The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) Page 3

  Luke Archer surged to his feet, towering over her. “Morning, ma’am,” he said, his Texas accent making it sound friendlier than he probably intended. “Please,” he said, gesturing to his chair.

  “Thank you, but I’m fine,” Miranda said with a quick shake of her head. Orin would be angry if she took a client’s chair.

  Trevor looked somewhere to her left as he nodded in her general direction.

  Luke didn’t return to his seat. Instead, he folded his arms and leaned against the wall near her. She was used to celebrities, but Luke Archer was beyond that—he was a living legend in New York. She couldn’t help slanting a quick sidelong glance to take in the breadth of his shoulders under the pale blue T-shirt and the swell of his thigh muscles under well-worn jeans. He exuded a coiled energy that must explode on the playing field. It certainly made her breath come a little faster.

  “Miranda, I am concerned about a complaint from Mr. Archer that you would not accommodate his request last night,” Orin said, his voice oozing with false courtesy.

  Trevor shifted so the leather chair creaked. Miranda dragged her attention away from Luke. “I explained to Mr. Archer that honoring that kind of request is against our policy in this building.”

  Orin flicked an uneasy glance at Trevor. Was it possible Trevor hadn’t revealed what he’d asked for?

  “We are dedicated to making sure our residents and their guests lack nothing here at the Pinnacle,” Orin spouted.

  “However, we have certain boundaries,” Miranda said, feeling her way into the discussion.

  Trevor’s fingers beat an uneven rhythm on the arm of his chair. “I might have been unclear about what I wanted,” he said. “This is just a misunderstanding.”

  She felt the air move beside her as Luke Archer pushed off the wall and leaned forward to brace his hands on the arm of his vacant chair. “What exactly did you ask for, Trev?” His drawl made the question sound almost casual, but there was steel beneath the leisurely cadence. Miranda was glad he wasn’t addressing her.

  Trevor turned toward his brother briefly before looking back at Orin. “Nothing I haven’t asked for before.”

  Sweat beaded on Orin’s forehead, and Miranda wound her hands into a knot in front of her. Her boss really didn’t know what Trevor had requested.

  Either Orin had been too awed by Trevor’s connection to his illustrious brother to probe, or he had been so thrilled to catch her in a supposed mistake that he’d leaped at the chance to make her look bad in front of Luke Archer. Or both.

  It didn’t surprise her that another concierge had broken one of the rules of their building, but it cast Orin in a bad light, since he was the owner of the concierge service. He would make her life even more miserable now.

  Orin picked up a pen and clicked it open and shut as he spoke. “It seems there has been a misunderstanding between Mr. Archer and Miranda. I would like to offer my sincerest apologies, Mr. Archer. Miranda, you may return to your office.”

  “Just a minute,” Luke Archer said, his voice carrying the edge of command he must use to direct the giants of the offensive line on the field.

  He took a step backward as Miranda turned away from Orin’s desk, so she ran smack into him. She bounced off, tottering on her stiletto heels as the sudden contact with his body sent sparks arcing through her. Luke’s hand shot out to grasp her elbow in a grip that felt like sun-warmed iron. As he held her steady, she had the sense that he could lift her off the ground with just that one hand.

  “Thank you,” she gasped. She, who prided herself on never losing her composure, sounded like a breathless teenager because a blond football god had touched her elbow.

  Then he unleashed a weapon so powerful she had no defense against it. He smiled. The ice in those intense eyes melted, his teeth flashed brilliant white, and the famous single dimple put a rogue’s brand on his left cheek.

  There was no need for Photoshopping on all those billboards and clothing ads. Luke Archer looked exactly like his pictures, only better, because she could feel the heat of his hand through her silk sleeve, watch the expansion and contraction of his chest as he breathed, and inhale the scent of clean, warm male.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, and released her before turning back to his brother. “Trevor?”

  It took all her powers of concentration to recall the question Luke had asked before. She needed to get her inappropriate reactions to the quarterback under control or she would have even bigger problems with her boss than she already did.

  Trevor leaned back in the chair with an air of unconcern that Miranda didn’t buy for a second. “I just wanted a little company, and I asked her to find me some.” He shifted away from his brother’s gaze. “Just make a call to an escort service. Nothing illegal about that.”

  Luke’s smile evaporated and all the warmth leached out of his eyes, leaving them the pale blue of a glacier. “That’s what you asked her to do for you?” He hissed out a sound of disgust. Miranda watched him settle himself with an effort of will before he pivoted to meet her gaze. “We owe you an apology, ma’am. If I’d known what—” He shook his head. “Well, I’m sorry my brother asked you to do something so distasteful, and even sorrier he complained about it to Mr. Spindle here.”

  Miranda tried to keep her smile from appearing forced, but all the apologies in the world weren’t going to fix her already precarious relationship with Orin after this. “Don’t mention it, Mr. Archer,” she said. “I won’t, either.”

