Page 19 of 7 Nights of Sin

"You want me to do interviews?" he asked, sounding annoyed. "And say what 'I'm sorry my ex-wife is a huge liar'?"

I shook my head. "No, you're not going to be addressing Christine directly at all. You're going to apologize for the other things."

"There's nothing wrong with the other things," he insisted.

I rolled my eyes. "Right, there's nothing wrong with being photographed in every party city in the world with random women, drunk off your ass."

"I wasn't married during any of that," he pointed out.

"That's not the point," I fired back, frustrated. I was sure I'd already been over this. "People were willing to overlook all that because you're good at hitting a ball and then running in a circle." He looked affronted, but I kept talking before he could cut me off. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't bad for your image. You think cereal brands and children’s television want to be associated with someone who seems like a drunken lush? Because the list of sponsors considering dropping you seems to say they don't. So you apologize for being less than family friendly and we move on to the next thing."

He huffed and jabbed at the screen on his treadmill a bit, lowering the incline of it and slowing the speed, all the while not breaking form at all.

"Fine. But what do I say when they bring up Christine? Because you know they will."

I nodded. "They will. And I'm working on that. I'm not trying to get you to grovel for something you claim you didn't do, but you can't go on television and start calling her a liar. That's not going to look good."

"Yeah, I get that," he replied, sounding frustrated. "And for the last time, I didn't cheat on her."

"And also for the last time, I don't really care. Whatever you did or didn't do in the context of your marriage is none of my business. I'm just trying to get you through this."

"Okay," he said with a shrug, but I could tell he was still looking at me, and I wasn't sure why. What was he looking for? Me to believe him? Me to tell him he hadn't done anything wrong, and his ex-wife was horrible and rude, and he didn't deserve any of the mean things she was saying about him?

It wasn't going to happen. I truly believed that he hadn't done the things she was saying he did, but I wasn't going to give in and start stroking his ego. He had enough people doing that, and I wasn't going to be one of them.

My job wasn't to coddle him, it was to fix his image and set him on the path to not being dropped by all his sponsors. That was all I was required to do.

I backed away from the treadmill. "Is that all you wanted? Because I'm pretty sure we could have just talked about this on the phone and saved me the drive over here."

"It's not that far from your office," he pointed out. "And maybe I wanted to see you."

I rolled my eyes. "The more of my time you waste playing whatever little game you're playing, the longer it's going to take for me to get things done, I hope you know."

"Why do you think I'm playing a game?" he asked. "I'm not playing anything. Maybe it's just good to see you after all this time."

"I highly doubt that," I shot back, folding my arms. If he'd wanted to see me, it wouldn't have been hard. He could have reached out at any time, and I was sure if he didn't need me, we wouldn't be talking now. "I have to get to work."

"Fine, fine," he said, flapping a hand at me. "You're no fun."

"Your agent isn't paying me to be fun. She's paying me to be good at my job. That's all you need to concern yourself with."

He started stretching, pulling one arm across his chest and holding it in place with the hand on the other side. All the while he kept running.

His skin gleamed with sweat in the light, and his muscles rippled while he moved, dropping the stretch to do it on the other side.

For a second, I couldn't look away. For just a second, I let myself imagine what it would be like if I gave in and let him seduce me or whatever, taking me back to the locker room. He'd have his way with me, I'd leave satisfied.

And then I'd hate myself afterwards.

That was enough to shake me from those thoughts, and I turned on my heel and left without even a goodbye, not slowing down until I was back in my car.

Only then did I let out a shuddering breath and let my head rest against the steering wheel.

I was supposed to be better than this. Six years I'd gone without pining for Kevin fucking Porter, and then he came back into my life, and six days or so later I was losing my mind.

At least he hadn't seemed to notice. The last thing I needed was him figuring out I was thinking about him that way and holding it over my head.

I could be a professional. I told myself that every time I had to meet with him, and it still held true.

With a sigh, I cranked my car and headed for the office.