Game for It: Game for Trouble Part 8

"Now Willow..."

"Oh Daddy, stop. I think you've stepped in it enough." Good ol' Mandy actually shot her a sympathetic glance. "We need to get going, but are we definitely confirmed for the weekend of December twentieth through the twenty-second? We plan on having a meet and greet on Friday night and would love it if you worked that event as well."

Willow nodded, making more notes. Funny how Amanda could be serious when she wanted to be. "Can I send you a contract agreement to the email address you provided?"

"Sounds great." Amanda stood, her father following her lead. "I'll call you next week, and we can make firmer arrangements. Perhaps we can meet again and plan the logistics of the weekend?"

"Sounds fabulous. Thanks so much." After shaking their hands, Willow watched them leave, curious as to the dynamics of the family. How they just behaved made no d.a.m.n sense, but who was she to judge? She had her own warped relations.h.i.+p with her father. As a matter of fact...

Whipping out her cell phone, she hit speed dial and waited for him to pick up. The moment his smooth voice sounded over the line, she exploded. "How dare you go out and solicit business for me from freaking Phillip Whitmore and his b.i.t.c.hy daughter!"

"Whoa there, wait a second. You'd think my daughter would be happy I'm sending business her way." Walter chuckled, like he had no idea how mad he'd just made her.

"I told you I wanted to try and make it on my own, not count on you to send your business contacts my way." She blew out a harsh breath, knowing she sounded like an ungrateful b.i.t.c.h. Worse, she sounded just like Amanda Whitmore.

That was the slap of reality she needed. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just sensitive about everything right now. I've gotten this far without your help and the minute I move into a store front, you're sending customers my way as if you're afraid I might not make my rent payments." Whipping off her black-framed gla.s.ses that she didn't even need to wear, she wearily rubbed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.

"I didn't send Phil to you because I'm afraid your customer base might dry up. I sent Phil because I'm proud of you, sweetheart," her dad explained. "You've come so far in such a short amount of time, and I want you to be a huge hit. I knew Phil's party for his daughter's silly new business would bring you a lot of attention-and business. That's why I did it."

Her heart softened and she opened her eyes, leaned back in her chair. His words warmed her heart, as much as she hated to admit it. It was the respect, the gratification she'd been looking for from him for...years. Her father had always been there for her. Not her mother, never her mother, but she could always count on her dad. "I appreciate the referral so much, Dad. I really do. Maybe next time you could warn me though? His sudden call felt sort of out of left field."

"We've been playing golf together for years. In fact, I was on the golf course with him when he started talking about the hair extensions business he was funding for his daughter. He wants her to be on her own when she gets married. Her fiance is a deadbeat, according to Phil."

"Really?" Oh, this was interesting.

"Doesn't want to work, extremely lazy. Mandy's always begging for money so Phil thought he'd start a business for her, and she could take over. I didn't have the heart to tell him it was a losing venture. Not that he would listen to me anyway." Her dad chuckled. "They're calling it Wig It."

Willow frowned. "But they're selling extensions, not wigs."

"I know." Walter sighed. "Trust me, I know. The daughter wanted to call it Wig Out, but Phil said a firm no on that suggestion."

Willow started to laugh, the tension slowly easing out of her shoulders. "I hope you never looked at my business like Phil Whitmore does for his daughter."

"I'll confess, at first I wondered if starting a cotton candy catering business was the right thing to do. You do have to admit it sounds like a bit of a stretch. I was afraid you might be wasting your time." His voice softened. "But you've made such a go of it, never giving up on your dreams. I'm proud of you, Willow. More than you'll ever know."

Hearing him say those words eased the tightness in her chest, the icy cold grip on her heart. Her father believed in her. Was proud of her success. She never thought she would see this happen. That she could actually do something on her own, without her father's help. "Thanks Dad," she said softly. "I'm just following my dream."

"Of making sure everyone eats more cotton candy?" She could hear the humor in his voice, and it made her smile.

"No, that I can create something that belongs just to me. That I don't need to stand in the shadow of you or my mom or anyone else," she answered.

"How is your mother?" He always asked. She rarely could give him an answer, since she didn't talk much to her mom.

"I have no idea." And didn't that hurt? Her mom thought she was wasting her time living in Monterey. She'd begged Willow to come live with her in Europe when Willow had been a teen. She'd wanted her to become a model and live in Paris, walk the catwalk and become some couture designer's muse.

Willow'd had no interest. Fas.h.i.+on was so not her thing and she heard horror stories of how the girls were treated. Forget it. She'd rather make it on her smarts than her looks any day. She didn't want to be just another pretty face.

Though it never hurt to hear those sweet full-of-praise words Nick offered her so easily.

