Hot Property by Carly Phillips Page B

Don’t get me wrong. I love them but—”
    “They need to live their own lives,” Amy finished for him. “But they haven’t had to since you’ve always done everything for them.” A few more notes and Amy finally put her pen down and met his gaze. “Got it all,” she said, then picked up her knife and fork. “God, I’m starving.”
    She dug into her meal with a gusto he’d never seen in a female.
    Just watching her renewed his appetite and they finished their meal in comfortable silence. As soon as their waiter placed the check on the table, he placed his hand on the leather folder.
    “I’ve got it,” she said, reaching for the billfold at the same time so their fingers met.
    He’d always let Micki pay when they went out for business and he should allow Amy to do the same, especially this first business lunch when he figured she needed to feel in control.
    But he let his hand deliberately linger so he could touch her a little longer. “You already talked me into turning off my phone and Treo.
    Don’t add insult to injury by paying the check. My fragile male ego can’t handle it.”
    She laughed. “I don’t think your ego has been fragile a day in your life.”
    “You’d be surprised,” he said, sobering. She probably thought the insults from Buckley and the fans rolled off his back. Maybe at one time they would have, but not any longer. He was afraid they were right and he was a washed-up has-been.
    Without warning, she slipped her hand from his. “I’ll get it next time,” she said, leaving him with the distinct impression she did understand the fragile ego thing.
    Just as he understood hers. “No, this is business. I don’t mind letting the Hot Zone pick up the tab.” Before she could get too cocky, he added, “I’ll get it on our next date.”
    She opened her mouth to speak, but he glanced down at the check, ignoring her so she couldn’t argue. Because there would be a real date.
    She could count on it.
    Once the check was paid, he walked her out of the restaurant and onto the street. To his surprise, they’d made it through the meal with only a few stares. No one asked for an autograph or bothered him with stupid questions, like how did it feel to single-handedly blow the series?
    He waited as she glanced up the street to locate her driver, then held the car door for her as she climbed inside. He had a physical-therapy appointment downtown so he declined a ride and sent her back uptown alone.
    But not before she promised she’d be in touch with a plan to help him reclaim his life. She believed she could fix things for him, and for the first time, he admitted to himself that he needed her to be right.

    He’d always been the one taking care of others. No one had ever given much thought to what he needed, not because they didn’t care, but because they knew he could take care of himself. Even though Amy was only doing what the Hot Zone paid her to do, he appreciated her efforts. He believed she’d do her best, although he had less faith in her ability to get his family under control. It wasn’t personal, nor was it a lack of belief in her abilities. He just knew his family, and short of doing their bidding, there was no denying them.
    But he was looking forward to seeing Amy try.

    HE CALLED IN THE TIP ABOUT Roper’s lunch at Sparks Steak House with the niece of Spencer Atkins. He supposed he ought to feel guilty about causing the guy trouble, but Roper’s life was already imploding. There was no reason not to help the process along by placing him squarely in the public eye.
    He wouldn’t want people to forget about Roper or his part in destroying the Renegades’ chances of winning the World Series. Not when the man was paid more than anyone else on the team to come up with the ultimate post-season win.
    Besides, wasn’t it time that the high-and-mighty realized how fragile fame and fortune were? Some people worked hard for their talent.
    Others thought it was their birthright.