t have to worry. I’m not here to date you at all. I don't like to be the center of attention. I like smart, funny, laid back guys who are easy to be around. Someone who has similar interests. I don't like other women looking at me like a human-sized road bump. And I don't like to worry that my guy is cheating.”

  He had faced me, watching me list the reasons why I wouldn't go after him. I hadn't even pulled out the How many owners has this used car had? example yet.

  His head cocked to the side and a slight smiled pushed up the left side of his mouth. "I actually believe you mean that."

  Wow. I'd known about the ego. I mean, it had been apparent since the beginning, but this was getting ridiculous.

  "We're almost to the lobby.” I pushed. “You better decide now. Once we step out there and head to lunch, this is pretty much a ball in motion."

  He looked me over, starting at the top of my head and slowly working his way down. It was the most insulting perusal I'd ever been subjected to.

  "You look different."

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe in his world that was a compliment. "Wow, hold off the sweet talk ‘til there's someone around who matters to hear it."

  I had a launch coming up this month with tons of things to do to get ready. I also needed to outline my new series. I just wanted to hunker down and get it done. The elevator lurched to a halt and I stepped out, ready to make my way home. I had a bunch of pre-release stuff to do and a new book to get on paper. I really did not need this.

  "Well, it was nice meeting you.” Kind of. I couldn’t even look his way again, afraid I’d get too mad to leave it at that. “Good luck with the ad contract."

  I pulled my bag up higher on my shoulder and headed toward the door. It wasn't a bluff, although, I'm betting he thought it was. I really had no interest in stepping into his sphere of scandal.

  I gave a little wave to the nice security guard who had taken my ID on the way in, and hit the sidewalk. The morning wasn't a total loss. I'd have to send Ava flowers for not forcing me to sit through that meeting. I'd even gotten a good jump on my reading.

  "Hailey!"

  The street was busy enough to allow me to ignore that.

  "Hailey, wait."

  Connor jogged up next to me and slowed to match my gait.

  I kept walking. If he felt there was something that needed to be said, he should get on with it. But as for me? I'd said everything I needed to.

  "Listen,” he started with a lovely command. “I'm sorry. I meant you look nice."

  "No. You didn't. You meant I looked nice for a plain girl. And that's your problem. No one is going to believe you're interested in me."

  "Come on." He put on the charming smile. The one I'd seen him aim at the model yesterday. "You're selling yourself short."

  That really ticked me off. I had reached my limit. I don’t think anyone had ever found my limit before. I stopped—right there on the sidewalk—forcing people to go around us.

  "No. I'm not. I'm selling you short. You'd never be interested in anyone other than for how she looks on your arm. I'm five-five and girl-next-door cute. I've been in enough situations where I had to sell me instead of my books to know my assets. And I know no matter how nice my wardrobe and no matter how early I get up to do something besides a ponytail, you'd look right over my head. And, because your fabulous life is splashed all over the front page of US Weekly, so does the rest of the world."

  I moved on, leaving him standing—hopefully gaping at my back—as I walked—no, make that strode—away glad I'd said all that. Seriously wondering just how hard self-publishing would be once Catherine found out I'd tossed her bet out the window.

  I'd have to return the clothes. That was the real shame here.

  And, I was just beginning to break these shoes in.

  Come to think of it, Catherine owed me at least what I was wearing today. Even the coat.

  Also, that pretty computer bag.

  Everything else would go back. I'd box it up and she could have someone come get it. Because there was no way I was facing down more than one ego today.

  Even my line in the sand was only so thin.

  FIVE

  By the time I got back to my building, I'd walked off my mad and thought through the premise for my next story, a love triangle where the nerdy girl picks the cute, smart boy over the popular jock.

  I can't imagine where I got the inspiration for that.

  I was unlocking the building’s door, thinking I'd call Jenna and see if she was around for an update, when someone shouted my name.

  I was more than a little surprised to see Connor standing out on the sidewalk.

  "Did you follow me?"

  I'm not sure if I was more worried someone had managed to follow me for that long without me noticing—maybe plotting and walking wasn't so safe—or that he was still there, looking at me, expecting something.

  "Yes. I..." He ran a hand through the blond mass of hair that looked carelessly disheveled in a way I’d bet cost him two-hundred dollars a cut. "You were right. I'd like to buy you lunch and talk about it. And, so you don't think I'm trying to back you into a corner, we could have it here so no one sees us. I'll have whatever you like delivered."

  Every Stranger Danger alert I’d ever heard sounded in my mind.

  "You think I'm just going to say, Sure, come on up?” I asked. It seemed like a bad idea. The kind you don’t tell your mom about.

  "We could go out. But I thought you might
want to avoid that."

  It was true. The last thing I needed was for our names to be linked and then wind up not dating him. It would end up looking like a lame set up since we'd just come from his agent's office.

  "The problem is,” Connor braced a foot on the curb, looking like he didn’t want to come up any more than I wanted him to. “You're both right. You and Dex. He's right that I need to clean up my image and you're right that you're not the type of girl I typically date." He drew himself up, making me want to back into the door behind me. "You're also right about your assets. You're smart, they said you're funny—I'm still waiting to see that one—and you are cute. You're the type of girl my mom would want me to bring home. You're exactly what I need."

  "But, you don’t really want in on the whole deal, right?" Which was my way of trying to say, No. Now get off my stoop.

  I'd already made up my mind and I was over it. The scraps of compliments weren't really winning me over. I was going to stand strong. Not be backed into a corner.

  I am woman hear me—

  "And," he continued, as if I hadn’t just tried to shut him down again. "I'll do my part. I read the contract they wrote up. It's insane, but it would be good for both of us. Catherine really does have your best interest at heart. Some of her clauses might make Dex cry. It was worth sitting through the meeting just to see that."

  "Connor, I don’t mean to be rude.” I glanced around, trying to find the words without being really mean. “To be honest, dating you doesn't really bring the type of attention I want."

  He didn’t even bat an eye, which made me think Catherine might have already tried this line of attack.

  "I think you're wrong there. My reputation is a bit tarnished, but that fourteen to twenty-six group is, if not always positive, at least very curious. Even when they’re not loving me unconditionally, they’re hate-stalking me." He took another step up. "And, Catherine said your mind is like a sponge. It sucks in everything it sees, twists it around, and spits it out a bestseller. If you wanted to know anything about professional sports or baseball or celebrity...well, all those connections come into play."

  “That’s not what I write.”