Game On

chapter 23


“HEY, BABY.” VALENTINA PUSHED HER way past him and plonked down on his bed.

“Hey,” he said, standing against the open door, hoping she’d take the hint. “Not a good time for a social call.” He threw in a yawn for good measure. Clara’s call was overdue and he wanted to be free to talk. Considering how horny he was, phone sex couldn’t be ruled out.

“You can’t convince me you’re going to bed at eight-thirty, Luc. Not a night owl like you.”

“I’m working. I’ve got this blog thing and my regular Sunday column to get a jump on. I’m swamped.”

She thrust her chest out and wiggled against the rumpled bed cover. “I won’t bother you, baby. Go ahead and work.”

“Val, please. Not a good time.”

With a pout of her full, pink lips, she rose, but instead of exiting the room, she grabbed Luc by the belt buckle and pulled him toward her. The door swung shut with an ominous bang behind him.

She tilted her head back and gave him a heavy-lidded stare, a look he recognized well as her signature come-to-bed invitation.

“This must be so hard for you,” she purred.

“What’s hard for me?”

“This blog tour. It’s so pedestrian. And to be stuck with that English prig. How about I help you get your mind off of it.”

“English prig? You mean Clara?”

“Of course I mean Clara,” she said, sliding her hands up his chest. “She’s friends with that cold bitch, Lydia, so she can’t be any better. But don’t worry, baby.” She pressed her body close to his. “I’m here to warm you up.”

Unsure whether to laugh or get angry, Luc grabbed her wrists as she moved to encircle his neck. “Clara definitely isn’t cold.” He dropped her arms and took a step back.

“I see,” she said with a knowing nod.

“You see what?”

“You’re sleeping with her.” Val pushed her lips out for another pink-glazed pout.

He couldn’t deny it but didn’t want to confirm it, either. “That’s really none of your business, Val.”

“I think it is, Luc.” Her calculating smile worried him. Many mistakenly judged her on her wide, blue-eyed stare and blonde roots. Luc knew better. Valentina hadn’t snagged her tiara by her toothy smile alone. She was cunning, manipulative, and relentlessly pursued her goals without worrying who she slaughtered in the process.

“I stopped being your business when you left me for Bartel.”

Luc’s relationship with Valentina lasted about five minutes, months, weeks? but it was never a serious affair; neither had seemed bent on commitment.

Val was the kind of woman Luc was accustomed to dating before his accident, when he was somebody, when he was the important one in the relationship and whomever held his arm was nothing more than a sparkly accessory. He’d been as unfulfilled with Val as he’d been with the rest. He found her shallowness annoying and he wasn’t exactly heartbroken when she’d left. It stung, however, to be dumped for an old shark like Bartel.

During their time together, he had never thought to question her insatiable curiosity about the BMG empire or her obsessive interest in the man who ran it. Her infatuation—or perhaps goal was a better description—became very clear to him when he finally introduced her to Bartel. Apparently she’d set her sights on the top and Luc was merely a rung on her ladder. She’d actually used those exact words when she broke it off.

Now he needed somebody with a bit more substance, a bit less selfish in their motives. Someone more like Clara. Exactly like Clara.

“Oh baby, I didn’t leave you for Kingsley,” she said, closing the gap between them. “Not in that sense. It’s purely a business arrangement between the King and I.” She laughed at her own joke. “We’re both getting what we want. He understands that.”

“I’m sure he does.”

She rested her head against his shoulder and laced her fingers with his. “But you can’t deny we have some amazing chemistry, Luc. I think about that when I’m with him, you know. Think of how hot we were together, how you made me sing.” She ran the tip of her tongue along the underside of his jaw. “Wouldn’t you like an encore?”

Merde. He did not need this. Clara was going to call any second and he had a needy woman draped around him. Luc backed away and opened the door. “Go, Val.”

“Baby, wait,” she cried. “Don’t get all tetchy. I just want to make sure you’re okay. That she’s not being too horrible to you.”

“As you can see, I’m fine. Why would you think otherwise? And whatever gave you the idea that Clara was horrible? She’s the furthest thing from it.”

Val finally sauntered to the door. Luc was tempted to give her a shove to help her over the threshold.

“Just be careful, baby,” she said, turning to him and leaning against the jamb. “That’s all I’m saying. Her loyalty lies with her little European rag, not with BMG, not with us.”

“Where are you getting this from, Val?”

