Anna Sugden - A Perfect Distraction

“I doubt you could make things worse. What could go wrong?”

“Jake Badoletti’s a professional sportsman with a bad-boy reputation. We both know how temperamental they can be.” Her gut twisted at the thought of the one she’d divorced nearly a year ago. She touched a finger to the fading scar on her cheek.

“Jake at his worst is a million times better than your snake of an ex. When I dealt with Bad Boy, he was charming—not what I’d expected given the media stories about him.”

Maggie had read the client file about the popular hockey player. Jake “Bad Boy” Badoletti was a top defenseman who played as hard off the ice as on it. Clippings from the society pages and celebrity magazines, as well as excerpts from internet sites like TMZ, had shown him dating a staggering array of beautiful women and attending countless parties and celebrity events.

Admittedly, there had been a shift in the stories after the horrific car accident that had taken the life of his good friend. Jake had been injured badly enough that there were fears he’d never skate again, let alone play professionally. Once he’d recovered, the media coverage had focused on his charity work and fan-appreciation events.

Had he really changed, or was he as good at playing the PR game as he was hockey? In her experience, leopards didn’t change their spots.

Either way, it made no difference; she had a job to do. “I’d better go or I’ll be late.”

“I really appreciate you doing this for me, sis.”

“Let’s see if you still feel like that after I’ve spoken with Jake.”

“You’ll be fine. It’s a straightforward meeting.”

“Get him to sign the paperwork that says everything went okay with his move from Chicago.” Maggie tapped her briefcase. “And check if he needs anything else.”

“See, piece of cake. You’ll be in and out of there in no time. Then I promise you can focus on helping me with the admin side of the business instead of taking client meetings.”

“Sounds good.” Maggie kept her voice light. “By the time I finish here and collect Emily from your neighbor’s house, we’ll have missed visiting hours. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’m glad Emily hit it off with Janice’s daughter, Amy. It’ll do both of you single mothers a favor.” Tracy swore and lowered her voice. “Nurse Attila is outside my room. She’ll give me hell if she catches me on my cell. She’s already confiscated my laptop.”

“That’s because you’re supposed to be resting, not working.”

“Working helps me feel better.” Tracy’s sharp intake of breath said moving was still painful.

“So would following the doctor’s orders.”

“You always were the bossy big sister. Oops, got to go. See you tomorrow.”

Maggie shook her head indulgently as she snapped her phone shut. Not much kept her sister down. She’d do well to take a leaf out of Tracy’s book.

Helping Tracy was a small way to thank her for giving Maggie the chance to provide a safe, secure life for Emily, far away from Lee. It was also an opportunity to rebuild the self-confidence and independence her ex had stolen from her. This meeting was an important first step. Admittedly, she hadn’t done anything yet, but from the smallest acorns...

“Okay. I can do this.” She squared her shoulders, then strode purposefully toward the brass-and-glass entrance.

Tracy was right. The paparazzi paid no attention to Maggie, giving her only a brief, dismissive glance as she walked past them and through the doors into the lobby.

Relieved at having made it past the first hurdle unscathed, she stepped into a waiting elevator and jabbed the button for the fortieth floor. She checked her appearance in the mirrored wall and grimaced. The ferry ride from Weehawken, along with the summer heat and humidity, had reddened her cheeks and frizzed her hair. Grateful for the air-conditioning, she tried to fix the damage, then turned her mind to the upcoming meeting.

Jake Badoletti was New Jersey’s prodigal son. Recently transferred from Chicago, the Ice Cats management and fans believed he’d bring the ultimate hockey prize, the Stanley Cup, back to his home state. Keen to ensure their star player’s transition went smoothly, the Ice Cats had given Tracy carte blanche in managing Jake’s relocation. They’d promised to put her on retainer for all their player moves if she delivered for Bad Boy.

With Jake settled into his new place, all Tracy needed was for him to sign off the move. She hadn’t wanted to wait until she was out of hospital and had begged a favor.

Maggie swallowed hard. She’d never done anything like this before; she’d been a secretary, then a sports star’s wife, not a businesswoman. Talk about a baptism of fire.

Taking in a deep breath, she tried to calm her jittery pulse. It was only one meeting, and Tracy was depending on her to give it her best shot. I won’t let her down.

The soft digital voice announcing the fortieth floor made her heart thump heavily.

“Showtime.” Stiffening her spine, she strode out of the lift.

Her steps faltered. Noise spilled out of the open apartment doors. Voices and laughter, underscored with a heavy bass beat. The air was thick with a mix of expensive perfume and potent aftershave.

Jake had arranged their meeting during a party? That didn’t reassure her about the kind of man he was.

Several enormous men headed past her toward the elevator. Built like tanks, with thick necks and tattoos, she guessed they were American footballers. A couple of tanned women wearing microminis, crop tops and skyscraper heels hung off each player’s arm.

Maggie couldn’t help a pang of envy when she saw one of the women wearing a sexy pair of Giuseppe Zanotti studded sandals. Her toes curled in her sling-backs. Even though they were Chanel—she hadn’t given up the designer shoes she loved—the sedate pair didn’t have the same feel she knew those strappy stilettos would.

Once, she would have loved being at a party like this. She would have delighted in rubbing shoulders with those richer and more famous than she and Lee were, hoping some of their glitz would come her way. Back then, she would have found a way to be the center of attention.

“Get your butt over here, Cindy,” one of the men growled impatiently at a blonde tottering unsteadily behind the group.

Maggie’s stomach twisted as darker memories filled her mind. She turned away, desperate to escape both her thoughts and the building as fast as possible. Before she could take a step, an inner voice reminded her that wasn’t an option.

She brushed her damp palms against her linen dress and forced the memories aside. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she walked along the hallway.

Her sense of dread grew as she progressed through the apartment. Aside from the flamboyantly garish decor, this could have been the house she’d left behind in England. From the leather, steel and glass furniture to the top-of-the-range boys’ toys in every room, the place reeked of money and testosterone overload.

She’d expected to find Jake at the heart of the party, but he wasn’t among the crowd in the living room. There were some fit blokes, probably teammates, and a couple of actors she recognized from one of the New York cop dramas, as well as a bunch of fresh-faced clones in buttoned-down shirts and chinos who could be Wall Street whiz kids, lawyers or the wealthy of Upper Manhattan. The women were all tall, thin and tanned with long, shiny hair and the latest designer fashions.

Jake wasn’t among the thick necks doing body shots off a giggling redhead sprawled across the long, shiny table in the dining room. Nor in the den, where another group of men sprawled on leather couches alongside yet more tanned, scantily clad women, watching a baseball game on a giant plasma screen.