Field of Pleasure Page 5

  That would change if she moved into the junior management position, though. Chyna had worked in Risk Assessment long enough to know the ins and outs of the department. It was commonplace to find management here long after the sun had gone down.

  What would she do about the classes she taught at the dance school three times a week? Her girls wouldn’t understand anything about reviewing and analyzing credit inquiries. The only thing they would understand was that their teacher had pushed them to the side because she had more important things to do.

  “You don’t even have the job yet,” Chyna chastised herself under her breath. Liani constantly accused her of heaping unnecessary worry on her head. She was beginning to see her friend’s point.

  Still, as she made her way back to her cubicle, Chyna couldn’t help but think about all she would have to give up in order to earn an office with a door. She had devised a pros-versus-cons list the minute she’d learned of the position, and even though the cons were winning by a landslide, there was one thing on the pros list that outweighed everything else.

  Security.

  This promotion would mean having a savings account that could finally reach five figures before she had to dip into it to help her parents out with their bills during the months when their fixed income couldn’t cover them all. It would mean having the freedom to buy herself a nice sweater or pair of shoes without waiting for them to go on sale.

  Chyna didn’t want to think about the things she would have to give up if she were offered this new job. Nothing was as essential as the peace of mind that would come with her forty-percent-bigger paycheck.

  She sat behind her desk and pulled up another report that was due by the end of the day. Her cell phone trilled in her purse.

  “That’s the third time in less than twenty minutes your phone has rung,” her coworker Ma Ling said from one cubicle over.

  Chyna’s breath caught. That many calls in such a short time span could only mean one thing: something had happened to her dad. She dove into the bag for the phone, imagining her dad on a stretcher with an oxygen mask over his face.

  She didn’t recognize the number. Oh, God, it had to be a hospital calling.

  Ma Ling stood just outside the entrance to her cubicle, concern pinching her forehead into a pronounced vee.

  “What happened?” Chyna answered with a frantic gasp.

  “Is that how you answer the phone?”

  Jared Dawson’s amused murmur sent a barrage of emotions ping-ponging through Chyna’s system. Relief that it wasn’t the hospital calling to say her dad had finally coughed up one of his emphysemic lungs was instantaneously followed by a surge of nervous energy.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I thought it was some kind of an emergency.”

  “It is, in a way. I only have five minutes left of my break before another two hours of drills. I wanted to make sure I got hold of you before going back to the practice field.”

  Chyna eyed her coworker standing anxiously a few feet away. She covered the receiver and mouthed, “It’s okay.”

  Ma Ling’s tense face visibly relaxed and she returned to her cubicle.

  “Are you still there?” Jared asked.

  “I am,” Chyna said, pushing away from her desk. “Just…give me a minute.”

  The cubicles didn’t offer much privacy, and she didn’t want the entire office to know that Jared Dawson was on the other end of the line. The minute she’d shared news of her freelancing job with the Saberrettes, her coworkers had started bombarding her with questions about the team, despite Chyna’s repeated insistence that she did not have unlimited access to Sabers players. If anyone found out it was Jared on the phone the questions would never stop.

  Chyna made it to the restroom and dipped inside. She stooped low, checking for feet under the stalls.

  “Chyna?”

  “I’m here,” she said. “Just making sure I’m alone. Jared, why are you calling me?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

  “To find out what time I should pick you up tonight,” he replied.

  Chyna’s eyelids slid shut. She’d been holding on to a string of hope that he’d forgotten about the dinner date she’d agreed to in the one moment her common sense had decided to go on vacation. She knew she should have called and canceled, but between work, class and the dozens of other things on her plate, time had slipped away from her.

  “Jared. I’m sorry, but I can’t go out with you tonight.”

  “Did something come up?”

  Yeah. Her good sense. “You can say that,” Chyna said.

  “What about tomorrow night?”

  She should just come out with it. She had always been a Band-Aid ripper, not the gently tug type.