Frowning, she shoved him from her mind. Their forced date was scheduled for tonight, and she hadn't heard from him. Not even a simple text like he promised. Not that she wanted to focus on his c.r.a.ppy treatment of her, what with everything going on with her business, but still. He wasn't making good on his promises.

And that irritated the life out of her.

"You should let her know about your latest success," he encouraged. "I'm sure she'd be proud."

Yeah, right. She so didn't want to talk about her mom right now. "I'll call her," she promised blithely, not meaning it whatsoever.

"Good. So you're not mad at me for sending you potential clients? You know you're going to make a killing after you do the Whitmore party. The Wig It launch." They both laughed.

"I hope so." She paused. "But it's right before Christmas."

"What day exactly?" he asked.

She told him the dates, heard the disappointment in his voice. "I'm going to Aspen. I leave the twentieth and won't be back until just before the New Year. I'd hoped you could go with me."

"That's sweet, Dad, but there's no way that's possible." Great, she was going to spend Christmas all alone. Oh, she bet Sheridan would take her in, but did she want to hang out with the two lovebirds and watch them s...o...b..r all over each other on Christmas Day?

Plus, it would only remind her of Nick. And how he really wasn't hers and he was blackmailing her to go on a string of dates with him. Which was freaking crazy if she thought about it for too long.

So she didn't.

"We might be able to plan something." Her dad sounded hopeful but she figured he was just saying that for her benefit, to try to make her feel better.

"That would be nice." They talked for a few minutes and then she hung up, feeling both happy and a little sad. Happy her father was so proud of her. Sad that she might not be able to spend the holiday with him, when she always did.

Huh. And irritated that Nick hadn't called or texted her yet regarding their upcoming date. Odd. He always made sure he contacted her when he said he would. She refused to text him first though. No way did she want to give him the upper hand.

No way.

Chapter Eight.

Nick smiled when his cell buzzed again. He knew who it was. And he wasn't one to usually play games but h.e.l.l, he was perplexed as to how to go about this situation with Willow. Listening to Jared had been the best advice he'd taken in a long while.

Grabbing his phone, he glanced at the screen.

Are we going out tonight or what?

He chuckled and shook his head. Her first text had asked if he was ignoring her. He'd replied with a simple nope. Got a lot going on.

She clearly hadn't appreciated that.

Not that he was lying. He'd been asked to come in and have a meeting with Harvey Price, the Hawks' lead publicist. If anything made him more nervous than dealing with an irritable Willow Cavanaugh, it was dealing with a smooth-as-you-please Harvey Price.

The man, quite frankly, gave Nick the heebie-jeebies.

He sat in Harvey's office waiting for him to show up, surprised no one else seemed to be around. Usually at least one of the coaches liked to step in during these types of meetings, as a buffer more than anything else.

Maybe he should text Willow back. She was probably furious. Deciding he'd better text her, he grabbed his phone at the same time the door opened, revealing Harvey standing with a really pretty, really young-looking woman.

Shoving his phone in his pocket, Nick stood, smiling at the both of them. "Harvey, tell me this pretty young thing doesn't have to work for you."

She blushed and came toward him, her hand extended. "Hi, Nick. I'm Aubrey."

"Well, h.e.l.lo there, Aubrey." He flashed her a full wattage smile and shook her hand, amused by her pink cheeks. She had long, dark red hair and golden brown eyes, a pert nose and a becoming smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Nick." Harvey's voice was full of warning. "Aubrey is your new publicist. I'm handing you over to her."

"Well, aren't I lucky? She sure is a lot prettier than you, Harvey." He winked at Aubrey and she flashed him a pretty smile in return.

d.a.m.n, his charm seemed to work on this woman. So why wouldn't it work on Willow? He didn't get it. Why the h.e.l.l did everything go south when he got into the vicinity of the woman he wanted more than anyone else?

Pus.h.i.+ng all thoughts of Willow out of his head, he turned to Harvey. "So why you giving me away, Harv? I thought I was your favorite player."

Harvey rolled his eyes and gestured for them all to sit. "We recently hired Aubrey to take care of some of the players, and I thought you and she would be a good match."

"Watch out, darlin'. I just might blow your mind when you watch me play out on the field," he drawled. Well h.e.l.l, why did he go and say that? It was like he couldn't help himself. Not that he was interested. His brain and body were tuned into all Willow, all the time.

Aubrey sat across from him. Her cheeks were still a faint pink when she met his gaze, though her expression was all business. "I was given fair warning about you and your lethal charm."

He grinned.

"You need to know I'm completely immune to it," she said primly.

Yeah right. "What, are you a lesbian?"

"Jesus, Hamilton," Harvey groaned. "Nice way to get a lawsuit smacked on you."

"Please." Aubrey waved a hand. "He's a football player."

