Catching Cameron: A Love and Football Novel Page 2

  He raised one eyebrow. “Maybe you should show them some leg. I’m sure they’ll pull right over, blondie.”

  Cameron whirled on him, and he saw a lightning-quick flash of hurt in her eyes. “You. You haven’t changed at all. I thought I could be professional and give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the people I was hearing it from were wrong. But ohhh, noo.” She stuck one arm in the air, shouted, “Taxi!” and scanned the traffic in front of her as she continued her tirade. Her voice shook. He wondered if she realized it. “You are the biggest ass I have ever met, and that’s saying a lot.”

  “Is that so?” Zach said, giving her a completely insincere smile. People were stopping in the middle of the sidewalk by now to stare. Celebrities walked the streets of Manhattan every day, but to watch a prominent, nationally-known sportscaster and a pro football player engage in a loud public argument—if he wasn’t careful, he’d wind up on TMZ.com. With his luck, cell phone video would be showing up on Twitter and elsewhere online in minutes, too, which he needed like a hole in the head. He wanted to stand and stare at her, but “You’re the coldest, most unpleasant woman I’ve ever met” came out of his mouth instead. He took a breath. “You haven’t changed at all, either.”

  She turned her back on him.

  Cameron should call herself the Cab Whisperer; another car screeched to the curb. She opened the door, threw herself inside, called out, “Gramercy Tavern, please,” and slammed the door in his face.

  He’d rather miss his date entirely than spend one more minute with Cameron Ondine.

  AN HOUR LATER Cameron sipped her second sidecar and pretended she was listening to her sister Paige’s recitation of everything that had gone wrong that day. She was still trying to regroup from her unexpected encounter with Zach, so she wasn’t exactly giving her sister undivided attention.

  Paige had a wedding coordinator, and their mother was taking an active role in making sure the wedding came off without a hitch. What on earth did Paige have to complain about, anyway? Cameron shoved down her impatience with brute force and acted like she was riveted.

  Paige broke off mid-sentence and tapped her finger on the back of Cameron’s hand. “Hey. Where are you, anyway?”

  “What do you mean? I’m right here.”

  “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the past twenty minutes. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Nothing but the fact she’d traded insults with a man who still made her heart pound. She hoped he didn’t notice she’d been drinking in his closeness and his deep voice in her ear, or the fact she still felt protected standing next to him.

  “Try that with someone who believes you. Maybe you should tell me what happened.”

  Cameron took another sip of her drink. “I just had to deal with a guy who makes Deion Sanders look reasonable.”

  Her sister’s expression was blank. Of course Paige didn’t know who Deion Sanders was. Cameron sometimes wished she didn’t, either. “Football commentator,” she explained.

  “Cameron, why do you put up with these guys? Is the job really that good? Why don’t you try to get on one of those entertainment magazine shows or maybe get a talk show? You wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore.”

  Cameron almost rolled her eyes. “Oh, no. Nobody in the entertainment industry has an ego.” She took a breath to calm herself. “Paige, I know you don’t understand why I do this. I love sports. I love the job. I don’t love some of the guys I have to deal with, but that comes with any job, and I’m fine. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Well, I don’t understand. Mom would give you a job in the design firm any day if you asked for it. You can’t love the traveling, either. Wait until I have kids. I don’t want them watching Aunt Cameron on TV as they grow up instead of spending time with her. How do you expect to see them at all when you’re constantly gone? I just think—”

  Cameron smiled and nodded when Paige slowed down to take a breath, but she’d heard all of this before. Her job was an imposition on the family. After all, those from “old money” families were supposed to live quietly and get married after they graduated from college to someone who also wanted to live quietly. They certainly were not supposed to show up on nationally-televised broadcasts of sporting events. Cameron wanted something more from her life than appearing at whatever social or charitable function was the most pressing, according to her mom and dad. She loved Paige, but some days, she felt like they hardly knew each other. Her mother regarded Paige with an adoring smile from across the room. After all, Paige did everything her parents wanted.

