Play Fake

Cover

Play Fake

Sports agent Nick Gutierrez is fighting to save the career of his star player, a rookie QB sensation whose meteoric rise ended in a complete crash and burn. Contacting Gemma Jones, an image consultant with a reputation for miraculously transforming fallen stars, Nick figures with any luck she can work her magic on his client. And from their first incendiary meeting, Nick realizes Gemma’s magic works on him, too.

Creating new images comes second nature to Gemma, who has already changed her own identity twice to avoid a danger from her past. And with that danger always threatening to resurface, she’s also sworn off any romantic entanglements. The last thing she needs is a brash, hunky, hilarious guy like Nick trying to seduce her.

Nick feels certain he can get past Gemma’s defenses, and as much as she’d love to fall for him, she may just have to change her identity yet again and run for everyone’s sake. But Gemma’s a fighter, and she won’t give up on finding a way to save Nick’s client and also save her own heart.

Title Page

Copyright

Play Fake

Kate Donovan

Copyright © 2017 by Kate Donovan

Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

Beyond the Page Books

are published by

Beyond the Page Publishing

www.beyondthepagepub.com

ISBN: 978-1-946069-16-0

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Paul,

my favorite sports-fan/attorney,

not to mention my favorite husband.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

The Play Makers Series

Books by Kate Donovan

About the Author

Prologue

Gemma Jones wanted to pay attention to her dinner companion, especially since he was also her boss, but a scene in the bar area of the restaurant kept distracting her. Not only were three participants acting out, but the young female of the group looked a lot like Whimsy Cameron, the twenty-year-old R&B sensation whose life had recently started unraveling. Or at least, according to the tabloids.

Gemma knew that feeling all too well.

Hey, Gemma? her boss asked gently. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s good news if you think about it.

She laughed sheepishly. "I feel like you’re saying our project has been too successful."

He laughed too. Yeah, who knew it would take off like this? It’s your baby and I respect that. But if we get this grant, you can serve twice as many clients. Maybe even more. You could give up your ESL classes completely—

I love teaching English. It makes me feel so fluent, she joked. Plus, those classes are where I find the clients in the first place, right?

Her project, as Mike termed it, had started out informally when a few of her students confided they were worried about looking for jobs, even though their language skills had improved. So Gemma and Mike had begun holding mock interviews after class to give the students some structured experience, then Gemma had converted a storage room into a closet filled with gently used interview attire she acquired from local thrift stores. Armed with new confidence, their students succeeded in finding decent employment and word quickly spread.

Now Mike wanted to expand it to a full-time service and she knew his instincts were correct. She just wasn’t sure she was the person to spearhead it, since it had been a labor of love up to this point. Strictly volunteer. The idea of getting paid for it felt mercenary compared to just relying on her teaching salary to make ends meet.

Across the room, Whimsy Cameron had grown so intoxicated she was literally draped around one of the men’s shoulders. Not that he was complaining. In fact, he seemed a bit predatory to Gemma.

Meanwhile, Mike was explaining, This grant isn’t a sure thing. There would be lots of competition. But if we got it, it would make life easier for all of us. Especially you. For one thing, you could move out of that dump of yours and into a decent apartment.

Hey, Mike? she murmured. Do you see those people over there? I think that’s Whimsy Cameron. I’m worried those guys will take advantage of her.

He turned in his chair, studied the situation, then gave Gemma a stern look. She looks pretty happy to me. And that guy in the corner is a bouncer, right? So if it gets out of hand, he’ll deal with it.

Oh . . . She smiled in relief. "So that’s what a bouncer looks like."

His tone grew exasperated. The point is, if we want to compete for this grant, we need to get going on the paperwork. I’ll do it, but I’ll need your help. And I know you value your privacy, but if we could get some local news coverage. Show what a great contribution the project makes to the community. That would really help our chances.

Gemma’s attention flew back to Mike. News coverage? No, no. That’s a deal breaker. We talked about that when you hired me, remember? Before he could give her ten good reasons to change her policy, she held up a palm to stop him. If you really think it’s the best thing for the project, then I’ll bow out. I don’t want to give up teaching anyway. And maybe I can still help behind the scenes, but I won’t be the public face of it.

Yeah, he said quietly. I had a feeling you’d say that. What’s going on, Gemma? We’ve known each other for more than a year and you’re still a mystery.

And I always will be, she assured him silently.

He almost seemed to hear the words. Yeah, okay. That actually brings me to my other news. I met someone last week at the Adult Ed conference. She’s amazing. Not Gemma-level amazing, but a guy can’t just tread water forever, right?

Gemma bit her lip. "Are we still talking about the project? Or—well, us?"

Is there an ‘us’? he drawled.

