Hot Property

Amy shook her head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were talking about John Roper,” she said, without really meaning it.

But every last person at the table turned their gaze her way.

Oh, no, Amy thought. Not Roper. Somehow she managed not to say the words aloud. She couldn’t. Whoever the client was, Amy had no choice but to accept him with a smile. It was her first day, her first assignment, and she could not afford to act like a prima donna.

“So it is John Roper?” Amy asked.

All heads at the table nodded.

“Okay, then.” She pasted on her brightest smile. “At least it’s someone I already know.” Thank goodness nobody at the table knew just how well she’d almost come to know Roper.

“That’s what we thought,” Micki said, obviously pleased with the business pairing.

“Although, if you aren’t comfortable…” Sophie’s voice trailed off, her offer clear. The other woman obviously sensed now, as she’d indicated at the party the other night, that Amy’s history with Roper might make it uncomfortable for her to work with him.

Amy shook her head. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” Nobody at the table knew she’d spent the night at Roper’s place New Year’s Eve.

A knock sounded on the conference-room door and her uncle Spencer’s secretary, Frannie, walked in. “I’m sorry for interrupting but I have news that can’t wait.”

“Come on in and let’s hear it,” Annabelle said, gesturing with her hands. “Something juicy, I hope?”

Micki leaned over and whispered to Amy. “Frannie gets the morning papers and fills us in with anything we need to know about our clients that the press got their teeth into first.”

“Got it,” Amy said, nodding.

“You, my dear, have arrived.” Frannie strode over to Amy, taking her by complete surprise. “Photograph and articles.”

“Excuse me?” Amy asked, confused.

“Page Six in the New York Post!” Frannie exclaimed.

“Get out! What are you holding back?” Annabelle asked Amy. At the same time, Micki snatched the paper from Frannie’s hands and began riffling through it.

The other woman, Amy noticed, had a second copy beneath her arm.

“What is on Page Six?” Amy finally managed to ask.

“Only the premier source of celebrity gossip in New York City,” Lola pointed out, her voice calm in the midst of the sisters’ excitement.

Amy thought she might throw up. “Celebrity?” A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as the memory of the flashing cameras outside Roper’s apartment came back to her, more vivid than ever.

“Liz Smith and Cindy Addams’s columns are featured there,” Sophie said. “What does it say about Amy?”

“Quit keepin’ it to yourself,” Yank ordered.

Their curiosity piqued, everyone seemed oblivious to Amy’s anxiety. Everyone except her uncle Spencer, who glanced at her through worried eyes.

Micki began to read aloud. “What troubled Renegades player needs a distraction from his problematic moves on the field? On New Year’s Eve, hottie John Roper forgot his troubles with a lady friend who is surprisingly not of the garden-variety sexpots he normally dates. Who is she and is it serious? Considering this photo was taken outside Roper’s apartment building on New Year’s Day and the woman was wearing very comfortable clothes, anything is possible. Stay tuned.”

At least they hadn’t mentioned her by name, Amy thought.

“Anything else?” Annabelle asked.

She wanted more?

“The Daily News picked up the piece and ran with it.” Frannie pushed her glasses farther up on her nose and began to read. “‘John Roper is numbing his pain in the arms of a woman. Amy Stone, a Florida transplant and the newest member of the Hot Zone team, was caught sneaking out of his apartment building New Year’s Day wearing nothing more than sweats and high heels from their aborted soiree at the Hot Zone the night before. A new year, a new relationship and maybe a renewed career. I say, “Go for it, Johnny!”’”

Yank snickered.

Amy winced. She’d been trying to forget the incident, going so far as to give up on the outfit she’d left with him. Thanks to the New York press, she was big-time news. She might even have outdone her mother and aunt, and that was saying something.

“What’s the original source?” Sophie asked.

“Gawkerstalker.com.” Frannie offered her copy of the paper to Amy.

She shook her head.

“Even though we didn’t invite the press to the party, I’m guessing someone saw Roper outside the office after the fire alarm went off and called it in. Either they were followed back to Roper’s apartment or they found the information on the Web site and staked out his building hoping for a story.”

“Well, they got one,” Amy muttered. “What is gawkerstalker.com?” she asked.

“A celebrity-sighting Web site. People e-mail, text message or call in celebrity sightings,” Micki explained.

“You’re kidding. I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

“Celebs are big news, and in New York, athletes are prime targets, too. In fact, there’s one more mention,” Frannie said.

“Let’s get it over with, please,” Amy said, resigned.

The older woman cleared her throat and silence settled over the room. “We’re not the only ones who keep up with Page Six. Frank Buckley picked up the story, too.”

“Buckley is Roper’s number-one nemesis,” her uncle explained.

Frannie nodded. “I downloaded his comments from his Web site. He says, ‘Premier sports agents Spencer Atkins and Yank Morgan may have one helluva time unloading Roper to any team this off-season, and not just because of his poor playing skills. But if his New Year’s Eve activities are any indication, Roper’s only interested in one kind of game.’”

“Poor playing skills, my ass,” Spencer said, jumping up from the table. “The man still had a batting average of 290, thirty-five home runs and 121 RBIs, even with his problems. He’s got a no-trade clause and he’s not going anywhere,” he said, then lowered himself back into his seat.

That was her uncle, Amy thought. Yank might bluster but Spencer spoke when he had something deliberate and calculated to say. She wondered what he’d have to say to her. Then again, considering his hands-off approach to her mother, maybe he’d forgo the lecture.

Sophie spoke, calming the room. “I suggest we all settle down and discuss things calmly and rationally.”

Lola grabbed the gavel before Yank could second the motion with a smashing blow.

“Does anyone else have anything to add?” Sophie asked.

Yank rose to his feet again, and for the first time Amy realized his brightly patterned shirt clashed with his brown pants. He must have fought Lola on helping him, she thought. Pride was a valued commodity and Amy could understand holding on to it at any cost.

Right now hers was in shreds.

“Uncle Yank, it’s your turn,” Sophie said, obviously having taken control of the meeting.

Amy wondered if she did the firing. The memory of losing her social-worker job was still clear in her mind.

“I don’t like none of this,” he said, shaking his head.

Here it comes, Amy thought, nausea rolling through her.

“There’s no reason for the reporter who wrote that article to give me second billing to that yahoo,” Yank grumbled, pointing at Spencer. “Athletes Only’s a Morgan Atkins production. Not vice versa.”

“Sit down and shut up,” Lola said, grabbing his arm and pulling him back into his seat. “This isn’t about you and your mammoth ego.”

“No, it’s about me and I want to apologize to all of you,” Amy said. “I know I’ve humiliated this firm by getting involved with a client. If you want to let me go, I completely understand.”

Without warning, Yank burst out laughing. “What’s to apologize for? You didn’t do anything different from any of