  “I need to excuse myself for a moment,” she finally said, breaking into her sister’s tirade. “I’ll be back.” Cameron put her nearly-full glass down on a waiter’s passing tray and hurried out into the hallway. Maybe a few minutes in the ladies’ room would help her collect herself. She was so tired of being reminded that no matter what she achieved in her career, her parents still believed the best use of her time was settling down, marrying well, and giving them an acceptable number of grandchildren.

  The bathroom proved to be a poor decision. Cameron ran cold water over her wrists after refreshing her lipstick. A rail-thin, dark-haired, early-twenties woman in a spray-paint-tight teal satin mini dress approached.

  “Hi. Aren’t you Cameron Ondine?”

  Cameron forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Yes, I am.” She quickly dried her hands on a paper towel, and extended one to the woman. “Nice to meet you.”

  The woman took her hand. “My boyfriend would be pissing himself if he was here right now.” She smacked her gum. “You’re the wallpaper on his phone. He wore out the issue of Maxim you were in.”

  Cameron wasn’t sure what to say to this, but there probably wasn’t a great comeback. The other woman extended a dry paper towel in her direction. “Would you sign this for him? His name’s Marty.” She gave Cameron an ingratiating smile. “Write something dirty, okay? He’ll get a big kick out of it.”

  “I don’t have a pen right now. I’m sorry,” Cameron told her. “If you’ll visit the PSN website and send me an e-mail, though, I’ll make sure he gets an autographed photo.” Signed with just her name: She wasn’t about to “write something dirty” that would end up on an online auction site or scanned and uploaded to a sports fan site in moments. She picked up her evening bag, and edged toward the bathroom door. “Thanks for your interest and tell him I said hi.”

  “Just sign it in lipstick!” the woman shouted after her, but Cameron darted into the hallway. The best thing would have been to walk out the front door of the restaurant, hail a cab, and go home, but dinner hadn’t even been served yet. As the maid of honor, she was expected to make a toast. She was heading toward the private room once more, when a burst of loud feminine laughter brought her up short.

  Zach Anderson was lounging against the Gramercy’s bar, surrounded by four women who looked like they’d just crawled out of his bed. He must have decided he wasn’t interested in Orsay after all. He caught Cameron’s eye, winked, and turned back to his companions.

  What an ass. He’d followed her here? She turned on her heel and walked away.

  AT TEN O’CLOCK the next morning, Cameron clipped her microphone on, sat down in the plush on-set chair she used for interviews, and referred to the questions for Zach she’d printed onto index cards one last time. She was thankful to lose herself in work before Paige’s wedding, which would be held over the coming weekend. She’d escaped the rehearsal dinner by sprinting out the back door of the restaurant ten minutes after the dessert course.

  She glanced up at movement across the set. Zach strolled toward her as if he had all the time in the world. The hair and makeup people had worked their magic with him, too. One would think he spent last night reading a book and turning in early instead of tearing it up with four women at a New York City landmark. His buzz-cut dark honey blond hair was a testament to the artistic use of hair products, and he’d obviously been overdosing on the Visine. There wasn�
��t a wrinkle or stray thread in sight. He treated her to a smile so dazzling it should come with eye protection.

  Her palms were instantly sweaty. Her heart rate sped up. It didn’t matter if they’d stood on the sidewalk squabbling with each other last night; she still wanted him, dammit. She did her best to freeze her features into a politely disinterested expression and told herself not to fidget.

  “Good morning, Ms. Ondine.” Zach lowered himself into the chair across from her, crossed his legs, and slung one arm around the back. He eyed her with a smirk. “Did you enjoy your evening?”

  Cameron resisted the impulse to grind her teeth. Despite the fact she couldn’t tear her eyes off of him, he was just plain annoying. She couldn’t understand why women like her assistant, who was currently regarding Zach with an expression which should be reserved for infallible religious figures or Ryan Gosling, found him so alluring. He was one more entitled, egomaniacal pro athlete, and she wasn’t buying into his crap ever again. She smiled innocently.

