“You know that’s never going to happen.”
It would if she had anything to do with it. “What next, then?”
“They’re putting together a short list. I’m pretty sure you’ll be on it. Then they’ll do trial weekends with each of the candidates. Meanwhile,” he said, dumping a file on her desk, “we amp up your star potential with the Constantinou story. This,” he said, pointing to the file, “is the real reason I want this interview.”
She frowned. “I thought it was the juicy court case.”
“That’s good stuff.” He flipped the file open and pointed at a magazine cover. “This is better.”
She looked down at the glossy sports magazine. Squinted at the photo of the lone figure dressed in a football uniform, kneeling on a dusty field, helmet in hand. Felt the blood drain from her face. It couldn’t be.... There was just no way. Her gaze flew to the headline. The Next King of Football? Is College Quarterback Sensation Alexios Constantinou the Player Who Will Revive Pro Football in New York?
Her head spun; the lights of the busy newsroom blurred around her. The football player in the photo was undoubtedly Alex, the man she’d just spent the night with.
“I thought his name was Leandros,” she croaked.
“Goes by his middle name,” James dismissed. “Something about his father disowning him.”
Oh my God. Alex was Alexios. Alexios Constantinou. Who’d supposedly been long gone by the time she’d gotten to Sophoros’s London offices, according to his receptionist. Her mind flashed back to the blonde’s expression when she’d asked how long Leandro had been gone. The challenging look on the receptionist’s face. She’d been right. She’d had Leandros Constantinou, Alex, under her fingertips the entire time. Had been stuck in an elevator with him for hours...and what had she done? She’d slept with him.
OMG.
“Izzie?”
Her boss was staring at her. She shook her head, trying desperately to contain her horror. “Why does it matter that he was a football player? This is about Frank Messer’s offer to tell all.”
James settled himself more comfortably on her desk. “Alexios Constantinou was one of the best quarterbacks to ever come out of the college system. Charismatic, smart, he was a born leader...a real golden boy. Led his team to a national championship and was drafted first overall by the New York Crusaders. He was touted as the player who would put football back on the map in the Big Apple. The problem is—” her boss grimaced “—we can’t leave a player like that alone in this city. We have to pile the pressure on him until he cracks and we have a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
Her gaze slid to the photo, her brain still trying to catch up. Alex had been a star football player?
“So what happened?” she asked warily.
“The press was all over him like he was the second coming. Expected him to turn the team around way too fast.” His mouth twisted. “He almost did it, too, in his third year. Then he blew his rotator cuff in a qualifying game for the playoffs and ended his career for good. Twenty-four years old and his career was over. One of the true tragic stories in professional sports.”
Her stomach twisted in a sea of knots. Sometimes in life you’re only given one shot, Alex had said in the elevator. Use it wisely.
She cleared her throat. “Okay, so all very dramatic, but isn’t it ancient history now? And what does this have to do with Frank Messer?”
An intense, self-satisfied smile curved her boss’s lips. “The night Alex Constantinou was injured, he disappeared, never did another interview. Then he resurfaces a few years later with this red-hot software company he’s created with his college buddy and they launch this title, Behemoth, that sets the gaming world on fire. The man’s probably made a hundred times more money on it than he would ever have made in football, but he still never talks to media. Ever.” His gaze locked on hers. “I want that story. His story.”
Her brain whirled, tried to keep up. “So you want to land the exclusive story on Alexios Constantinou and use Frank Messer as leverage.”
“Exactly. And you’ll be the one to convince him. Everyone knows Constantinou has an eye for the ladies.”
Izzie almost choked on that. Dear Lord. She waved her hand at him. “If he hates the press that much, James, he isn’t going to do it. He’ll say to hell with public opinion and let the courts decide.”
Her boss shrugged. “I think we can convince him it’s better to tell his side of the story than let Messer do it for him.”
“If the lawyers let him....”
He lifted a brow. “CEOs are mavericks. Especially this guy. He’ll do what he wants. You just need to convince him.”
Right. Her stomach lurched. What would Alex think of her when he realized what she did for a living? It wasn’t as if she’d deliberately tried to mislead him about her profession. After a few nasty encounters with people who weren’t fans of the media, including a guy who’d verbally assaulted her in a bar, she didn’t advertise what she did upon first meeting. It just made life easier to say she was in communications.
Until now.
Every muscle in her body screamed out that she couldn’t do this. But how was she supposed to tell her boss that? And why.
James looked at her expectantly. “Well?”
Her brain spit out a desperate solution. She’d find a way to discredit Messer so the story never became an issue. So they had nothing to strong-arm Alex with. Her boss could find her another juicy assignment that didn’t involve the man she’d just devoured last night and everyone would be happy.
“Okay,” she said, nodding. “I’ll call Messer in the morning and schedule a background interview.”
He nodded. “And find Constantinou. He’s back in the country. I don’t care if you have to camp out in front of his office building.”
She was so never doing that. James slid off her desk and did his usual pre-news-hour circuit of the room. Izzie shoved her phone in her purse and stared at the lucky silver charm dangling from the strap. How could this have happened to her? Of all the men she could have chosen to have a one-night stand with, it had to have been Alexios Constantinou?
Inconceivable. She stood up, deciding she’d do a better job figuring this out in the bathtub. A commotion near the entrance to the newsroom made her look up. A petite brunette stood court in the middle of a group of reporters, her megawatt smile on full display. Her mother. Good Lord. She was back in town.
Dayla St. James chatted for a few minutes with the crowd, reveling in the attention they heaped on her, then blew them a kiss and made her way over to Izzie’s desk with that same shoulders-back, confident strut she’d been using her entire life. Izzie blew out a long breath and steeled herself for the hurricane that was her mother.
“I’m back,” Dayla announced unnecessarily, arriving in a flurry of floral perfume to press a kiss to both of Izzie’s cheeks. Her mother’s violet eyes took her in, the heart-shaped face that had sent a billion men’s hearts fluttering still so absolutely perfect at fifty-one she made Izzie feel like an awkward, overblown offshoot. “I’ve come to whisk you off for a drink.”
Izzie sat down on the edge of her desk. She needed to process, not go for a drink. This was what little white lies were for. “I have plans with the girls.”