“What do you know about her? What has she told you about herself? Did she mention what happened in Rome last spring? A-ha, I can see by the look on your face that she hasn’t. She’s hiding something, baby. She’s not quite right,” Val said, pointing to her head, “up here. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Val, I appreciate your concern but I’m a big boy.” He moved to close the door but she stopped it with her palm.

“Well, in that case, you’d better call her back. She got my room by mistake.”





“Clara? Thank God I’ve finally reached you.” Luc dug his fingers into his hair, relieved and anxious all at once. She hadn’t picked up her cell phone in the hour he’d been trying. He left a dozen voice mail messages and paced a trench in the rug before it struck him to try her home number, then wasted another half hour wading through the complicated British Telecom directory assistance, an oxymoron if he ever heard one. “I’ve pissed off six C Beans in Greater London looking for you.”

“Oh. You got my message then.”

Sacre bleu, her tone—so distant, so finite. “Yes, and it’s not what you think.”

“What makes you think I think anything about an ex-lover answering your phone? Just because we slept together doesn’t give you leave to presume to know what I’m thinking.”

“If you could just let me just explain—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Luc, but I hope you’ll see why I insisted on setting the ground rules of our working partnership. I’ve been down this road before, if you recall, and warned you that things would get awkward.”

“But things aren’t awkward, just misunderstood.”

“Please stop,” she murmured. “This is embarrassing for both of us. Let’s just forget about it all. Goodbye, Luc.”

Luc gritted his teeth, his patience about to snap. The sharp throbbing in his knee was practically unbearable, he wanted to throttle someone—namely Val—and he had no intention of letting Clara get away. Not yet.

“If you hang up that phone, Clara Bean, I’ll call Charlie Holmes and I don’t give a damn it’s the middle of the night.” It was a longshot, but the absence of a click indicated his bluff paid off. “We are not sharing a room. Valentina showed up just after you left. Kingsley sent her to pinch hit while you were gone. Her expense account was blown and she was under the impression that I wouldn’t mind sharing my room. She was wrong, Clara. There’s only one person I want in my bed, and she’s thousands of miles away. I left Val where she was and got another one, on my own dime. We’re not even on the same floor.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“You’re not shagging your ex. Got it.” Her tone was surprisingly not bitter.

“So you believe me?” It couldn’t be this easy. He’d geared himself up for a long session of accusation, rehearsed his defensive moves for every possible assumption.

“The hotel operator said there was more than one Bisquet listed, so yes, I believe you.”

“Thank you.” Luc stretched back on the bed and closed his eyes. Keeping a woman happy was mentally exhausting. “And whatever Val implied about our non-existent relationship was utter crap, okay? So you can stop avoiding my calls.”

“She didn’t say anything, actually. And I wasn’t avoiding your calls, my cell phone charger seems to have vanished.”

“Oh. Well, ignore the dozen messages from me. Delete them. They’re not worth listening to.”

“Really? What did you say?”

“They started out simple. I asked you to call me back. But by the fourth or fifth, I was a bit on edge, so I may have begged a bit.”

“Hmm, I’m intrigued. No pleading?”

“Not until the eighth.”

“And the ninth and tenth?”

“There may have been a note of pathetic desperation, but I admit to nothing.”

Clara’s laugh made his heart swell.

“God, I miss you,” he said. Though acknowledging it didn’t ease the ache.

“You crossed my thoughts a time or two as well.”

“Good to know, love.” He wondered if she could hear the smile in his voice. “So why did Charlie take you away? To torture me?”

“Long story,” she said hesitantly. “Did Valentina bring it up…or ask why I’d left?”

“No,” he said, feeling as if he were missing some essential pieces of this conversation. Valentina, who hadn’t met Clara to his knowledge, had said some pretty cryptic things. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss her. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing, but it leads to my next question. How will our next blog report work? Are we simply supplanting Valentina’s report for my own? I mean, she’s not a food critic, so why Bartel thought to send her is beyond me.”

“Oh, Bean, you have no idea what an understatement that is.” Luc launched into the two disastrous meals he’d shared with his ex. He had Clara chuckling. “But she took lots of notes on the fashion faux pas of the New Jerseyans.”

“Not much to work with in, other words,” she said.

“No, but I’ve got an idea that I’m hoping you’ll go for.”

Clara listened, asked the right questions, and agreed to his plan.

“I put together a highlight reel of the Devils game and emailed the file to you along with my notes so you have something to do on the plane.”

“Excellent. I was worried we’d miss our deadline. And you feel confident to tackle the restaurant on your own?”

