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She threw the covers off, swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed for the shower. There was no way she was going to be able to go back to sleep after that last kiss, which had made her want to turn her one-night plan into a whole lot more. But since he had now dumped her, that wouldn’t be a problem.
She pulled on the huge Boston College athletics T-shirt he’d left her, obviously his, and the pair of jeans that necessitated three roll-ups so she didn’t trip over them. It wasn’t fashionable, but it was necessary with her suitcase in New York without her.
Padding her way into the kitchen, she told herself she was going to be the smart girl she was and relegate Alex to her good—make that hot—memory book. The thing that had made her realize how completely she hadn’t been living her life.
Mouth firm, she settled down on a kitchen bar stool with a cup of coffee she managed to wring out of the high-tech espresso machine, and went over the interview questions James had sent. She was going to give this interview her best shot. Forget about the past, know she’d worked hard and had grown so much, and put her demons aside.
This was the new Izzie. Time to unleash her on the world.
* * *
Sixteen hours later, Izzie exited her interview with the network execs in NYC-TV’s Rockefeller Plaza offices so physically and mentally exhausted she could hardly put one foot in front of the other. A transatlantic flight, a whirlwind cab trip to the studios, and an hour and a half of nonstop grilling by the execs could do that to a person.
Visions of a bergamot-scented bath filled her head. She tucked her portfolio under her arm and stumbled her way through the newsroom, ignoring the envious, almost spiteful, look on Katy Phillip’s face as she passed the entertainment desk. So not going there. She’d had a lot of that since she’d walked in this afternoon as the emerging star and she didn’t have the strength to process it.
She sat down at her desk, thankful she hadn’t been out on assignment today, with a story to edit ahead of her. Tomorrow was soon enough to catch up on email and everything else waiting for her. She yanked off her pumps, pulled her sneakers out of her bottom drawer and had just about laced them up when her boss’s shiny loafers appeared in front of her.
Damn. She’d been so close...
“I heard it went well.”
“I think so.” She finished tying her sneaker and straightened up. “Given I was pretty much comatose.”
James plopped down on the corner of her desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “They loved you. They think you have the young, fresh look that will appeal to the demographic we’re going after.”
She grinned. “Really?”
“Really.” His face lit up. “They think you’re very talented.”
Her stomach muscles relaxed, a wave of relief flooding through her. “And the bad?”
“They’re worried you’re not experienced enough to handle the pressure.”
Go figure. So was she.
“I told them any daughter of Dayla St. James is more than up to it.”
Her mouth dropped open, dismay spreading through her. “What did you do that for?”
He scowled. “We’re in it to win it, Iz. Get with the program.”
The program didn’t include her mother. Ever. “James, you know I want to do this on my own.”
He waved a hand at her. “You want to make it in this business, you use the weapons at your disposal. This is a once-in-a-lifetime shot. Nobody’s going to play nice.”
She nodded. “I know that, I do. And I appreciate the opportunity. I’d just rather keep her out of it.”
“You know that’s never going to happen.”
It would if she had anything to do with it. “What next, then?”
“They’re putting together a short list. I’m pretty sure you’ll be on it. Then they’ll do trial weekends with each of the candidates. Meanwhile,” he said, dumping a file on her desk, “we amp up your star potential with the Constantinou story. This,” he said, pointing to the file, “is the real reason I want this interview.”
She frowned. “I thought it was the juicy court case.”
“That’s good stuff.” He flipped the file open and pointed at a magazine cover. “This is better.”
She looked down at the glossy sports magazine. Squinted at the photo of the lone figure dressed in a football uniform, kneeling on a dusty field, helmet in hand. Felt the blood drain from her face. It couldn’t be.... There was just no way. Her gaze flew to the headline. The Next King of Football? Is College Quarterback Sensation Alexios Constantinou the Player Who Will Revive Pro Football in New York?
Her head spun; the lights of the busy newsroom blurred around her. The football player in the photo was undoubtedly Alex, the man she’d just spent the night with.
“I thought his name was Leandros,” she croaked.
“Goes by his middle name,” James dismissed. “Something about his father disowning him.”
Oh my God. Alex was Alexios. Alexios Constantinou. Who’d supposedly been long gone by the time she’d gotten to Sophoros’s London offices, according to his receptionist. Her mind flashed back to the blonde’s expression when she’d asked how long Leandro had been gone. The challenging look on the receptionist’s face. She’d been right. She’d had Leandros Constantinou, Alex, under her fingertips the entire time. Had been stuck in an elevator with him for hours...and what had she done? She’d slept with him.
OMG.
“Izzie?”
Her boss was staring at her. She shook her head, trying desperately to contain her horror. “Why does it matter that he was a football player? This is about Frank Messer’s offer to tell all.”
James settled himself more comfortably on her desk. “Alexios Constantinou was one of the best quarterbacks to ever come out of the college system. Charismatic, smart, he was a born leader...a real golden boy. Led his team to a national championship and was drafted first overall by the New York Crusaders. He was touted as the player who would put football back on the map in the Big Apple. The problem is—” her boss grimaced “—we can’t leave a player like that alone in this city. We have to pile the pressure on him until he cracks and we have a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
Her gaze slid to the photo, her brain still trying to catch up. Alex had been a star football player?
“So what happened?” she asked warily.
“The press was all over him like he was the second coming. Expected him to turn the team around way too fast.” His mouth twisted. “He almost did it, too, in his third year. Then he blew his rotator cuff in a qualifying game for the playoffs and ended his career for good. Twenty-four years old and his career was over. One of the true tragic stories in professional sports.”
Her stomach twisted in a sea of knots. Sometimes in life you’re only given one shot, Alex had said in the elevator. Use it wisely.
She cleared her throat. “Okay, so all very dramatic, but isn’t it ancient history now? And what does this have to do with Frank Messer?”
An intense, self-satisfied smile curved her boss’s lips. “The night Alex Constantinou was injured, he disappeared, never did another interview. Then he resurfaces a few years later with this red-hot software company he’s created with his college buddy and they launch this title, Behemoth, that sets the gaming world on fire. The man’s probably made a hundred times more money on it than he would ever have made in football, but he still never talks to media. Ever.” His gaze locked on hers. “I want that story. His story.”
Her brain whirled, tried to keep up. “So you want to land the exclusive story on Alexios Constantinou and use Frank Messer as leverage.”
“Exactly. And you’ll be the one to convince him. Everyone knows Constantinou has an eye for the ladies.”
Izzie almost choked on that. Dear Lord. She waved her hand at him. “If he hates the press that much, James, he isn’t going to do it. He’ll say to hell with public opinion and let the courts decide.”
Her boss shrugged. “I think we can convince him it’s better to tell his side of the story than let Messer do it for him.”
“If the lawyers let him....”
He lifted a brow. “CEOs are mavericks. Especially this guy. He’ll do what he wants. You just need to convince him.”
Right. Her stomach lurched. What would Alex think of her when he realized what she did for a living? It wasn’t as if she’d deliberately tried to mislead him about her profession. After a few nasty encounters with people who weren’t fans of the media, including a guy who’d verbally assaulted her in a bar, she didn’t advertise what she did upon first meeting. It just made life easier to say she was in communications.
Until now.
Every muscle in her body screamed out that she couldn’t do this. But how was she supposed to tell her boss that? And why.
James looked at her expectantly. “Well?”
Her brain spit out a desperate solution. She’d find a way to discredit Messer so the story never became an issue. So they had nothing to strong-arm Alex with. Her boss could find her another juicy assignment that didn’t involve the man she’d just devoured last night and everyone would be happy.