You’re my boss. So there can’t be.

Yeah, that’s our excuse. But you know how I feel. Stopping himself, he said warmly, "It’s fine, Gemm. The point is I like this other woman enough to ask her out. We had drinks a couple of times and pretended it was business. But unlike my business meetings with you, we actually had sparks flying."

A weight lifted from Gemma’s heart and she beamed with delight. That’s such good news. I’m the worst business date ever. And she sounds hot. So go for it. And if you want to give her the project too—

No, not at all. It’s just a romantic thing.

Ooo la la, she teased him happily. Now that you’re off the market I can admit you’re one gorgeous guy. She’s a lucky woman.

He pretended to glare. You could at least pretend to be disappointed.

Only in myself, she assured him.

It was tempting to explain exactly why. Mike had earned it, hadn’t he? And she trusted him, but still, her barriers were virtually insurmountable.

Then her attention shifted again as the young superstar across the room extricated herself from the guys and bolted toward the restroom, looking green enough for a full-scale purge.

So Gemma stood and opened her arms to Mike, insisting, "On that note, I’m releasing you from this date. Go home and call the hot prospect. Now."

Gemm—

We’ll talk about the grant next week, I promise. I really need to use the restroom. Then I’m heading out. So please go? She embraced him briskly, said, See you Monday, and dashed after the damsel in distress.

• • •

The restroom was poorly lit and tiled in dingy terra-cotta, as though attempting some sort of kitschy ambience that was completely lost on Gemma. The good news? Of the three stalls, only one was occupied, so she pressed her ear against the door and sighed when she heard sobbing rather than retching.

Hey, Whimsy? she called out. It’s me, Gemma. Open up.

Gemma? The unseen weeper spoke warily, as though the name almost rang a bell. Do I know you?

No, but we have a lot in common, I promise.

Oh, God, please just go away. I’m such a mess right now.

That’s what we have in common, Gemma explained. "Please don’t make me crawl on these yucky tiles."

Oh, God . . . The young girl gulped for air, then opened the door. Mascara and tears streaked her face as she stared through dazed eyes. Who are you?

Someone who knows how it feels, Gemma assured her. She was tempted to give the girl a hug but didn’t want to overstep, so it was a relief—not to mention humbling—when Whimsy beat her to it, throwing herself into her arms and sobbing pitifully.

Gemma could remember this feeling well, so she did what her mom had done years ago when this happened to them and patted the poor kid’s back, murmuring over and over, It’s not the end of the world. It just feels like it.

It’s all gone, Whimsy wailed. I had it all. Now it’s all gone.

I know how that feels, believe me.

"How can you possibly know? The superstar looked into Gemma’s eyes for the first time. Are you in the music business?"

Worse, Gemma told her with a sheepish smile. I’m in Witness Protection.

Chapter One

Sports agent Nick Gutierrez projected a cheerful attitude around the conference table even though things were quietly disintegrating. This meeting—Nick’s idea—had seemed like the perfect way to rescue his favorite client from implosion. Now it was making things worse.

The favorite client, who slouched in a chair near the door and looked like a borderline hoodlum, confirmed this suspicion by grumbling, "You make me get here on time? But these famous consultants don’t even bother showing up?"

Nick wanted to kick Luke Stoddard under the table to remind him that the other men in the room—Coach Aaron Spurling and general manager Bud Potter—already had an abysmal image of him. Luke had been the shining hope of their team, the Rustlers, during his rookie season, but had had the mother of all meltdowns during the playoffs, and since that time had become famous for something other than quarterbacking—namely, drinking and brawling.

Which begged the question: Why was he still Nick’s favorite client?

The answer was getting murkier and murkier.

They aren’t late, Nick assured him, arching an eyebrow for emphasis even though it was a Hail Mary play at this point.

Yeah, Bud Potter drawled. They’ve still got two minutes. So guess what? I’m with the kid. Why would we pay these clowns tens of thousands if they can’t even show up on time?

Because these clowns rescued Whimsy Cameron’s career. Put her back on track to fulfill her potential. If they can do that for Luke, I’m willing to wait two minutes.

So am I, Coach Spurling said quietly.

Nick gave the guy a grateful nod, knowing he had every reason to write Luke off. Trade him to another team. Let them deal with the self-pity, poor conditioning, and binge drinking. Luckily, Coach Spurling felt partially responsible for Luke’s crash-and-burn.

So did Nick. Hence the Hail Mary.

At that moment, the door flew open and the dynamic owner of the St. Croix Agency bounded into the room. Sorry I’m late, folks, he said crisply. I’m Harley St. Croix. Thanks for meeting with me.