She said it like he had some sort of serious disease. As if being a football player dismissed his behavior.

Shrugging, feeling a little irritated-again-he looked to Harvey. "What? She seemed perfectly responsive to my so-called lethal charm a few minutes ago. Now she's denying it? And considering she implied I'm lethal to women, I can only a.s.sume she must play for the other team." Nick shrugged.

"Excuse him, please. He says these sorts of things to shock you," Harvey murmured to Aubrey, leaning in close to her.

"Hey, I can hear you," he called, shaking his head.

"Your lethal charm combined with your newfound irritation is not quite the image we want for you, Nick," Harvey said, his voice smooth as silk as he settled back in his chair. He was good at his job and could spin a positive story out of something most would consider beyond repair so well, every single one of the Hawks players came out smelling like a rose, despite their original actions being far from rose-like. Nick could certainly appreciate Harvey's talents.

But he always found Harvey a bit sleazy. So if he could have a new, cute publicist instead of the slick talking Price, he'd take her over him any day.

"Do I need an image redo?" Nick gripped the arms of the chair, mentally preparing for what they might say. d.a.m.n it, one game where he played fantastically but had a s.h.i.+tty mood throughout and they were ready to give him a makeover.

"Not necessarily. Though Walsh is worried if you continue along this vein, you might need a stern talking-to." Harvey grinned. "But I'll hand that duty over to Aubrey here."

Nick could only imagine the sweet-looking Aubrey giving him a "stern talking-to." As in, he couldn't see her doing it whatsoever. "I'll remember that."

"I'm sure you will. Don't give her a bunch of grief. You and Flynn Foley are her main clients right now. I want her to be able to focus on you both without any distractions." In other words, he needed to keep his so-called att.i.tude in check.

Nick withheld the groan that wanted to escape. Great, so she was handling Foley too? Not like Nick was a total bad boy, but that goody-two-shoes would make him look like a complete a.s.s no matter what. Foley could do no wrong. Amongst the fans, amongst the media, h.e.l.l amongst the entire team, everyone loved Flynn Foley, the backup quarterback for Jared Quinn.

"Don't worry. I'm sure you'll both keep me on my toes." She smiled at him rea.s.suringly.

"So what's going on with you, Nick? Why were you so cranky the last few days?" Harvey asked, his voice full of overly warm concern.

Like he'd tell Harvey anything about his personal life. "Nothing major. Just having an off week, you know?"

"Well, if you need to talk to anyone, know I'm always here for you," Harvey continued. "Perhaps playoff pressure is getting to you a little bit? Is that the problem?"

That hadn't fazed him in the least. He lived for that sort of pressure on the field. Truly believed it made him a better player. "I'm fine, Harv," Nick said through gritted teeth.

"If you say so." Harvey sent Aubrey a look. One that said he didn't believe Nick. She sent him the same look back.

d.a.m.n. Felt like everyone was conspiring against him.

"Listen, I gotta go." He stood and turned to the door. "Gotta head back to Monterey for the night. Have a few things I need to take care of."

"You'll be here for practice tomorrow, right?" Aubrey called after him.

He turned to find her standing in front of him. "Yeah, I'll be there. Of course I will."

She beamed. "Fantastic. There are a few things I wanted to discuss with you. Planning, strategy-type things. Hopefully I can steal a few minutes of your time?"

"Sure," he said warily. Seemed she wanted a piece of him, too. Everyone did lately.

And he was fast running out of pieces to give.

The text had come approximately thirty minutes ago, short and curt and to the point.

Better be ready. I'll be at your house in an hour.

Those ten words had irritated the c.r.a.p out of her. They also secretly aroused her. G.o.d, she was hopeless, acting like a needy girlfriend, sending Nick texts asking him if they were on or not for tonight. He'd brushed her off with a quick reply, hadn't sent her any other sort of response until a few hours later.

It was late, past eight o'clock, and she still supposedly had a half hour until he showed up. She'd been tempted to tell him not to bother. Since he'd so effortlessly come back into her life, he'd chased her. Flirted with her, drove her crazy with it, really. She'd secretly craved it and not so secretly distrusted his behavior. Because it always came back to one question: What did he want from her?

Now he acted as if he snapped his fingers, she'd come running. She wasn't some sort of dog who followed his every command. d.a.m.n it, she was an independent woman with a mind of her own.

A knock sounded, interrupting her thoughts. Her knees wobbly, she stood and rushed toward the front door, then looked through the peephole. There stood Nick on her doorstep, glaring at the peephole as if he knew she was spying on him.

She undid the lock and threw open the door, breathless at the sight of him. His hair was in complete disarray, as if he'd run his fingers through it time and again. He wore a faded Hawks T-s.h.i.+rt and worn jeans, and a glower on his face that said don't f.u.c.k with me.