Falling Into Drew Read online

  Kate eyebrows rose. “And? Am I to assume your client is an athlete who wants to write a book?”

  “Right. He’s a world famous athlete and I believe his story is one that would interest many readers. It even has the potential to become a movie or something on TV. He no longer competes and is looking for a new challenge.”

  “Is this client, the one whose identity you’re obviously protecting, a writer or would he require a ghost?”

  The agent cocked his head to the side and didn’t respond immediately. “You know, I’m not sure. He’s smart and his emails to me have sure as hell been entertaining, so maybe he can write. At this point I’m just feeling out the market to get a sense of whether I should even discuss this with him.”

  Kate stared at him for a moment and then stood, her face flushed. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Morrison, but this meeting is over.”

  “Over? What do you mean? We haven’t even…”

  “You won’t tell me who this paragon is and you don’t even know if he’d be interested in pursuing a memoir or autobiography or whatever it is you have in mind. Without that information, how do you expect to get feedback from me or any publisher?”

  “Okay, okay. I understand your position. I can’t reveal his name, but believe me, he’s famous and has an interesting story. I told you I’m new at this. Help me out here.” He raised both hands, palms up and added, “Please.”

  Something about this man and his proposal intrigued her, but she refused to be pushed into an answer without more information. She released a breath. “I don’t know why I’m agreeing to this, but if whoever you represent is willing to meet with me to discuss this further, I will take the meeting. Otherwise, good luck and thank you for coming in.”

  Charles was a savvy enough negotiator to realize that the person in power had decided the meeting was over. Hell, he’d done it often enough when someone wanted something from him. This time around, a beautiful woman held all the cards, so he shook the hand she extended toward him as she stood beside the open office door. “Thank you for seeing me. I’ll be in touch,” he said.

  “Yeah, right,” she muttered under her breath, turning back to the stack of unread manuscripts on her desk.

  CHAPTER 3

  Drew pressed his hands against his ears and groaned, but it didn’t stop the damn buzzing. He forced his eyes open and sat up. The television was still on and the ice packs that had been on his knees were now bags of water on the floor. He must have fallen asleep on the couch. He scrubbed his face with his palms and, cranky as a two year old in need of a nap, pushed the intercom button and growled, “What!”

  “I apologize for intruding on your privacy, Mr. O’Connor, but your visitor, a Mr. Morrison, was insistent and refused to leave until you responded. I didn’t want to involve the police.”

  Drew gazed at the floor and shook his head from side to side, muttering, “Oh, God,” under his breath. The doorman was new, so he didn’t recognize Charles as a frequent visitor. The man was simply doing his job so he wouldn’t bark at him. “Sorry about my rude friend. You can send him up.” Drew walked to the bathroom, took care of his beer-filled bladder and threw cold water on his face. He looked like hell, something he was sure that his agent wouldn’t ignore.

  The doorbell chimed and then chimed again. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” He opened the door and a smiling Charles rushed in. Drew narrowed his eyes. “You lean on my doorbell like that again and I’ll break your fingers one by one. Got it?”

  “Jeez, all I’ve been doing today is pissing people off. First a hot editor and now my favorite client.”

  “You mean your only client.” Drew turned and led the way to the leather sofa. His dark brows came together. “There are hot editors? I never would have guessed.” He rubbed his hands over the scruff on his face and leaned forward. “What the hell were you doing with an editor? I’m done with magazine interviews.”

  “I know that. This was a book editor.” Charles ran his hand through his hair. “Do I need to get a haircut and buy some tortoise shell eyeglasses so I’ll come off as more intellectual? I sure as hell didn’t impress the gorgeous editor I met with today.” Charles leaned back and spread his arms across the back of the sofa.

  “Ah, so that’s why you’re here. Your charm and good looks didn’t work and now you’ve come to lick your giant ego’s wounds.”

