Anna Sugden - A Perfect Distraction

Where the heck was he? How could she make a good impression on him when she couldn’t find him? Biting back a sigh, she headed in a different direction.

Near the master suite, she noticed a pair of handsome, well-built men coming toward her. Clearly brothers, they looked like athletes. Hockey players? Maybe they knew where Jake was hiding.

“Excuse me. Have you seen Jake Badoletti?”

“Honey, whatever you want from Jake, I can do better,” the taller man said with a twinkle in his eye.

Though she normally ignored such blatant flirtation, the man’s grin was infectious. Maggie couldn’t help smiling back.

“Behave, Tru.” The stockier bloke frowned, then glanced through the open door behind them. “Jake’s kind of busy.”

Maggie’s smile faded. Great. Her client was holed up in his bedroom with a groupie. She was tempted to leave and make him reschedule, but she didn’t want to get Tracy into trouble. “I’ll wait for him in the living room. Thank you.”

“Don’t rush off. Have a drink with us.” The friendlier brother stuck out his hand. “Tru Jelinek. I play with Jake on the Ice Cats. This is my brother, Ike.”

They seemed harmless enough, and it would be better than waiting alone. “Nice to meet you. Maggie Goodman.”

“You’re English?” Ike studied her carefully. “I didn’t think you Brits were hockey fans.”

“I’m not a fan. I’m with Making Your Move. I have an appointment with Jake.”

“Tracy’s company?”

“I’m her sister. I’m helping her out until she’s back on her feet.”

“We heard about her busted appendix.” He sounded concerned. “Is she doing okay?”

“Yes, thank you. She’s recovering nicely, but frustrated she’s not healing faster.”

“I bet,” he muttered.

“Do you know her well?” She was curious about his reaction.

“She helped me find my town house last summer.”

From his tone, there was more to that story than the single, bald sentence, but she didn’t have time to explore it, as Tru motioned her toward the open bedroom door.

“Since you’re here on business, you should go on in.”

When Maggie hesitated, he urged her on. “You’re not interrupting anything important. Besides, the sooner you’re done, the sooner you can join us for a drink.”

Swallowing her apprehension over what she’d see within, she gripped her briefcase tightly and stepped into the doorway.

In the large sitting area of the suite, by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a group of women fluttered around a tall, dark-haired man like a flock of brightly colored exotic birds. That must be Jake Badoletti.

Her mouth went dry.

None of the photos in Tracy’s file had done him justice. She’d known he was good-looking, but that didn’t begin to describe the man in person.

Heaven help her, he was gorgeous!

Square jawed and rugged, with piercing blue eyes and a crooked grin. He was clearly a warrior of the ice, but his broken nose and scars somehow added to his appeal and made him more intriguing. Unlike the hulking bodies of the thick necks, Jake had the firm, solid lines of an athlete in peak condition. Lean, corded muscle shaped the snug-fitting black shirt and faded jeans. Exciting and enticing, he brimmed with charm and hints of danger.

No wonder he had that reputation—any woman would have a hard time resisting the pull of this particular bad boy. Once upon a time, she’d have been in that crowd, fighting for his attention. Not anymore. Never again.

Still, she couldn’t help feeling a little relieved that she probably wouldn’t see him again.

He’d be Tracy’s problem, assuming Maggie did what she had to do in this meeting. Pushing aside a last-minute nervous quiver, she donned her polite but reserved media smile and entered the lion’s den.

* * *

“WHAT CAN I get you, Bad Boy?”

A skinny blonde in a figure-hugging yellow microdress and spiked heels offered a champagne flute and a shot glass, but the message in her baby blue eyes said, “Choose me.”

Jake held up the beer bottle he’d been nursing for the past hour and forced a smile of regret he didn’t feel. “I’m good, thanks.”

Her full lips pursed in a disappointed pout that six months ago he would have been tempted to kiss away. Now he couldn’t dredge up any interest. He was relieved when she and several of her friends flounced off.

The high-pitched chatter of the women who remained reverberated in his head, making his temples throb. The sickly mix of their perfumes made him yearn for fresh air. He had to get out of here. If it wasn’t for the paparazzi camped outside the building, Jake would have gone for a walk. He would take the heat and humidity of the city in August if it meant he got some respite.

This party had been a mistake. He should have been in his element. Instead, he felt dissatisfied. Empty, with a lingering sense his life was incomplete.

He wouldn’t even be hosting this shindig if Tru hadn’t insisted. His childhood friend had said that the best way to celebrate the transfer from Chicago was to invite Jake’s new teammates to one of his famous star-studded bashes. Though he hadn’t felt like partying since the accident, Jake had given in. Which was why his apartment was filled with the cream of Manhattan’s glitterati mingling with stars from the other pro sports teams in New York.

Jake wished he was somewhere, anywhere, else.

He bit back a sigh. His move home was supposed to be a fresh start. God only knew why he’d been lucky enough to survive that crash, but Jake had promised Adam, at his friend’s graveside, that he’d make the most of the second chance he’d been given. He’d change his life. Show the world, and himself, that he was more than his reputation. More than his nickname.

He knew nothing would bring Adam back. Nor erase the guilt that lay heavy and hard, like a frozen puck, in his heart. But he’d sworn to honor his friend by fulfilling the dream they’d both had since peewee hockey. The dream that had died for Adam on that back road in Chicago. Jake would win the Stanley Cup and raise it above his head in his friend’s memory.

It wouldn’t be easy. Hell, it would be the hardest thing he’d ever done. He’d come close before—even made it to the final, before losing in six games to the Penguins. But this time he had to go all the way. Coming second was not an option.

A husky voice interrupted his thoughts. “Come and dance with me, Bad Boy.” The invitation came from a brunette dressed in scarlet with lips painted to match. “They’re playing our song in the living room.”

He shook his head, softening his rejection with a smile. “You go ahead. I’ll catch you up shortly.”

She shrugged and waggled her fingers in farewell before leaving with a few friends.

If only the rest would follow her.

Jake swigged his beer, grimacing at the flat, warm brew. Once this party was over, his fresh start could begin. He would have one goal, one focus. No more high-octane living, nothing that could be a distraction. No women, either. Dating was off the cards until next June. He’d find somewhere else to live, too. This Trump Place apartment was pure Bad Boy. The old him, not who he needed to be now.

That reminded him—he was meeting someone from Making Your Move this evening. He was glad he’d deliberately scheduled the follow-up during the party; he had an excuse to duck out of the fun.

A movement by the door caught his attention. He glanced over, wondering idly whether the newcomer was a celebrity, a socialite or a puck bunny, and mentally braced himself to switch on the charm.

His attention caught and held.

The woman standing there clearly wasn’t a party guest. She wore little makeup and her dark brown hair was scraped back. A few curls had escaped to softly frame her face. Her neatly tailored brown outfit draped nicely over her curves, but there wasn’t an inch of skin visible from midcalf to neck. Even her toes were covered.