  “Not tomorrow, either. I can’t go out with you. At all.”

  “Why?” The one-word question was drenched in disappointment.

  Chyna winced. What had she been thinking to agree to a date with him in the first place? “I told you before, there are rules against dating players.”

  “Haven’t we already discussed this? That rule doesn’t apply to you since you’re not an official member of the squad.”

  “Call it a personal rule then. I don’t go out with Sabers players.” He groaned on the other side of the phone line. “I didn’t say my rule was fair, but it’s still my rule,” Chyna said.

  “Well, I think you should have an exception.”

  “It was Cedric Reeves, but I heard he’s off the market,” she teased, hoping to lessen the blow of her refusal. That she was concerned about his feelings at all sounded alarm bells ringing in her head. His feelings, hurt or otherwise, had nothing to do with her.

  “That’s not funny,” Jared said about her quip. “Honestly, Chyna, are ball players really so bad?”

  “Not all of you,” she said. “It has more to do with me. I—” The bathroom door opened and a woman from the acquisitions division entered. Chyna lowered her voice. “It’s not you,” she said.

  “You didn’t just try to feed me the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ line, did you?”

  She totally had. How guys who used that line could stomach the overwhelming sense of smarminess that engulfed her was mind-boggling.

  “In this instance, it fits,” she stated. “Look, Jared, I really need to get back to work. I’m sorry if you made plans already, but you’ll need to cancel them. Or just take one of the other girls from the squad,” she finished, then ended the call before he could respond.

  Chyna braced her hands against the countertop and studied her reflection in the mirror. Canceling had been the smart thing to do.

  Liani had filled her in on how things worked between the players and those cheerleaders who chose to break the no-fraternizing rule. The girls allowed themselves to be wined and dined as they played the part of the hot girlfriend. Sometimes they got a pair of nice earrings or the latest Coach bag out of the deal, but often it was at the price of their self-respect.

  The thought of finding herself in that same position ate at the very core of her being. She didn’t need to latch on to a rich football player to get by in life. She had learned to rely on herself a long time ago. Ever since the day her father lashed out at her for asking for money to attend dance classes, Chyna recognized that if she wanted something she had to get it for herself. She’d collected aluminum cans and did odd jobs for her neighbors until she’d earned enough money to send herself to dance camp.

  She didn’t need anyone to take care of her. She did just fine on her own.

  Jared had seemed sincere when he’d interrupted her study session last Sunday night. In fact, he’d been so sweet that she was hit with the warm fuzzies every time she walked passed the Patisserie, and it had nothing to do with their chocolate-filled croissants.

  But it didn’t matter. She had papers to write and dance classes to teach. She had a job promotion to score. She didn’t have time in her life for any man right now, and even if she did, it wouldn’t be a member of the New York Sab
ers.

  When the clock hit four o’clock, the only thing Chyna had left to do was log out of her computer. Today had been, in a word, exhausting. As she passed the management team’s offices on her way out of the Risk Assessment wing, she managed to taper the excited tingle that started in her belly. She would be one of them soon.

  But as she continued down the corridor, a slight tremor of unease flitted within the walls of Chyna’s chest. Not a single one of those people looked even remotely ready to head home for the day. Was this her future?

  Chyna tossed the thought out of her head. She didn’t want to jinx herself. If the job was meant to be hers, it would be, and she would handle it the way she’d handled everything else that had been thrown at her in life.

  She exited the side door of the office building and headed up Seventh Avenue. When she turned the corner at Thirty-fourth Street, Jared was standing a few feet away, at the building’s main entrance.

  He spotted her, and the most delicious smile stretched across his face.

  Chyna crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “Liani Dixon, the friendship was nice while it lasted, but I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you,” she said to no one in particular.

  “Don’t blame Liani this time.” Jared laughed. “Blame Google. Someone posted a picture of you at some fancy banquet and it listed you as an employee at Marlowe and Brown.”

