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“There’s nothing to talk about. Tony works hard and it shows.”
“I hope you’re right.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Desperate people do desperate things.”
“You’re crazy, Jack.”
“Maybe I am,” Jack conceded. “But maybe I’m not. What if Tony wants that record so badly he’s willing to risk anything to get it? What if he’s fighting an injury? This is big for his career. He’d do what had to be done to hang tough. Maybe he even has encouragement. Maybe a team doc offers him a solution.”
Brad understood the fear of losing your career better than anyone. Hiding an injury might not be smart, but it wasn’t the same as using drugs. Tony wouldn’t stoop to that.
“Sometimes players get pretty desperate to save their careers,” Jack added. “I’m sure you can sympathize. Being up for contract renewal and not signing yet. Makes you wonder about that fight you had. Then there was the surgery. Maybe you don’t look like such a good prospect for management.”
Did Jack know he was injured again? Was that what this was about? Brad searched Jack’s face for answers, but found nothing. Jack had been good to him during his fight ordeal by printing stories that showed a positive side to the entire mess. And Brad appreciated that.
“I haven’t signed a new contract because I haven’t decided where to sign. Don’t forget, I’m already in The Show. You, on the other hand, have never quite made it there. Local paper, local news. Nothing more. Maybe you want to make The Show and you’re the one getting desperate. So much so you’d hurt people who’ve given you their trust.” Brad’s accusations weren’t entirely accurate since Jack was doing well for himself. But he wanted the guy to know how it felt to have his Achilles’ heel pushed so he’d back off.
Jack scrubbed a hand over his jaw in obvious frustration. “I’ve always taken care of this team. Never once have I printed a story without getting the players’ side of the issue.”
“That’s true. But desperate people do desperate things. Those were your words.” He paused for impact. “Maybe you’re the desperate one, not Tony. Maybe you’re trying to make a story where one doesn’t exist to snag a bit of attention.”
“You’re wrong,” Jack insisted, his expression stormy.
“Time will tell. Either way, this conversation is over.” Brad didn’t wait for a reply, he just walked away.
That Jack might know about his injury bothered Brad far more than Amanda’s knowing did. Why, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care to examine. He felt in his gut that Jack had become a problem. Yet one more thing Brad would have to keep an eye on.
The tension and frustration he felt spiked and he wished like hell Amanda would get here. He needed a healthy dose of sex-induced amnesia and she was just the woman to give it to him.
***
POSSIBLE HEADLINES for her feature on Casey Becker played in her head as Amanda entered the noisy bar, feeling the flutter of nerves in her stomach. She could easily blame the nerves on the need to score big with her second column, but she knew it was more than that.
She was nervous about seeing Brad again. The distinct hum of sexual excitement burned within her, all the more enticing because she couldn’t allow herself to indulge. Still, she searched the crowd for him.
Reggie had offered to escort her to the bar, but Amanda had declined, thinking she could meet the team in a social situation without someone holding her hand. But these crazy sensations she had were making her second-guess her decision. With Reggie present, the situation with Brad would stay professional. Temptation couldn’t be given in to.
She stood in the doorway and pondered calling Reggie. At best, he’d be a stalling tactic. She knew herself well enough to acknowledge she couldn’t hide from her attraction to Brad forever. It was there. It wasn’t going away anytime soon. She’d simply have to cope.
Scanning the crowd, Amanda wished she had changed clothes and freshened up. Everyone wore jeans and the women all looked groomed and gorgeous, while she still wore the same makeup and clothing she’d put on twelve hours before. Drab and dull was so not the image she wanted to project.
She stiffened her spine. Leaving wasn’t an option. Establishing rapport with the team was too important. She’d seen Brad’s mistrust of her regarding his arm. Hopefully the fact that she hadn’t made his injury news would win confidence and help sway the team to her side. This bar was the perfect venue to let the players get to know her and trust her. A voice inside her head reminded her she’d betray that trust when she cracked the steroid-use story, but she ignored the nudge. Rapport first, digging for a story later.
Decision made, Amanda began weaving through the crowd, trying to locate the team. She sidestepped a laughing female just before connecting with her high-heeled boot. The next thing she knew, the wayward contents of someone’s glass splashed in her face.