  His gaze traveled over her face like a laser beam, scanning and assessing. She felt a wave of heat flush her cheeks and then spread lower and deeper. Luke turned to Orin. “Mr. Spindle, I just want to make sure that Miranda will not be held at fault as a result of my brother’s actions. Trevor never should have made that request.” He turned a hard look on Trevor, who was now slumped in the chair, staring at his knees.

  Trevor hunched a shoulder. “This meeting was Spindle’s idea, not mine.”

  Miranda watched Luke’s big hands curl into fists. She’d heard him called the Iceman because he never showed his feelings on the field or off it. However, his brother seemed to have gotten to him. She considered her own family and how they could push her buttons. Without thinking, she flashed the quarterback a smile of understanding.

  For a split second, surprise registered on his face, and she regretted her impulse. A man like Luke Archer didn’t need her sympathy. In fact, a man like Luke Archer didn’t want anything from someone like her. She was just a country girl trying with all her might to act like a city sophisticate.

  “We’ll talk about this later,” Luke said to Trevor, jerking his head toward the door.

  Trevor unfolded himself from the chair and stalked out of Orin’s office. Luke started after him before turning back. “My apologies. Let me know if you’d like tickets to Sunday’s game.”

  Orin lit up. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Archer.” Miranda was sure he would sell them to one of their other clients for a hefty price.

  “I’ll have my assistant call both of you,” Archer said, turning away.

  Miranda felt bad that the quarterback had been put in this situation by his brother. She didn’t want him to feel obligated to give her compensation for it. “You’re very kind, but I have to work on Sunday.” It was a lie, but she couldn’t gracefully refuse the tickets after her boss had accepted them. She was counting on the fact that Orin didn’t know the weekend schedule for the assistant concierges, since he never worked then.

  Archer looked over his shoulder with the dimple in evidence again. “Would you like a signed football as a substitute?”

  Her brother’s son would love that. And it would make Orin’s greed less obvious, so maybe he wouldn’t punish her for refusing the tickets. “Thank you. I know someone who would very much appreciate that. My nephew is a huge fan.” She added a smile.

  For a moment Archer seemed to freeze, and she wondered if her smile had revealed a little too much of the warmth he had sent
sizzling through her. Or maybe she shouldn’t have taken the ball. It seemed fairly insignificant compared to tickets. She was trying to think of a way to back out when he nodded. “It will be in your office later today.” Then he was gone, his absence leaving a curious flatness in the room.

  “Are you aware of which assistant concierge called an escort service for Trevor Archer recently?” Orin’s nasal voice was harsh.

  Miranda shook her head. “Someone must have done it without realizing there was a rule about it.”

  That was the sad part. Concierges often called escort services—and worse—for their clients. The first time she’d gotten such a request, she’d been openmouthed with shock. Growing up on a dairy farm in the boondocks of upstate New York hadn’t prepared her for the shamelessness of vice in the big city. She’d been relieved when the Pinnacle’s owners had instituted the policy after a resident had sued because he caught an STD from the escort. She had always refused to handle those requests, even before the rule was put in place, but she was in the minority, since the gratuity for arranging that kind of service tended to be large.

  Orin nodded. “I’ll make sure the other assistant concierges are aware of the policy.” He shuffled through a pile of papers and pulled out the week’s schedule. “You aren’t working Sunday, so why did you turn down the tickets?” He skewered her with his “I’m your boss and I want answers” glare.

  She pretended surprise. “I must have gotten my weeks mixed up. I thought I was on duty this Sunday.” Giving him a conspiratorial smile, she said, “I’m not much of a football fan anyway.”

  “So the ball is really for your nephew?” Orin appeared unconvinced.

  “Yes. Theo thinks Luke Archer walks on water.”

  After shooting her one more skeptical glance, Orin dropped the schedule back onto his desk and turned to his computer monitor. “Mrs. Belden wants you to book her massage because she says you always send the best people.” There was a note of peevishness in his voice. Mrs. Belden was a big tipper, and Orin tried to reserve that kind of client for himself.

  “I’m so glad she liked the last one. I mentioned to Mrs. Belden that he was from a spa you’d recommended,” Miranda said, crossing her fingers behind her back at the lie. She needed to stay in Orin’s good graces just a little longer so he would give her a reference for the head concierge job at a new apartment building going up in Midtown. Expecting a glowing recommendation was unrealistic, but at least he couldn’t give her a bad review without real evidence.

  Or even worse, fire her. Since the Pinnacle’s owners contracted with Orin’s concierge service for their building, her boss had sole discretion over who worked there. She would have no recourse if his simmering dislike of her boiled over into something more serious.

  “And Mr. Saperstein needs a new dog walker,” Orin said.

  Miranda mentally rolled her eyes. Mr. Saperstein needed a new dog walker at least once a month, since he always found some reason to fire his current one. It was becoming difficult to find anyone who would agree to work for him, because word had gotten around the dog-walking community that he was unreasonably demanding. Sticking her with the task was Orin’s revenge for the Archer incident.