  “Wiseass,” Charles replied as he punched Drew in the arm. “No, that’s not it, although I wouldn’t mind if this lady licked something…”

  Drew threw his head back and laughed. He walked to the kitchen and returned with two bottles of water. “This will help you cool down. Something’s got your engine revving, so spill.”

  Charles’ expression signaled that the fun and games part of his visit was over and it was time for business. “I wanted to run down an idea I had, find out if it’s do-able before bringing it to you. I mean you’re at loose ends, and this would in no way risk more damage to that aching body of yours. In fact, it’s something you might actually enjoy. Plus, it could earn you some big bucks and keep your name out there. I’ve never steered you wrong, have I?”

  “No, you haven’t, but I’m famous enough and I have all the money I’ll ever need.”

  “Understood,” Charles nodded. He watched his friend chew on his thumbnail and waited for what would come next.

  Drew sighed and leaned toward the longtime agent who had become his closest friend. “Are you short of cash? If you need money…”

  “No, no. Thanks to you and the deals I’ve made for you, I’ll never have to touch my trust fund. We’re both set for life. This really has nothing to do with money, although it would pay well.”

  “Just tell me what you want me to do. I hope it’s not stripping to my underwear for some billboard in Times Square.”

  “No, although that might…” Charles began, his lips twitching to hide a smile.

  Drew held up one hand. “Don’t go there. Not even as a joke.”

  “I know. You’ve made it clear that your package is not to be sold to the highest bidder, but your life story? Well, that’s something that could be,” the agent said. “What I’m looking into is whether a publisher would be interested.”

  “So that explains the hot editor you failed to impress today. It sounds like she didn’t buy your pitch.”

  “You say that like you’re happy.”

  “You think? What kind of asshole believes that a man who isn’t even thirty rates an autobiography? Shouldn’t that happen toward the end of someone’s life? Do you think I’ve already achieved everything that I ever will?” Drew’s face flushed and his fists repeatedly clenched in anger. He’d just voiced his biggest fear.

  Charles placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Drew, Drew. We both know you’re too smart and too ambitious to coast for the rest of your life. I don’t see this as an autobiography, more like your take on what it took to become an Olympic champion and then deal with the kind of fame that follows.”

  “I don’t always deal with it so well,” Drew said, cupping his face with his hands as he gazed at the floor before turning away. He wandered to one of the apartment’s north-facing windows and stared at the view, his back to his friend. Charles knew that this was how Drew processed the pros and cons of most major decisions so he said nothing and waited patiently for the athlete to speak.

  “Even if I wanted to do something like this — and I’m not saying I do — it sounds like the person you met with thinks it’s a crap idea.”

  “Not exactly. I refused to tell her who I represented and then when I told her I hadn’t even run it by you yet, she was pissed. I’m sure she thought I wasted her time, but she said she’d take a meeting if you wanted to go ahead. She also asked if you can write or needed a ghostwriter.”

  “So how hot is this chick anyway?” Drew’s question was a sign Charles read as hopeful.

  “Not scorching in a model or gigantic fake boobs way, but squeezable, definite
ly one that gives off a nice slow burn. And smart, obviously smart. You can decide for yourself. So it’s okay if I set up a meeting?”

  “Sure. It doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to do it, but you’ve made me curious about this woman so I’m willing to listen. I don’t have fuck else to do.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Kate’s shoulder ached. She shifted the heavy black leather tote from one hand to the other and cursed herself for carrying the manuscripts of two novels home. Most editorial work could be done on a computer, but when she was seriously considering an author’s submission, the read made more of an impact on paper as a hard copy.

  She and her best friend, Elizabeth Bradford, were meeting for a catch-up drink at a popular after work spot. Liz’s blonde hair was easy to spot and Kate pushed her way through the bar’s three-deep crowd.

  “There you are.” Liz’s smile was the kind that radiated joy. She patted the barstool next to hers. “Sit! I can’t tell you how many people have kept this seat warm for you.”