  “Yes, I did. Would you like to get started?”

  One side of his mouth twitched. “Let’s do this.”

  Cameron heard the floor director counting, saw the cameraman move for a tighter close-up, and gazed into Zach’s hazel eyes. Oh, they were definitely doing this. He lifted a brow. Of course he thought she was flirting with him. She recrossed her legs, shifting the four-by-six notecards in her lap.

  “We’re happy to have a few minutes with the Seattle Sharks’ All-Pro defensive tackle Zach Anderson today. Welcome to NFL Confidential, Zach.” She tossed her hair over one shoulder and leaned forward a bit. “You’ve been in the league ten years now. What are you looking forward to this season?”

  “I’m looking forward to the same thing I do every season. Winning.”

  She saw something lurking behind the careless smile he gave her: smugness. He thought this was going to be just another softball interview, like so many others he’d had before. She ignored the carefully researched and previously agreed on questions on the cards in her lap. She had a few questions of her own.

  Less than a minute later, she saw the happy-go-lucky smile melt off of Zach’s lips.

  “How do you respond to those who say you’re ‘slow,’ ‘too old,’ and ‘overpaid’? The Sharks retain your services to plug the center of their defensive line. You weren’t able to do it last season. Do you think you can turn that around this year?”

  Zach’s mouth opened and shut repeatedly, like a salmon that found itself impaled on the end of a long, shiny fisherman’s hook. She swung one leg, just a little, and resisted the impulse to smile. “You’ve had injury problems. Why should the team believe that’s going to improve? As an aging member of the Sharks’ defensive line—”

  Zach interrupted her. “I’m not ‘aging.’”

  “You’re older than many of the players in the league, especially those who play your position—”

  “They’re full of shit.” He took a rapid breath.

  Cameron heard her producer through the earpiece she wore. “Careful,” Ralph said. “Don’t piss him off.”

  “The injury rate in the NFL is one hundred percent. I’m not any different than anyone else,” Zach said.

  “Wouldn’t you agree that the Sharks should expect more?”

  “What the hell?” Zach’s eyes widened. He sat up in his chair. “Listen, you don’t have the first idea what it’s like to play in the NFL. I give everything I have, every play. It’s obvious to anyone who’s actually watching—”

  “Are you suggesting that the Sharks and their fans don’t deserve an answer?”

  Zach ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath in exasperation. “I’m bringing it this season.”

  “Maybe you should try something other than clichés, Zach.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he didn’t respond. She saw the corner of his mouth move into a smirk. He didn’t take her questions—or her—seriously, and she saw red. She took a deep breath, took another, and tried to calm herself. It didn’t help.

  She glanced down at the cards on her lap. She pretended to read for a moment. Seconds later, she brushed them off her lap. They hit the floor next to her chair with a soft splat. She knew she’d spent the past ten years concentrating on professionalism, but right now she was teaching him a lesson.

  She lowered her voice and concentrated on appearing calm. “Do you think your well-publicized and turbulent love life is contributing to your woes on the field?”

  The color drained out of his face, replaced by a flush that climbed up from his neck and over his cheekbones, and Cameron watched his fists clench on the chair’s arm rests. Both of his feet hit the floor. He abandoned the relaxed pose he had when the interview started, leaning forward to shove his face inches from hers. His king-of-the-world, trouble-free demeanor had given way to obvious wrath. He shook his head, once, sharply.

  “I’m not going to answer that. That question is beneath you, don’t you think?”

  Her voice dripped insincere concern. “Maybe I need to jog your memory.”

  They stared at each other. She leaned forward a bit more in her chair, too.

  “I thought we were talking about football today, Ms. Ondine.”

  “Oh, we are, Mr. Anderson,” she assured him. “Your personal life is affecting your on-field performance.”

  Her producer was talking through the earpiece. “Cameron, have you lost your mind? What the hell’s going on here?”

