Page 19
Chapter
Nineteen
J ason yanked at the stiff knot of his tuxedo tie, resisting the urge to rip the whole damn thing off. He despised wearing these monkey suits, and he’d done everything he could to get out of tonight’s event. But Stacia had reminded him—pointedly—that he owed her, owed the team, and that skipping out wasn’t an option. The Knights’ annual charity gala for underprivileged kids wasn’t just a high-society excuse to drink overpriced champagne and pat each other on the back. At least, that’s what Stacia claimed.
Jason had his doubts. How much of the money raised actually reached the kids? And how much got swallowed up in the glitzy spectacle? He’d voiced that thought, only for Stacia to arch a perfectly shaped brow and counter that those “pompous asses” had deep pockets—and with the right persuasion, they’d open their wallets wide. Besides, showing up wasn’t just about optics. It was written into his damn contract.
Which was why he was standing here now, shifting uncomfortably on the doorstep of her condo—her space, her world—ringing the doorbell for the first time.
The door swung open, and whatever complaints still lingered on his tongue vanished.
Stacia stood before him, bathed in the soft glow of her entryway light, draped in an emerald-green gown that shimmered with thousands of crystal beads, catching and scattering light like a living jewel. The rich fabric hugged her curves, dipping into a plunging neckline that made his pulse stutter. Her auburn hair was swept into an elegant twist, but a few rebellious curls had slipped free, framing her face in soft tendrils. His fingers twitched at his sides, craving the feel of those silky strands sliding through them, unraveling the careful style, watching her hair tumble down in a fiery cascade.
“Do I pass inspection?” she asked, her husky voice laced with amusement.
Jason realized, belatedly, that he’d been standing there too long, drinking her in like a starving man at a feast. He cleared his throat, forcing his gaze to travel the length of her body, taking in every sinful detail—the curve of her waist, the way the fabric clung to her hips, the exposed line of her collarbone. Desire licked through him, hot and insistent, and his tuxedo pants suddenly felt a hell of a lot tighter. He shifted, adjusting the growing discomfort, but there was no hiding his reaction.
“Definitely not,” he said, his voice rougher than intended. “No one should see you like this.”
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips, and though she chuckled softly, her eyes gleamed with the same heat coiling in his gut.
He extended his arm, the movement deliberate. “Shall we?”
Her fingers slid against his as she took his arm, the touch sparking a current that shot straight to his core.
Oh, this night was going to be dangerous.
S tacia kept a watchful eye on Jason as she laughed and exchanged easy banter with several players and staff members, her voice smooth, her demeanor poised. It was all part of the job—networking, maintaining relationships, ensuring the right people felt important. But her focus never truly strayed from the man who had, despite her best intentions, become far more than just another client.
Jason was holding his own, surrounded by a group of older boys from the mentorship program, their faces lit with admiration as they hung on his every word. He had arrived too late in the season to be assigned a mentee, but it hardly mattered. The kids knew his record. They remembered his glory days, the highlight reels, the legend he had been before his fall from grace. And now, they saw something else—an idol within reach, a man they could aspire to be.
She took a slow sip of her chardonnay, the crisp taste a sharp contrast to the swirling emotions within her.
Everything was in place. Success was within her grasp, so close she could taste it. One more week and the regular season would be over. Jason would be free to pursue a new contract, and she would move on to the next opportunity. That was the plan. It had always been the plan.
But for the first time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to follow it.
With Jason, things had been different. More successful, yes, but also… more. A true partnership had formed between them, one that transcended carefully curated PR strategies and late-night meetings. It wasn’t just the scorching-hot sex, though that had been incendiary. It was the way he let her in, little by little, the way she could see the change she had sparked in him.
Two months ago, he would have been a sullen presence in the corner, barely tolerating the event, his walls high and impenetrable. If he had even bothered to show up at all. But tonight? Tonight, he was engaged. Present. He laughed with the kids, nudged them playfully, shared stories and advice as if it came naturally. Even the looming specter of his old coach hadn’t soured his mood. If anything, it had driven him to prove something—to himself, to the league, to her.
She had done her job. More than fulfilled her contract. If the rumors were true, his agent was already fielding offers from multiple teams. And though Jason hadn’t said it outright, she suspected he might want to stay. He had bonded with the Knights, invested in the players, and yet… he was pulling away from her.
The shift was subtle, but undeniable. He spent more time with the guys, more time mentoring, more time on the phone late at night discussing strategy, while she remained on the periphery. It was a natural progression. Expected.
It still hurt.
She had always known this was temporary. Knew she was never meant to be part of his future. And yet, for the first time in her career, she didn’t want to move on.