  Kate’s brows lifted in mock surprise. “Do I need to thank them?”

  “Well, I may have promised one or two of them that we’d join them for a drink later.”

  “You are now and always have been a man magnet,” Kate lifted the glass of vodka on the rocks that Liz had waiting for her and took a sip.

  “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

  “Maybe I envy it.” She leaned closer to be heard over the noise of the crowd and the big screen television showing a basketball game. “I could have used a little of your magnetism or at least your acting ability earlier today.”

  “Oh?”

  Kate took Liz’s arm and tugged. “Can we move to a table away from the noise so I can actually hear you? I really need your advice.”

  “Sure, sounds serious.”

  Two good-looking men wearing suits and ties followed them to their table. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend, Elizabeth?”

  So now she’s Elizabeth, Kate thought. Her friend had been Beth, Lizzie, Betsy, Lisa and even Liza with a “z”, but to Kate she’d always be Liz because that was what her mercurial friend had called herself when they’d met in college. The men waiting patiently for Liz to respond had to be the two who’d helped protect her barstool. Kate glanced at them, curious to see how her friend would handle it. Liz was a professional actress, after all, so this should be good. Kate sipped her drink and leaned back to watch the performance.

  “Of course, how rude of me,” Liz said, with the slow drawl and sweet good manners that were part of her Southern charm, but which Kate recognized as the start of an exaggerated put-down. Liz waved one hand toward Kate. “This is my friend, Kate, Ekaterina actually. If you’re wondering about her name, she’s descended from Russian royalty.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. She had to focus on the table because if she looked at Liz, she’d start to laugh. She loved her unusual name, but most people, upon hearing it, wanted an explanation and she rarely used the real one. To simplify things, she often dropped the “E” and introduced herself either as Kate, Kat or Katherine, depending on the situation. But Liz, ever the dramatic actress, loved to embellish.

  Liz was still talking to the hopeful guys. “We’d love to have a drink with you both, really we would, but there’s some important business we need to discuss first,” she said, tilting her head toward Kate’s overstuffed tote bag. Her long blond hair angled toward it, pointing the way for the men’s eyes before she gifted them with a smile warm enough to melt the polar ice cap. “You gentlemen are obviously successful businessmen, so I’m sure you understand. It shouldn’t take us more than an hour.”

  Kate grinned as she grasped Liz’s hands and leaned in when the men slowly turned to walk away. “Oh, Liz, you’ve still got it.”

  “Hot damn. You bet I do, although I may have overdone the Scarlett O’Hara bit,” she said, returning her best friend’s grin. “Now tell me what you want my advice about.”

  Kate reached into her bag, unfolded a piece of wrinkled glossy paper and spread it on the table facing Liz. It was the photo of Drew O’Connor that she’d torn out of the salon’s magazine after promising Felipe that if she ever saw the famous skier again, she’d introduce them. “You know who this is, right?”

  “Of course I do. I’d love to set you up with him, but he and I don’t move in the same…” she began, but Kate cut her off.

  “I don’t need an introduction. I met him today — although I didn’t know who he was until I saw this picture — and since then he’s all I can think about. Christ, when I look at that face and that body and remember how it felt,” she sighed, “I tingle all over and my panties get wet.”

  “What! Hold up. You met him, you know what his body feels like and now you need my advice?” She downed her drink, signaled for another round and leaned in. “Tell me everything. And I mean everything.”

  Kate shrugged her shoulders when she reached the end of the brief tale. “And that was it. I stood there, watching him get on his Harley and roar away. Tell me what should I have done differently, not that anything like this will ever happen to me again.” Kate released a sound of disgust and was tempted to bang her forehead on the table.

  “Sweetie pie, listen up. You probably saved yourself a world of heartache by letting that particular man go. It’s not his fault that women drop their panties for him. My goodness, if it has a vagina and walks, Drew O’Connor is on it. Don’t you read the tabloids? The man’s a world-class player.”

