Carly Phillips: Hot Item

His best option was to reach Spencer before the media did and convince him not to talk. Which shouldn’t be a stretch for a man who’d made silence an art form. Frustration filled Riley over the need to turn to Spencer Atkins for anything, but he reminded himself that it wasn’t his own needs driving him. He’d be making the effort for his parents and his daughter.

The time had come for father and son to meet face-to-face at last.

THREE DAYS HAD PASSED and Spencer was officially MIA. Sophie paced her office, wearing a path in the plush carpeting, which she’d discovered was twenty-five steps from the window overlooking the East River to the bathroom in the far corner. Back and forth, back and forth, but no matter how far she walked, the reality never changed. The football draft was three weeks away and Spencer Atkins had taken off for parts unknown.

John Cashman, this year’s Heisman winner and almost newly signed client, was calling hourly to speak with Spencer or Yank. Yank’s cruise made him unavailable and the younger agents weren’t appeasing Cashman with their answers.

Sophie’s palms sweated over the athlete’s last threat. If he didn’t speak to Spencer by the end of the week, he’d sign with the Cambias Agency, their number one competition.

Uncle Yank and Spencer inspired loyalty and cared about their clients’ future, while Cambias only saw dollar signs in his bank account. But a young, healthy, starry-eyed kid who’d never been injured wouldn’t appreciate the experience Spencer and Uncle Yank brought to the table. And at the moment, Cashman wasn’t listening to anything Sophie or the other agents had to say.

The dog she was babysitting stared from the place she’d adopted as her own. Noodle, Uncle Yank’s Labradoodle, carelessly lounged on the client-designated chair. When not rolling over onto her back for a belly rub, she licked herself in unmentionable places. Sophie didn’t mind watching the dog, but animals really weren’t her thing.

Which was why she steered clear of any personal relationships with professional athletes, she thought, giving herself her first real laugh of the day. A laugh she desperately needed. With the recent marriages, honeymoons and pregnancy, Sophie was in charge here at the office and she’d never felt so alone. It was a state she’d judiciously avoided since her parents’ deaths. She’d also avoided feeling as lost and scared as she had when she’d lost her mother and father by maintaining firm control over life.

Some called her anal. She figured she was smart. And being smart, she couldn’t let chaos seep into the agency, despite all that was going on.

Yesterday she’d received a handwritten note from Spencer, postmarked from New York. “Laying low. Back in time for draft.” As if that would pacify John Cashman.

She walked over to the chalkboard she kept with everyone’s schedules marked on it. All active clients on the sports side were divided among the agency representatives. She’d doled out the PR to the new people she and her sisters had hired in the past few months, opting to leave the handling of Spencer’s situation for herself.

So far she’d avoided the media because she wasn’t ready to give a statement without talking to the man in question, which was one less thing to deal with, at least for now.

But the draft players represented by Yank and Spencer were antsy.

She picked up the phone and buzzed Spencer’s personal secretary, a woman named Frannie who’d worked for him for years. Frannie ran Spencer’s life.

“Frannie, this is Sophie. Can you bring me a list of all the places Spencer has vacationed in the past few years along with the phone numbers of any relatives he regularly speaks to?”

“Not a problem, but I don’t think he’d contact those people or go to any place that the press could easily find him.”

Sophie sighed. “I know you’re right but I have to do something. Otherwise I’ll lose my mind. How’s it going with Cashman?”

“I told him Spencer was due to call, but we just didn’t know when, and as soon as we heard from him, he’d hear from us. And I made him promise not to do something stupid in the meantime.”

Sophie tried to breathe steadily so she didn’t get light-headed and pass out, something she was known to do on occasion. “I don’t trust him or Cambias but it’s the best we’ve got for now. Thanks, Frannie.”

“Hang in there, honey. I’ll get those names to you as soon as I can.” Frannie disconnected.

No sooner had Sophie hung up the phone when someone knocked on her door. Obviously her secretary wasn’t sitting at her desk to intercept him. Lori did her work but enjoyed her coffee breaks more.

“Come in,” Sophie called out, hoping this was good news for a change.

She turned to greet her visitor and knew immediately she was in deep trouble. He had a black leather jacket slung over his wide shoulders, razor stubble on his handsome face and a reputation that preceded him. Although Sophie and The Hot Zone had never handled Riley Nash’s publicity, he’d been a client of her uncle’s too long for her not to know him.

He made his presence known each time he came to the office. He oozed raw male sexuality. And her body responded to it, despite her brain’s warnings to ignore the man. Normally her body listened to whatever Sophie’s analytical mind dictated but not when it came to Riley Nash.

As partners in The Hot Zone, Sophie and her siblings shared equal responsibility, but as sisters they had an understanding. Micki handled the difficult athletes and Annabelle the jocks, which was how they’d ended up paired with Damian Fuller and Brandon Vaughn, respectively. Sophie took care of the more refined aspects of the business. She booked photo shoots, galas and large charity events. Things that she could control.

Sophie didn’t do jocks. Not in any sense of the word. So the fact that she drooled at the sight of her uncle’s star football client really ticked her off. She hated that this cocky jock could affect her on a purely elemental level when the other men who came and went from these offices didn’t even make her blink. Riley Nash blew her precious control to hell and back.

She desired him badly and he knew it. He also knew the attraction flustered her and he took shameless advantage, going out of his way to seek her out and push her buttons. And just when she didn’t think the sexual tension between them could soar much higher, he’d stop by her office for a visit and up the ante between them. That he’d show up here now, mid-crisis, was a move she hadn’t anticipated and sure as hell didn’t appreciate.

Drawing a deep breath, she leaned against the desk and resisted the urge to check her hair and makeup. “Let me guess. You charmed your way past my secretary?” she asked him.

“If she’d been at her desk, I’m sure I would have.” He strode forward, full of cocky male attitude. “Nobody was outside to stop me.”

She sighed. This day was just getting better and better.

He stepped beside her, standing so close his warm scent penetrated her pores and she grew damp in places he never failed to remind her existed. She no longer tried to convince herself that her reaction was normal for a woman who’d been sexually deprived for well over a year. Her sudden increase in temperature and spike in arousal had everything to do with Riley Nash.

“So what can I do for you?” she asked him.

He grinned. “Depends on what you’re offering, sweet thing.”

Each time he spoke, he confirmed her notion that he was the embodiment of every jock nightmare she’d ever had. Raunchy, sexist, impossible to control. It didn’t matter. The man’s mere existence turned her into a drooling idiot.

She looked him up and down, trying to appear as if he didn’t faze her one bit. “Turn down the wattage on that smile, big boy. I’m busy and don’t have time to indulge your flirting today.” She glanced at her watch and tapped on the dial. “Well? What can I do for you?”