Seduced by the Playboy

The cameraman chuckled and then strode off the soundstage.

Angela slid off her chair, adjusted her blazer and ran a hand through her perfectly flat-ironed hair. Spotting her boss, Salem Velasquez, at the back of the room, she swiped her clipboard off the raised glass desk and stepped off the set. This was her chance to talk to Salem—alone—about the proposal she’d submitted last week for her new three-part series. Angela was determined to win her boss over. If she wanted to be taken seriously in the journalism community, she had to continue pursuing meatier news stories. Stories that would impact the world and change lives. Stories that she could be proud of. After eight years of covering celebrity gossip, Angela was ready for a change. She was ready for the big leagues. And if she wanted to be the station’s lead broadcaster by the time she turned thirty at the end of the year, she had to start pushing the envelope.

“Angela-wouldn’t-know-the-truth-if-it-slapped-her-in-the-face-Kelly,” a male voice said from behind her. A tall, hooded figure, decked out in all black, slid in front of her.

Angela stepped back with a yelp. “What the hell?” she snapped, touching a hand to her chest. Narrowing her eyes, she studied the lean, muscled stranger. His baseball cap was pulled low, past his eyebrows, a thick Nike hoodie covering his head, and his hands were tucked in the pockets of his sweatpants. His head was down, and his shoulders were bent. The man looked sinister, like the villain in a comic book, but he smelled heavenly.

“I need to have a word with you.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This is a closed set, and no one...” Angela’s voice faded when the stranger took off his hoodie. Her clipboard slipped out of her hands, falling to the floor with a clatter.

“I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I’d be lying, and I’d hate to make a second trip to confession this week.”

Angela felt her eyes widen and her knees buckle. Not because she was surprised by the dig, but because Demetri Morretti—the reigning bad boy of Major League Baseball—was standing in front of her, live and in the flesh.

Her thoughts were running wild, but her gaze was glued to his handsome, chiseled face before her. Dark eyebrows framed his brown eyes, a thin mustache lined his thick lips, and his wide shoulders made him seem imposing, larger-than-life. The half Italian, half African-American star athlete was a force to be reckoned with on the baseball field. And even though he was casually dressed in workout clothes and had a very present five-o’clock shadow, he was still smokin’ hot. His skin was a warm caramel shade of brown and so smooth and flawless-looking, Angela suspected he had weekly facials. Demetri Morretti was a pretty boy if she’d ever seen one, but she didn’t think for a second that he was soft. Angela had read enough about the thirty-two-year-old superstar to know that he was a spoiled, ridiculously rich athlete who pushed around anyone who got in his way.

Recovering from the shock of seeing Demetri Morretti in her studio, Angela hit him with an icy glare. “Tapings aren’t open to the public,” she said tightly. “And since you’re not an employee of the station, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Morretti.”

“I will, as soon as you go on the air and issue an apology to me and my family.”

Angela almost laughed in his face but caught herself before a snicker escaped her mouth. No use antagonizing him. According to published reports, Demetri was impulsive, a hothead of the worst kind, and there was no telling what he’d do in the heat of the moment.

“My mother is very upset about the lies you told about me on your show, but I assured her you’d apologize once you realized the errors of your ways.”

“Apologize for what? Speaking the truth?” Angela rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She didn’t tell Demetri about the countless hours she’d spent reading articles and sports blogs about his background and twelve-year baseball career. The headlines about the gifted shortstop were damning and more salacious than a CIA prostitution scandal. There were reports of bar brawls, drunken Las Vegas parties and explosive run-ins with rival baseball fans. She’d found so much “dirt” on Demetri Morretti, and the other players featured in her story, she’d had enough material for a three-part series. And the viewers were eating it up. Her show had slayed the competition in the ratings last week, and everywhere she went people were talking about her Athletes Behaving Badly story. It was a hot topic, one that viewers couldn’t seem to get enough of.

“Don’t mess with me, Ms. Kelly, because when it’s all said and done, I will get my way.”

Angela’s toes curled in her five-inch black pumps. She couldn’t believe his nerve. Demetri was rotten to the core, a man of such extraordinary arrogance, Angela didn’t know why she was even talking to him. “You might be able to throw your weight around the clubhouse,” she began, meeting his hostile gaze, “but it’s not going to work here. I double-checked the facts and have taped interviews with eyewitnesses to back up my report.”

“Your report was full of lies. It was nothing more than a smear campaign done by a bitter, angry woman who got dissed and dismissed by her ex-boyfriend.”

Angela’s breath caught in her throat. Her face must have registered surprise, because a grin that could scare a mobster broke out across Demetri’s lips.

“Your ex plays for the L.A. Jaguars,” he continued. “And he was nice enough to share all of the dirty details of your relationship with him.”

