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After his brother left and he cleaned up, his mind traveled back to last night and the all-too-brief—and scorching-hot—cab ride he’d shared with Tiffany. Dylan had always been lucky in cards and with women, but he wasn’t about to leave seeing Tiffany again up to luck.
IF TIFFANY NEVER stepped foot in another hospital she would be a happy woman. Between her clients landing in them with on-field injuries, jeopardizing contracts and causing media uproars, and her father’s recent diagnosis, she’d spent far too much time within the confines of the sterile buildings.
As her father’s eyes fluttered open, she zipped off the email she’d been typing and rose from the chair beside his bed, where she’d been for most of Sunday afternoon and evening. Every day was a blur of meetings, schmoozing, and negotiating. Luckily, she’d had in-person meetings for only half the day, and she’d been able to handle the rest of her business via her phone and laptop.
“Daddy?” She touched his hand, which was warm and felt oddly frail. What was it about the stark walls, white sheets, and generic hospital gowns that seemed to diminish even the most formidable men? Her father was a large man at six four, and if she had to guess, he was a solid two hundred and eighty pounds. After working with professional athletes for so long, she was fairly certain her guess was accurate, but it was hard to tell, as athletes were all muscle, and her father was not. He didn’t take the best care of himself, and seeing him lying there, weakened and pale, made her heart ache.
“Hiya, kiddo.” His lips curved up, and he blinked several times. They’d medicated him to keep the pain from the kidney stones at bay, and he’d gone in and out of sleep for most of her visit. He turned his hand over and curled his fingers around hers. “How’s my girl?”
She was so used to his booming voice she had to work hard at masking the ache of reality. Her father was aging, and no matter how much she tried to ignore it, it was happening right before her eyes. She was glad she’d moved back to New York. She’d been in Los Angeles since college, and had been so busy building her agency even visits home were spent primarily working. Moving to New York meant a few weeks of working from home while she found an office, but at least she was closer to her father. Hopefully she could squeeze in visits more often.
“I’m great, Dad, but how areyoufeeling? Can I get you anything?”
“I’ll take a new body. Younger, stronger. Think you can do that?” He squeezed her hand.
“I wish I could do that for you.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Rocco was here all day. Perry called to check on you twice. He sends his love and said he’d fly in tomorrow.” Perry played for the New York Jets and was traveling with his team.
Her father waved a hand. “No need for him to mess with his schedule. I’ll be out of here as soon as I pass these stones. I’m fine, kiddo. You get on that vibrating phone of yours and tell him to stick with his team.” Gunner was retired now, but he was determined not to be seen as a retiree who needed taking care of. He still pushed his three children to be the best they could and take care of themselves and their work first.
The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. She glanced down at the phone vibrating in her hand. It was such a constant in her life she didn’t even realize she was holding it most of the time. She’d become adept at doing everything with a phone in her hand, from making coffee, to getting dressed, and even going to the bathroom. And she chalked up a nice chunk of her success to her constant availability.
“I’ll text him,” she reassured him.
“Do it now, kiddo, before you get another call and forget.” He nodded toward her phone.
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes, but a smile spread across her face. She’d learned how to be successful from the most ruthless mentor of all. After her father’s injury, he’d gone on to coach college football, taught a quarterback clinic, and remained in the thick of the industry, often being asked to work directly with players one-on-one. Until he retired, he’d worked closely with scouts, team managers, and players seven days a week, pounding into Tiffany’s head the importance of being not only available, but head and shoulders above the competition. He had taught Tiffany much of what she knew about negotiations and how to deal with industry professionals before she ever left for college. He’d also introduced her to just about everyone under the sports-industry sun, which made her transition into sports management a natural one.
“And what’s with the flowers?” her father asked with a sour look on his face. “Don’t waste your money on flowers. They’ll just die.”
No kidding. As she texted her brother, she glanced at the beautiful arrangement Dylan had left at her apartment early that morning. It was a sweet sentiment, she supposed. At least that’s what most women would think. But like her father, she didn’t see the sense in sending flowers. And it didn’t stop there. She found most things guys did were shallow or a means to an end, which were just two of the many reasons she didn’t put a lot of stock in relationships. Maybe that was because her mother had left their family when she was seven without so much as a goodbye. Or maybe it was because she’d found her ex-boyfriend and bestie in bed together right before college graduation. She knew both of those things had steered her away from forging meaningful relationships, and until last night, hookups were all she’d ever had—or wanted. But she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Dylan’s kisses, his cocky smile, and witty banter. Or, more troubling, how nice it felt to be in his arms during his surprising—and comforting—embrace.
“Kiddo? You okay?” Her father looked at her with a puzzled expression and she realized she was still staring at the flowers.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” She zipped off the text to Perry. “The flowers? I got them from a client and thought the nurses would enjoy them.”A client. Surely she’d be struck by lightning for lying to her father.
“One of these days you’ll land a client who will know what it takes to win over the heart of a Winters.”
In her head she heard Dylan’s voice.From now on, you’re my Summers. The only people who had ever given her nicknames were her father and brothers. She liked that about Dylan, too. She should at least thank him for the flowers.And maybe a rain check isn’t such a bad idea after all. One night of stress relief. God knew she was under enough stress on a daily basis to earn more than a battery-driven orgasm—and last night’s had been sheer perfection.Despite the fact that the cabdriver probably got off thinking about us later.
Oh God…
“You’re not yourself today, Tiffany,” her father said as her phone lit up with another email. “Are you working too hard?”
“No, Dad. I’m fine.”Just thinking about going home and banging on apartment 801—or rather, banging the guy in apartment 801.
Chapter Four
FINDING OUT BETHANY had been admitted to the hospital had gutted Dylan. After their brief visit, he found himself in the dark place he often did after receiving bad news about the kids he’d come to know through the Ronald McDonald House. He was used to this downhill slide, when his mind spiraled back to the last days with Lorelei. He’d relived it so many times now, he’d gotten pretty good at pulling his head back into a better place. The elevator ride was slow. It seemed everyone and their brother was leaving the hospital at the same time. At least it gave him time to clear his thoughts. A little fresh air and a few happier sights would help, but damn, he hated this.
The elevator doors opened and Dylan’s night got a whole lot brighter. Tiffany stood with her phone pressed to her ear, wearing a pair of skinny jeans with spike-heeled boots, a transparent blouse over a clingy spaghetti-strap top, and a look of shock on her gorgeous face.
He chuckled and shook his head.Always on that damn phone. “Get on in here, Summers. You’re holding up the elevator.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Yes, thank you.” She ended the call and stepped into the crowded elevator with a perplexed look in her eyes and an enormous leather bag over her shoulder.
Dylan purposefully stepped behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and drew her back against his chest, ignoring her efforts to wiggle free. “How’s your father?” He spoke in a low voice into her ear, loving the full-body shudder it incited.
“Fine,” she said coldly. Turning her face toward him she whispered, “What are you doing here? Stalking me? Did Rocco tell you where I was?”
