Marek
Harper looks at me like I’ve grown two heads.
I pull back and lift my hands in the air as to saywhoa.
“Shit, sorry, that didn’t come out right. Let me rephrase…I need it tolooklike I’m there with a date. I don’t expect it to be a real date or anything. I just need the appearance of one to throw the vultures off my tail. The ex-wife’s book is stirring up a lot of heat around my personal life.”
She tips her head, furrowing the space between her eyebrows, and then she laughs. “You mean, reporters and journalists?Those ‘vultures?’” She hooks her fingers into air quotes.
I blanch. I’m really fucking this up and have just insulted her profession. Jesus, this media attention is killing me. I chalk it up to too much stress and my lack of sleep. And sitting too close to a woman whose sweet scent muddles my brain.
I instinctively reach out and place my palm on her knee. And quickly remove it when I realize what I’ve done.
“Harper, that’s not what I mean.” I make a face. “I don’t lump you in specifically with these people. It’s just this book has rejuvenated interest in my past and current personal life. The fact that I’m still single and not dating is just adding fuel to the fire and fodder for the tabloids. I thought that maybe… if I can present a decoy of sorts, maybe they’ll let it go and stop hounding me.”
It sounds ridiculous even to my own ears. I’ve just grown tired of beating these people off with a stick. They are dogs on a bone. Instead of focusing on my professional achievements and what I’m working on now, all they care about is Jasmine’s book, the reason we divorced, and why I’m still an eligible bachelor.
I slump back into my chair and down a large gulp of the Bloody Mary that was delivered a few moments earlier.
“You can’t imagine how exhausting it is trying to keep out of the spotlight.”
Harper contemplates this for a moment, chewing on that deliciously plump bottom lip of hers.
“Forgive me for asking, but aren’t you already in the spotlight? It’s not like you’re some unknown businessman who sells buttons for a living. You run a national team and multi-million-dollar organization. Plus, you’re good looking, so it makes you newsworthy.”
I snort out something that resembles a laugh and run a hand through my hair. But I do put away that tidbit of knowledge that she thinks I’m good looking.
“Remember the day at the gym when you told me you wanted the interview?”
She has the decency to look apologetic. “Yeah.”
“The thing that made you different, Harper, is that you wanted to talk about the game. Other reporters just want a juicy scoop. It seems the more I try and hide, the more ravenous they become.”
She mulls this over. “But how is having a date to the event—where, by the way, you’ll be in the spotlight—going to decrease the speculation surrounding your private life?”
It’s a fair point. Am I just trading one problem for another? Will the reporters turn this into an even bigger story?
I lift a shoulder and finish the drink. “Honestly, I don’t know. I swear I have no idea why my personal life is of such interest to outsiders. It’s ridiculous. I’m just a man, for God’s sake. Who the hell cares?”
Harper rolls her eyes and scoffs. “You’re joking, right?”
I give her a side-long glance. “What?”
“Do I really have to spell it out for you, Marek?” She motions with her hand over my torso. “Good looking men in public positions get noticed. Whether single or married. Don’t you remember when Justin Trudeau became Canada’s Prime Minister? He made headlines for months, not for his politics, but because he’s young and handsome. The world wanted to know about him because he’s cute.”
I shake my head, covering my face with my palms.
“I am not a world leader. I’m a freaking leader of a sports organization.”
Harper pats me on the back in a consoling manner. The heat of her touch zigzags down my spine and goes straight to my crotch. I swallow thickly.
“Yep, and a handsome one at that.”
My head snaps around, my eyes meeting hers. “You think I’m handsome?”
I try to keep my tone light with a hint of humor, but inside, I’m very curious if she finds me as attractive as I find her.
If the blush creeping up her neck and over her cheeks is any indication of the truth, then I have my answer. But I want her to admit it.