A hollow ache settled in her chest as she thought of what came next. Politics. A return to the cutthroat world she had worked so hard to escape. Michael had called just the other day, asking if she would consider rejoining Glazier’s campaign as it spiraled toward disaster. She could have told him it was already a lost cause, that independent bids rarely succeeded even with her father’s backing. But Michael had never cared much for reality. He expected her to fall in line, just as her father did.
Her father.
The thought of facing him tonight soured her mood further. He had barely spoken to her since their last conversation, but she knew the moment they met, he would demand she return to her rightful place in his world.
But was that still her world?
A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she glanced across the room, locking onto Jason’s gaze. The heat in his eyes scorched her from across the distance, made her breath catch, made something deep within her unravel.
She turned away before she could betray herself.
Gripping the empty wine glass too tightly, she handed it off to a passing waiter and reached for another, the stem cool against her overheated skin. A familiar scent teased her senses—rich, expensive perfume, laced with something icy and unmistakably refined.
Miranda Callahan.
The team owner stood beside her, poised and elegant, her perfectly tailored dress a testament to old money and effortless power. She lifted her glass in a silent toast.
“Stacia. Thank you for your success with Jason Friar. He’s exactly what I’d hoped for.”
Stacia matched her measured smile. “Thank you. Jason did all the work. I just cleared the media obstacles.”
“It was genius getting Stan Garvin to write that series on him. How did you do it? He’s been a thorn in my side since I took over the team.”
She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Just doing my job.”
Miranda’s lips curved with something that might have been genuine admiration. “Well, it was impressive.”
Before she could reply, Cole Hammonds strolled up, the team’s general manager exuding his usual brand of easy confidence. “If you’re ever looking for a steady job, give us a call. Our publicity department could definitely use someone like you.”
He was gone before she could respond, swept away into a conversation with investors, leaving her alone with Miranda once more.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, their gazes drifting back to Jason, who crouched down to speak with one of the younger kids, ruffling his hair with a grin.
“He’s good with them, isn’t he?” Miranda mused. “The kids. The younger players. They look up to him.”
Stacia nodded, her voice softer. “I think it surprises even him.”
A thought struck her, unbidden and startling.
Jason, with kids of his own. Their kids.
The image was so vivid, so unexpectedly right, that her breath hitched. He would be a good father. He would be exceptional.
Miranda handed off her empty glass, then turned to Stacia with an assessing gaze. “It can be difficult,” she said, her voice measured. “Having a relationship with someone you work with. You’re never sure if they want you or the access you provide.”
The words hit like a slap.
Stacia nearly fumbled her glass, her grip tightening around the fragile stem. Was it that obvious?
She forced out a noncommittal noise, but Miranda wasn’t fooled.
“In your case,” she continued, her tone unreadable, “I imagine you’re wondering if you were just a convenience. An excuse.” A pause. “It’s up to you to figure out if there’s more. Unless, of course, he’s just a jock and you want him for status.”
The implication burned.
Miranda’s gaze sharpened. “If that’s the case, I’d ask you to walk away before someone gets hurt. A reputation can survive. A heart is harder to heal.”
Then, with the effortless grace of someone born into privilege, she turned and walked away, her attention already shifting to a nearby group of investors.
Stacia stood frozen, Miranda’s words echoing in her mind. Slowly, she looked back at Jason.
Maybe it was time for some answers.
J ason excused himself from the group of guys, weaving through the glittering sea of high society with one singular purpose—her.
Stacia stood near the edge of the ballroom, her poise immaculate, her smile effortlessly in place, but he saw past it. She was alone, even in this crowded room, an outsider despite her upbringing. He recognized the feeling too well, had lived with it for years. The difference was, tonight, for the first time, he didn’t feel like an outsider. Not because of his stats, his name, or his bank account, but because the people around him had welcomed him for him. They wanted him here. They respected him.
And that? That was because of her.
The orchestra shifted into a slow, sultry melody as he reached her.
“Dance with me.”
The words came out rough, more command than request, and he instantly regretted it. But Stacia didn’t seem to mind. Her lips curved into a small, almost sad smile, one that sent a strange ache through his chest. She extended her hand without hesitation.
He plucked the wine glass from her other hand, passing it off to a waiter without breaking stride, then pulled her into his arms and onto the dance floor.
The moment she melted against him, the world faded.
The music swayed around them, weaving its own kind of spell, and they moved in perfect synchrony. It felt effortless. Right. Fated. His hand settled at the small of her back, his other hand gripping hers firmly, their bodies aligned in a way that left no space, no doubt.
His head dipped, lips brushing just above her ear as he inhaled the scent of her—something rich and warm, like vanilla and spice.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence between them was charged, thick with unspoken truths.