“Absolutely. It’ll play up the conflict of us pretending each other’s jobs are easier than our own. I think our audience will have a good laugh.”

They continued to chat until Clara insisted she go pack or she’d miss her morning flight. Their conversation wasn’t as awkward or as stilted as he’d expected in the aftermath of her learning of Valentina’s presence, but he wished he could see her face, wished he could touch her, read her body language. Hell, he wanted so badly to touch her silken hair, it was physically painful.

“Clara? You and me…we’re good, right?” he said.

“We’re amazing,” she replied softly. “See you in New York.”





Despite her reassurances to Luc, Clara felt emotionally bruised. The conversation with Charlie played like a loop in her head, and every time she got to the part where he called her a selfish little girl, she felt as though she would vomit.

She’d taken a few blunt-force punches the past two days and was finding it increasingly difficult to keep everything in perspective. And the Valentina factor was giving her an ulcer. As she repacked her suitcase, she wondered how she’d managed to complicate her life so thoroughly. There were so many knots and loose threads in her, she felt as if she were unravelling.

Thanks to a two-hour flight delay, Clara settled at an airport café, drank tea, nibbled on a lemon scone, and tried to work through her the knots. She was a journalist. Journalists dealt in facts. If establishing facts could cut through the tangle of her situation, perhaps she’d gain some objectivity.

Clara opened her notepad to a fresh sheet. Keeping in mind the Who-What-Where-How and Whys, she wrote:

Fact: Franco’s appearance brought attention to my accident.

Fact: Sketchy timing. Who/Why involved Charlie?

Assumption: Val.

Assumption: Revenge on Lydia or jealous of my association with Luc? Wants my job, too?

Fact: Charlie has access to insurance claims and admitted seeing the medical reports.

Questions: How much does V know? What will she do with this information? Has she told Luc? How did he/will he react? How to determine if he knows?

Bigger Questions: Why didn’t V go to Bartel? Or has she? What can I do to stop her?

Assumption: Charlie made some kind of deal with V to keep her quiet until the blog tour is over.

Options: 1. Take Lydia’s advice and carry on as usual. 2. Man-up and spill it to Luc, take lumps like a big girl.

Action: See option 1.

With her situation laid out on paper, the tension in her shoulders eased. No, she didn’t have all the answers, but she felt immeasurably better to have at least got the questions down.

Once on the flight, she managed to watch the hockey clips—much to the enjoyment of the sports enthusiast sitting next to her—finish her half of the blog post, and get a good chunk of dreamless sleep. She’d zonked so hard, in fact, that when the flight attendant shook her arm, Clara woke to find an empty plane.

She wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth and dashed into the first ladies room she could find in the arrivals hall to splash cold water on her face. She took an extra few minutes to reapply her makeup, comb her hair, and mist body spray under her shirt. She popped a breath mint and went in search of her luggage. Her phone vibrated, signalling an incoming text. Luc’s name lit up her display. She needn’t have bothered with blusher after all, for just seeing his name initiated a flash of heat that colored her cheeks.

Luc: Where are you?

Waiting for bags. Just landed. Flight was majorly delayed.



Luc: Have you eaten?



I had a meal on the plane.



Clara spied her bags on the carousel, the only ones circulating in the mostly empty claims hall. She threw them onto a stray luggage cart and made her way to Customs. Or was it Immigration? She always got the two confused. Either way, the lines were blessedly short, and she had Luc’s messages to keep her entertained.

Luc: Airplane food. Yuk. What was it?

Gelatinous yellow curry sauce on what I *think* was chicken, though it could have been fish.

Luc: Revolting.

That’s being generous.



Luc: You must be starving.



I’ll live. The bread and butter pudding was palatable, though clearly a victim of economic cutbacks.

Luc: Small portion?



No, but there was only one measly raisin!



Luc: Travesty.



Be warned…I don’t take raisin-gyp lightly. Have you eaten?

Luc: Dry clubhouse from room service.



Why didn’t you go out? Must be hundreds of decent delis within a stone’s throw.

Luc: My knee was bothering me.

Poor dear, she thought as her paperwork cleared, but didn’t dare type it. She knew he was sensitive to sympathy. Steering with her elbows, so her hands were free to text, she tapped:

What are you doing now?

Clara turned the cart toward the exit and hoped there’d be an available taxi. She was eager to get to the hotel, shower, search out some decent nosh, and see Luc. Not necessarily in that order.

His reply: Watching the most beautiful girl ever to step foot in New York.