  “I can’t believe you searched for me on the internet,” she said.

  “I can’t believe you were going to stand me up tonight,” he returned.

  “I’m still going to stand you up.” She made a move to walk past him, but he captured her elbow.

  “Why?” he asked. “And don’t feed me that stuff about you not dating football players.”

  She stared into his eyes. They were the loveliest shade of brown—almost hazel. “Why do I have to give you a reason at all?” Chyna asked in a voice she hardly recognized as her own.

  “Because you owe me at least that much for suggesting I just take out one of the other girls. What was that about?”

  His wounded, accusatory tone stung. “I’m sorry,” Chyna said. “That was thoughtless. But I still don’t owe you a reason for refusing to have dinner with you.”

  “What’s the harm, Chyna? You do plan to eat tonight, don’t you?”

  “Don’t pretend it’s that simple,” she reproved. “We both know my agreeing to dinner would mean more than just sharing a meal.”

  “Yes, it would mean treating yourself to some down-time. Take a few hours to just kick back and enjoy yourself.” He took a step closer, a flash of heat flaring in his steady gaze. “I’m not bad company, Chyna. Why don’t you give me a shot?”

  She wavered slightly, tormented by the confusing emotions volleying back and forth in her head. She thought back to when she’d first met him at the Sabers compound. Despite his horrible attempts at flirting, there had been a certain charm. And the fact that he’d been interested enough to seek her out later that day had to account for something, didn’t it?

  Allowing herself a couple of hours for a nice dinner wouldn’t cause her entire schedule to crumble. She could spare just this one night, couldn’t she?

  “Okay,” Chyna finally answered. “Meet me at the Patisserie at seven-thirty.”

  “Can’t I pick you up at your place?”

  “No,” she said. “The bakery is fine.”

  A delectable smile curved up one corner of his mouth. “You promise not to stand me up?”

  “Promise,” she said.

  For a moment, Chyna thought he would kiss her. Instead, he trailed his finger across her jaw in a gentle caress, turned and headed the opposite way up Thirty-fourth. She wasn’t sure how long she stood in the middle of the sidewalk while hundreds of New Yorkers rushed passed her. Only one thought occupied her mind.

  What in the heck had she just gotten herself into?

  Jared pulled the silk sheets from his California king-size bed and stuffed them in the hamper in his closet. Normally, he’d leave this for Maggie, his housekeeper, to deal with, but when she’d left his condo yesterday she’d mentioned having to take care of three grandkids all suffering with a stomach virus. Jared figured she’d need a break.

  Besides, stripping the bedding gave him something to do. He still had two and a half hours until his date with Chyna.

  Was he seriously counting down the hours?

  Jared shook his head, grinning at himself. It was better than how he’d spent the past dozen Friday nights, sitting in this apartment alone, trying not to think about what he could have been doing if things hadn’t ended with Samantha. Talk about a surefire way to send him on a first-class trip to his own personal hell.

  Jared’s gaze drifted to the bed they’d shared. His jaw tightened as he remembered the way she would snuggle up next to him. Had it all been a lie? All those years he’d spent giving her everything she could ever ask for. Could it really have meant nothing?

  He tore his eyes away from the bed. Why he hadn’t pitched the damn thing to the curb was a question he didn’t have the energy to explore. Maybe Torrian was right when he’d accused him of being into self-torture. Maybe he’d always been a sadomasochist and was just now figuring it out.

  Jared let out a vicious curse. He was done with today’s half-assed attempt at psychoanalysis. He refused to surrender another second of his life to what might have been. Tonight was a huge step in his mission to get over Samantha, and as far as diversions went, Chyna McCrea would definitely fit the bill.

  With renewed resolve, Jared marched over to his cavernous walk-in closet. He pulled out the dark brown slacks Maggie had brought in from the dry cleaners and laid them across his valet. He hadn’t settled on which jacket to pair with them. It all depended on where he took Chyna tonight.