Before Nick could make introductions, Harley continued. Hey, Nick. Good to see you again. And you must be Bud Potter, he said to the crusty GM. They shook hands, then he said to Spurling, You’re Coach Spurling? A legend in your own time, right? It’s an honor. And last but not least . . . He flashed Luke a smile. You’re the reason we’re all here. Nice to meet you, Luke.

The guy was a whirlwind, which almost worked for Nick since it took the focus off the late arrival. Unfortunately, Harley St. Croix wasn’t actually the reason they were there.

Nick had chosen the St. Croix Agency because one of its associates—a female named Gemma Jones—had done the impossible for Whimsy Cameron. So where was Gemma?

Before Nick could ask, Harley flashed an apologetic smile, took a seat, and explained, My consultant is running late. So let’s start without her, shall we?

Nick cleared his throat. We were hoping to talk to her in particular. Since she worked her magic on the singer, right?

Luke glared. "I don’t need magic. I need an effing trade. I knew this meeting was bogus."

We can end it any time you want, Bud Potter assured him tartly.

Whoa, Harley said, chuckling. "This thing with Gemma is a red herring, actually. She’s great, but my agency has been around for six years and we’ve rescued hundreds of careers. Not just Whimsy’s."

But Gemma Jones is the one that attracted our attention, Nick reminded him. So I’m willing to wait a few minutes for her.

Harley didn’t miss a beat. Fine, let’s talk about Gemma. She wasn’t working for me when she met Whimsy. Ironically, my agency had contracted with Whimsy’s folks to fix her image but she wouldn’t cooperate. It took an ESL teacher in a public restroom to give her hope. To motivate her to reach her potential. That ESL teacher was Gemma. And she still teaches English to immigrants, God love her. And since I’m no fool, I hired her as a part-time consultant. We’ve been a great team ever since.

Nick had spoken to Harley half a dozen times and had never heard this wrinkle. Nor did he know if it was good or bad. It almost sounded like the thing with Whimsy had been a fluke, which didn’t bode well.

The door to the conference room opened again, and a pretty—hell, gorgeous—redhead edged into view, her expression apologetic. I’m sooo sorry. Just pretend I’m not here.

Nick wanted to reassure her, but her boss took care of it, saying, No problem at all. Gentlemen? This is the famous Gemma Jones. Gemma? These are our potential clients. First and foremost, Nick Gutierrez, sports agent and lawyer.

Nick stuck out his hand, ready to make a deal and fall in love in one simple gesture, but the redhead wrinkled her nose. Nice to meet you, Mr. Gutierrez. But I thought our client was Luke Stoddard, AKA the rookie of the year. She turned to Luke and flashed a brilliant smile. Mr. Stoddard?

Luke did the unthinkable—at least for him—by standing and accepting her handshake with a respectful smile. Hey, Gemma.

Nick had to struggle not to laugh. He had hoped this babe would inspire his client with her publicity plans, never guessing she’d use her red-hot body to do it.

Classic.

Meanwhile her boss, Harley St. Croix, was grinning as though he had known all along this would happen.

Then Gemma smiled at Nick, sending a bolt of attraction through him as she extended her hand. Thanks for setting up this meeting, Mr. Gutierrez.

We’re curious to see what you have in mind, he assured her, then he motioned toward Aaron Spurling. Gemma Jones, this is Aaron Spurling. He’s Luke’s coach, not to mention a legend.

Nice to meet you, Mr. Spurling, she said with a smile.

Likewise. And it’s ‘Coach,’ not ‘Mister.’

She smiled again. I never met a legend before. But I’ll stick with Mister if you don’t mind. Before anyone could correct her gaffe, she turned to Bud Potter and held out her hand. "You’re the general manager, right? Please don’t ask me to call you General."

Nick froze, as did Spurling and St. Croix. But Luke? He burst out laughing, then insisted, Good one, Gemma.

She sent him a conspiratorial look, then told Potter more sincerely, "I did some research last night on football organizations. Sounds like you’re in charge of the trades and the money. So basically, you’re the second most important person in the room. After Luke," she added helpfully.

Is that supposed to be funny? Potter growled.

She seemed surprised but not actually repentant when she said, Sorry. I’m not a sports fan, so I’m learning as I go.

Hey, Gemm? Harley motioned to a seat near Luke. Let’s get started, okay? I was just filling these guys in on your background.

Her amber eyes widened. Pardon?

"Your career background, he reassured her quickly. How you came to my attention, thank God."

Oh, okay.

To Nick, she seemed flustered. But why? What the hell was in her background she didn’t want them to know? Her name didn’t fit her Latina look, but maybe she got that from her mom’s side. Even the shade of red of her hair—a dark mahogany with gold streaks—reminded him of his sisters’ hilarious experiments with their hair whenever they tried to go blonde. On them, this