  Kate leaned an elbow on the table and rested her chin on her upturned palm. “Those rags print lies about you and people in your business all the time, so why would you believe that trash about Drew?” She didn’t understand why she’d defend a man she’d spent five minutes with, except that he’d behaved like a gentleman with her. Maybe women who wished they’d slept with him created his reputation. The media loved to categorize people and blow stories out of proportion.

  “I admit that I read the tabloids and check out gossipy websites. I’ve seen his photo often enough, usually with models or actresses more famous than me. People might lie, but pictures don’t, no they don’t.” Liz’s blond hair swirled as she shook her head slowly from side to side to emphasize her words.

  “Everyone knows those stories are crap, but since you seem to believe them, should my self-esteem plummet because I was in his presence and he showed no interest in removing my panties?”

  “Even he wouldn’t do that in a church!” Liz giggled. “I know how much you spend on your lacy lingerie and a woman only does that if she wants someone to see what’s under her conservative clothes,” she teased.

  “Stop it! I wear bras and panties from France or Italy because they’re beautiful, not because I hope some man will see them. I’ll promise you something so that we can end this ridiculous conversation.”

  Liz’s brows rose. “Oh? And what’s that?”

  Kate’s limbs felt rubbery, a clear signal that the second vodka on an empty stomach had kicked in, but she managed to hold up her hand as if being sworn in. “I promise that if I ever see Drew O’Connor again face to face, I’ll show him my sexy panties. All right?” It was an easy promise to make. Kate knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that the photogenic skier’s path would ever cross hers again.

  The two women shook hands to seal the deal. “Hungry?” Kate asked as her stomach growled, protesting the liquid dinner it had already absorbed.

  “Starving. Let’s get out of here and grab a burger and fries at that place around the corner. I’m craving grease.”

  The two men who had tried to pick them up were still at the bar, but had already moved on to new quarry. “Short attention spans,” Kate commented as they passed nearby. “More like short dicks,” replied Liz. Laughing and arm in arm, they headed into the cold night to find food.

  CHAPTER 5

  Two days after their disastrous meeting, Charles Morrison called Kate.

  “Hello again, Mr. Morrison. Does this mean th
at you’ve spoken to your client?”

  “I have, Ms. Porter, and he would like to move ahead with the project. Can we set something up at a time that’s convenient for you?”

  Kate leaned her elbows on her desk, intrigued. “Still not willing to tell me who you represent?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. If word gets out that he wants to go public with his story, I’ll have a million media requests and I don’t want to deal with that, at least not until we have a deal.”

  “He’s that kind of celebrity?”

  “He is.”

  “All right. You’ve piqued my curiosity.” She flipped through her phone’s calendar. “I can do Wednesday at either two or four.”

  “Let’s say four. I appreciate your willingness to meet again. I know I didn’t make the best impression the first time.”

  “So that we don’t waste each other’s time, you and your client need to have a clear idea of the kind of autobiographies this company publishes. He needs to be willing to reveal more of himself than he’s done already so readers will gain some insight into him. If he values his privacy as much as you’ve implied…” She didn’t have to finish the sentence for Charles to know what she was driving at.

  “He’s very aware of that. We’ll see you Wednesday at four.”

  “I look forward to it. Good-bye, Mr. Morrison.”

  Kate tilted her chair back and rested her feet on the desk. She gazed at the ceiling and ran down a mental list of male athletes at the end of their careers who had enough fame to sell books. The list of football, baseball, basketball, soccer, tennis, golf and ice hockey players fitting that description was surprisingly long. An hour later she switched off the light on her desk, pulled on her coat, grabbed her bag and walked toward the bank of elevators. Her office was on the 45th floor and, as the elevator descended at warp speed to the lobby, her stomach lurched like it always did. Only this time she wasn’t sure whether it was the elevator or the sudden realization that she’d left one group of elite athletes off her list. Skiers. And among those kings of the slopes, Drew O’Connor ranked high.