  She continued, ticking the bullet points off on her fingernails. “You’ve been linked with multiple actresses, models, and other high-profile women throughout your career. You went to Hawaii on the bye week last year with three of them instead of staying in Seattle with the team. The question is, Zach, why don’t you take your career seriously?” She concentrated on forming the perfect concerned expression, despite the fact she knew the camera was on him. “How do you think that affects your teammates?”

  His eyes flew wide open in shock. His lips were a solid, bloodless line. His voice was barely above a whisper as he bit out the words. “This interview is over.” He jerked the microphone off, pulled the power pack out of the back of his pants, and got to his feet.

  “You don’t want to answer a few questions?”

  He didn’t speak. He was momentarily yanked backward by one wire; he ripped it out of the equipment, and walked away. She saw movement behind the camera. Several people followed Zach out of the studio. In the meantime, Cameron’s producer was shouting into her earpiece.

  “For God’s sake, Cameron. What was that?”

  Chapter Two

  * * *

  ZACH STORMED INTO the dressing room the show had provided for him, picked up his jacket, and shoved both arms into it. His agent Jason was talking. Zach heard the words, but they weren’t processing.

  “Listen. We’ll take a breath, get you some water and a bite to eat, and we’ll try this again with somebody else. I don’t know what happened out there, but this interview has been teased all week. We don’t want to be the ones pulling out of it.” Jason took a few steps toward Zach. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”

  No, he wasn’t okay. He’d sent the cheerleader and her three girlfriends he had drinks with last night home in a cab after seeing Cameron in the restaurant he deliberately followed her to. He didn’t have the heart to close the deal with anyone else, because he couldn’t forget how he felt when he saw her again. He was torn between frustration and fury. Lust played a part, too. Despite the fact she jumped up and down on his last nerve a few minutes ago, he still wanted her more than he’d wanted any other woman he’d ever met.

  “Everyone else on her damn show gets the softball interviews, the hair tossing, the endless leg crossing-and-recrossing, and the ‘take me home tonight’ lip licking.” He was pacing by now. “She’s attacking me? What did I ever do to her, anyway?” He knew damn well what he did to her, but he wasn’t going to admit it, even to Jason. He was wearing a hole in the carpet. Right now, he wa
s beyond caring. “She’s never played the game. What could she possibly know about it?” Zach crossed the room to the window that looked out over Times Square, but he wasn’t interested in the view. He jammed both hands into his pockets.

  “For someone who never played the game, she had your number,” Jason said.

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “Yours,” Jason reassured him. “We need to figure out how to contain the damage, buddy.”

  “Damage? What are you talking about?”

  “You need an interview. We promised Under Armour that their launch was going to get maximum publicity, and PSN is a major contributor toward that effort.” He frowned at the screen on his phone. Not coincidentally, it rang. “Edwards,” he told the person calling.

  Zach continued to pretend he was staring out the window. His mind whirled. She couldn’t still be mad over the cab thing. She wouldn’t put him on blast for something that happened ten years ago, would she? Last season was tough for everyone in Seattle’s locker room. It wasn’t just him. A team that had expected to win the division handily had finished six and ten. If she still had a personal thing with him, it might have been nice if she’d mentioned it beforehand. One thing’s for sure. He’d rather be dragged buck naked over broken glass than spend any more time with her at all at the moment.

  Then again, who was he kidding? If she walked through the door right now, it would be all he could do to not pull her into his arms and kiss her breathless.

  Jason’s voice broke into his reverie. “They what? This happened half an hour ago. What the hell! Let me talk to him. I’ll call you back.” He pulled a bottle of water out of the stocked mini-fridge. “Zach, we’ve got a problem.”

  CAMERON’S PHONE HAD been ringing for the past fifteen minutes as she sat in her producer Ralph’s office with the door shut. He’d spent the first ten minutes alternately shouting at and scolding her over the disastrous interview. He’d finally exhausted himself somewhat, and now he was perched on the corner of his desk with arms folded across his abdomen as she read off the identities of those texting or calling to inquire about what had just happened. She wasn’t calling anyone back until she figured out what to do next.