Fear blanketed her skin. Licking her dry lips, Angela cast a nervous glance around the studio. She spotted her colleagues at the other end of the room, perusing the snack table, and sighed inwardly. Angela wasn’t proud of her past, and the last thing she wanted was for her colleagues to find out about all the wild and crazy things she’d done while living in L.A. It was hard enough being the only woman of color at the TV station, and she didn’t want to give the other broadcasters another reason to resent her. Not that they needed one. They thought she was too young to host Eye on Chicago, unqualified to work at the station and skating by on her looks. “Who I’ve dated is none of your business, and furthermore, my personal life has absolutely nothing to do with my Athletes Behaving Badly story.”

“You see, Ms. Kelly, I did a little digging of my own and discovered that you’ve dated a lot of professional athletes,” he said, stroking his jaw reflectively. “And from what I hear, several of them dogged you out bad. That’s why you did that story. To get back at the guys who dumped you and to stick it to anyone who plays pro sports.”

“That’s ludicrous.” Lifting her head, Angela arched her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. She wasn’t going to be Demetri Morretti’s punching bag. Not now. Not ever. “This conversation is over. Please leave.”

“I will, Madame Gold Digger, as soon as you—”

“Gold digger?” Angela repeated, splaying her hands on her hips.

“Did I stutter?”

“I don’t know any gold diggers who put themselves through school or who volunteer twenty hours a week at various local shelters, do you?”

Angela saw a bolt of surprise flicker across Demetri’s face, but bragging about her volunteer work made her feel small, as if she’d just insulted all of the families she worked with. But her unexpected confession clearly stunned the baseball star, and Angela was determined to use this leverage to her advantage. “I have nothing against you or any of the other athletes mentioned in my story,” she said, meaning every word. “I did the piece to warn young women about the perils of pursuing professional athletes and—”

“To stick it to your ex-lovers,” he tossed out, mirroring her rigid body stance.

Angela made her eyes thin. “Maybe instead of coming down here and harassing me, you should have gone to the clubhouse to practice.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I saw your last game before your shoulder injury. You jumped every pitch, your timing was way off, and your swing looked lifeless.”

Demetri flexed his jaw muscles. He was well aware of his batting slump, and the problems with his swing, but he didn’t need anyone—especially a newscaster—reminding him. “There’s nothing wrong with my game.”

“Oh, but there is. Ask your coach. Ask your teammates. Hell, ask the fans.”

“I didn’t come down here to get batting tips from a reporter with no conscience,” he said, folding his arms. “I came to issue a warning. Go on the air and apologize, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Angela jeered, cutting him off. “Hurl a beer bottle at me like you did to that poor college kid in Newark? Or get one of your flunkies to rough me up?”

His nostrils flared, and the corners of his lips curled into a scowl. Demetri stepped forward, and when Angela jumped back, she bumped into one of the towering black light stands. A sharp pain stabbed her leg, but it was the menacing gleam in her adversary’s eyes that made her knees quiver.

“I’m not going to touch you, Ms. Kelly.” Demetri’s voice was calm, but his tone was colder than ice. “But if you don’t go on the air and apologize, I’ll sue you, your boss and this damn station.”

Chapter 2

Angela felt a cold chill snake down her back. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she discreetly dried her damp palms along the side of her fitted Chanel shorts. Since part one of her series aired two weeks ago, she’d received scores of hate mail. Several athletes had taken to Twitter to express their anger, but no one had shown up at the station threatening litigation—until now. It wasn’t the first time Angela had ruffled someone’s feathers, and usually she wouldn’t give a threat a second thought. But the way Demetri was staring at her, with his head cocked and his eyes narrowed, made her stomach coil into a suffocating knot.

“So, what’s it going to be?” Arms folded, he tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. “Are you going to issue that apology, or are we going to have to hash this thing out in court?”

Angela swallowed hard. Demetri sounded serious, looked serious, too, but she didn’t believe him. Not for a second. He was too busy getting into bar fights, throwing wild parties at his Chicago mansion and drag racing in his Maybach to show up in court.

“You’re not going to win this, so you might as well give up now.”

“Get out,” she snapped, pointing at the studio door. “And don’t come back!”

“I’ll leave, as soon as I get that apology.”

Angela glowered but said nothing. What could she say? “Leave or I’ll call security”? The baseball star was trespassing, but the security guards weren’t going to throw a future hall-of-famer off the property.

“I don’t want to play hardball with you, Ms. Kelly, but you leave me no choice. Your report was biased and unfounded. Not to mention full of outright lies.”

When Demetri took another step forward, infringing upon her personal space, she imagined herself smacking the broad grin off his face. But instead of acting on her impulse, Angela faked a smile. It was time to try a different approach because arguing with Demetri Morretti was getting her nowhere. “I’ll give some thought to what you said, and someone from the station will contact you by the end of the week. Okay?”

Demetri clapped his hands. “Well done, Ms. Kelly. Nicely played. For a second there, I actually believed you were a rational human being.”

“Well, at least I’m not a—”

Angela felt a hand on her shoulder and broke off speaking. She turned to her right, and groaned inwardly when she saw her producer, standing beside her, wearing a concerned expression. And worse, everyone in the studio, from the voluptuous makeup artist to the bearded engineer, was now staring at her, with wide eyes and open mouths. How much had her colleagues heard? And why were all of the men in the studio shooting evil daggers at her?