  He was waiting to hear from his friend Rena at Per Se, one of the most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan. He’d played the Sabers card, but even that wasn’t a guarantee at the restaurant that was booked up months in advance. If Per Se fell through, he always had the Fire Starter Grille as a backup plan. Torrian had special tables for fellow Sabers personnel.

  Jared heard movement coming from the kitchen. Moments later, Maggie’s soft knock sounded on his bedroom door.

  “Mr. Dawson?”

  “In here,” Jared called. “And if you don’t stop calling me Mr. Dawson, you’re fired.”

  She waved off his threat. “Oh, Mr. Dawson.” Four years and the woman still refused to call him by his first name. “I’ll have your protein shake ready in a few minutes,” she said, taking the dark brown jacket he’d been mulling over from his hands and replacing it with a bone-colored Oscar de la Renta.

  “Much better choice.” Jared nodded. “Don’t worry about making dinner tonight. I have a date.”

  Maggie’s head popped up from the laundry she’d begun sorting through. “With Ms. Miller?” she asked.

  “No, not Sam,” he said.

  “Thank God,” she breathed.

  “Tell me how you really feel,” Jared snorted.

  Maggie crumpled the sweatpants in her hands, a sad smile on her round, peach-colored face. “I know it is not my place to say anything, Mr. Dawson, but I’ve been worried about you ever since she left. You haven’t been yourself.”

  “I know, but I’m fine now. Really,” he said when Maggie raised a skeptical brow. “Besides, I don’t pay you enough to worry about me,” he teased. They both knew it was a joke. He paid Maggie a generous salary, so generous that he’d become her sole client.

  “You need to have someone to worry over you for a change,” Maggie said. “And now that my youngest boy has left for college, it frees up space in my worry bank. Now, out of my way so I can get these in the wash and mix up your shake.”

  Having been dismissed from his bedroom, Jared ambled around the apartment, trying to figure out what to do with himself for the next two hours. He plopped down in front of his iMac and tried catching up on what the sports bloggers were sa
ying about the Sabers’ upcoming Organized Team Activities, but there was nothing more than the usual chatter. There wouldn’t be much to say until the off-season OTAs actually began in a couple of weeks.

  His cell phone rang just as he was pushing away from the computer. Jared frowned at the unfamiliar number.

  “Dawson,” he answered.

  “Hello, Mr. Dawson, this is Jackson Phillips from Fidelity Bank and Trust. I’m calling about your business loan.”

  “Dammit,” Jared cursed. He’d forgotten about signing the papers for the Red Zone, the high-end, sports-themed barbershop venture he’d entered into with one of his old college buddies. “We had a four o’clock appointment, didn’t we?”

  “Yes,” the man said. “Your business partner was here this morning. Your signature is the only thing that’s needed to close.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Dammit. It was just after five o’clock. Even though the bank wasn’t far, getting there and back would be pushing it, especially since he still had to shower, dress and get all the way to Brooklyn before seven.

  But he had to get those papers signed before the weekend. The grand opening of the Red Zone was next week. If the bank didn’t sign off on the loan, the city couldn’t go through with the final inspection and the building might not be ready in time. Patrick was counting on him.

  Dammit!

  “I can be there in a half hour,” Jared said, leaving his office and heading for his bedroom. “Can I meet you at six?”

  “The bank usually closes at six, but for you I’ll make an exception.”

  Jared thanked him as he declined the protein shake Maggie tried to hand him on his way to the master suite. He jumped in the shower and was out of his apartment less than twenty minutes after receiving the call from the bank. Jared walked out of the building and groaned at the bumper-to-bumper traffic clogging the street. It would be a miracle if he made it to the bank by six o’clock.

  On the bright side, by the time he was done crisscrossing downtown Manhattan, he’d have only a few minutes before it was time to pick up Chyna.