Then she sighed, her lips parting as if to say something.
He didn’t let her.
His mouth found hers in a brief, electric kiss, a spark of heat and need that sent a pulse of fire straight through him.
“Not tonight,” he murmured against her lips, his voice a husky plea. “Just go with it.”
Another sigh, softer this time, but she didn’t argue. Didn’t resist.
The song ended too soon, the moment slipping away like sand through his fingers. But he wasn’t about to let go of her just yet.
Keeping her hand in his, he led her off the dance floor—straight toward her father.
Senator Kendall stood waiting, his disapproval as palpable as the expensive cologne wafting off him. He wasn’t alone. Draped on his arm was a woman—much younger, awkward in this elite setting, her fingers gripping the senator’s sleeve like a lifeline.
Jason barely suppressed a growl.
The senator’s thick brows furrowed into a single, severe line as he glowered at them both.
“Stacia. Friar.”
Stacia’s posture stiffened, but her voice was coolly detached. “Father.”
She made no move to embrace him, no inclination to lean in for the cheek-kiss he clearly expected. The slight deepened his scowl, his lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line.
Jason felt her grip tighten around his hand, her fingers laced with his in a silent show of strength.
“You remember Jason Friar, don’t you, Father?”
The senator’s gaze sharpened, voice dripping with disdain. “Of course. From his steroid deposition in front of Congress. We’re still investigating you for perjury, Friar.”
The gleam of anticipation in his eyes was unmistakable. He wanted a reaction, expected one—was hoping for it.
Jason refused to give him the satisfaction.
Instead, he smiled, slow and lazy, the kind of grin that had pissed off opponents for years. “Investigate all you want, Senator. You won’t find a damn thing. Shouldn’t Congress be focused on something more beneficial to the American people? Passing a budget, fixing the deficit, protecting the country? Or is it just easier to harass a few ballplayers?”
The senator’s face darkened with barely contained rage. His eyes flashed, but he turned away from Jason, clearly deciding to go for an easier target.
Stacia.
“I’ve spoken with Glazier,” he announced brusquely. “You will resume work on his campaign next week. This little dalliance with baseball ends immediately.”
The word baseball was spat like a curse, as if the very mention of the sport offended him.
Jason growled low in his throat, but Stacia squeezed his hand in silent warning. Let me handle this.
Her voice was deceptively neutral. “I’ll be returning as PR manager?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You botched that months ago.” His tone turned dismissive, patronizing. “No, you’ll report to my campaign manager. You should be grateful, Stacia. I went out on a limb to find this position for you. I’m saving your career.”
Her expression didn’t waver. “You mean I’ll be fetching coffee for Chicklin?”
The senator’s mouth curled in distaste. “You could learn a lot from him.”
“Right. Like how women only have two roles—raising children or being available for a man’s pleasure?” Her voice sharpened, ice lacing every syllable. “Tell me, Father, is that any different from your own beliefs? Who is this, by the way?” Her gaze flicked to the younger woman at his side. “Vanessa’s replacement?”
A sharp intake of breath.
Jason barely managed to school his features, stunned at the cold, cutting edge in her voice. This wasn’t the polished PR strategist. This wasn’t the charming, quick-witted woman who could navigate any social situation with grace.
This was Stacia Kendall, unleashed.
The senator bristled, his face mottling with anger. “That’s enough, young lady. I see you’ve learned all the wrong things from this man.” His glare cut to Jason. “You should be grateful I went out on a limb for you, Stacia. Now be a good daughter and do what you’re told.”
Jason tensed, every muscle in his body coiled, ready to step in. But he didn’t.
Because she didn’t need him to.
She stepped forward, wrapping her arm around Jason’s waist, her chin lifting in quiet defiance. “I wish you’d spoken to me before making decisions for me. I have a contract to finish. And I don’t break my word.”
The senator’s nostrils flared.
She turned her attention to the woman on his arm, voice smooth as silk. “Good luck, sweetheart. I suspect I’ll be calling you Mommy Dearest soon. If I call you at all.”
Jason let out a low whistle as she pivoted, pulling him with her, leaving the senator sputtering in her wake.
He looked down at her, equal parts amused and turned on. “I have been a bad influence on you.”
Her laughter was warm, real. She hugged him tight, pressing her face against his chest. “No. You’ve been a good influence on me.”
Then she exhaled, glancing around the crowded ballroom with weary eyes. “When will this night end?”
He smirked. “Who are you and what have you done with Miss High Society Stacia Kendall?”
But damn, he liked this version of her. The woman who stood up for herself. The woman who chose her own future.
He pulled her close, not caring who was watching, not caring what anyone thought. Then, with deliberate intent, he kissed her—slow and deep, for everyone to see.