  “I’ll take care of both requests,” she said, even though it was nearly time for her to go home. She had pulled the night shift this week. Generally she was fine with that, because the residents who required services in the middle of the night compensated her accordingly. Unfortunately, last night had been quiet and routine except for the unpleasantness with Trevor Archer. Win some, lose some.

  That reminded her of Luke Archer and the way the air around him seemed supercharged. She had felt as though lightning was flickering right beside her. The memory made the tiny hairs on her arms tingle in a weirdly delicious way.

  “You may go,” Orin said, his eyes on his computer screen.

  Miranda exited his office as fast as she could without running. Most of the time, she loved her job. Getting her clients exactly what they wanted while making it look effortless was a point of pride for her. Which was why Trevor’s request had distressed her. She wanted him to be happy while he was at the Pinnacle, but she had been unable to make it happen without breaking the rules and, even worse, venturing into territory that bordered on illegal.

  When she recrossed the lobby, Luke Archer walked out of a shadow by the elevators and came toward her. As he strolled through an early-morning sunbeam shining through the plate-glass window, his hair turned to molten gold, and the muscles of his forearms were outlined in light and shadow. He moved as though he knew how every part of his body worked most efficiently.

  The sheer beauty of the man made her gasp out loud, her body reacting without conscious thought. She tried to turn the sound into a cough, but she caught a flicker of something in his face that meant he’d caught her response. So much for her facade of cool sophistication. Of course, Luke Archer was probably used to the effect he had on women.

  He stopped in front of her, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets. “I owe you more than a football for putting up with Trevor’s crap. Tell me what I can do to make it right with your boss.”

  Even with her high heels on, she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. She felt delicate and feminine when she stood so close to him. It wasn’t unpleasant.

  “Everything’s fine with my boss,” she lied. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

  Archer shook his head. “I didn’t read it that way.”

  One thing Miranda was not going to do was involve this prominent resident in a work squabble. “Mr. Archer, I appreciate your concern, but there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Call me Luke,” he said. The honey of his drawl poured through her, kicking up little flares of sensation. As the silence drew out, she realized he was waiting for her to use his given name.

  “Thank you, Luke.” And she would never address him that way again. She had to remember he was a client.

  He gave her another one of his appraising scans. “You let me know if something becomes a cause for concern.”

  “Of course, Mr.—er, Luke.” So she had to use his name one more time.

  “You take care,” he said, giving her a nod of farewell before he headed back to the elevators.

  She couldn’t resist watching him walk away. His jeans fit him almost as tightly as his football uniform pants, which gave her an excellent view of a tight butt and rock-hard thighs. The cotton of his shirt draped over a magnificently contoured back. Something seemed to melt low in her belly, and she shook her head to break the powerful spell.

  Even if Luke Archer hadn’t been a client, he was miles out of her league in every other way.

  She was just bowled over that he’d stayed behind to see if he could fix things. Her brother always claimed that the great quarterback was a decent guy, not a prima donna. Maybe his image wasn’t just a skillful public relations campaign.

  She shook her head again. No one that famous and that good-looking could be a normal human being.

  Chapter 2

  “Trevor, what the hell is the matter with you?” Luke stalked into the kitchen, where his brother sat eating cold pizza. “You’re a married man.”

  Trevor looked up. “Seriously? You think that stops me from wanting some fun?”

  Luke raked one hand through his hair, making his head throb. Too much scotch from last night at the Bellwether Club, and now Trevor. And that damned wager.

  “Have fun somewhere else. Don’t involve some poor concierge, who’s now in trouble with her boss because you complained.” Although he hadn’t minded at all when the concierge had run into him so he could feel her soft curves crushed against his chest. He was human. “And don’t drag me into a meeting without telling me the truth.”

  “I told you the meeting was Spindle’s idea.” Trevor took a bite of pizza and chewed. “You didn’t have to come. I could have handled it myself.”

  “I live in the building. You’re a guest.” When Trevor had
texted him about the meeting, he should have asked more questions and controlled the situation, but he had a morning appointment with his coach. Furthermore, he got the feeling Spindle had had his own agenda for getting them all into his office.

  Trevor tossed his half-eaten pizza on the plate. “Look, Jodie’s nagging me up, down, and sideways about finding another job because I didn’t get tenure. All I hear is, ‘Why don’t you finish your book? Why don’t you write a scholarly article? Maybe you’d have tenure if you did, and we could have a baby.’ So she doesn’t exactly put me in the mood for sex right now.”

  “Christ, Trevor, that’s enough about your sex life.”

  Luke agreed with Jodie’s logic, even if her methods weren’t effective. Trevor had been passed over for tenure at the small liberal arts college where he was a professor of philosophy, so he’d come to New York to drown his sorrows. Or dump them on Luke. Personally, Luke thought his brother should be in his office finishing the book he’d been working on for the last three years. Wasn’t it publish or perish in academia? Even Luke knew that, and he was as far away from Trevor’s world as it was possible to get.

  “Don’t judge me,” Trevor said. “I remember the stories you told about the football groupies and some of the wild stuff you did with them.”

  “I was a lot younger and stupider then,” Luke said. “But even more important, I was single. No strings, no rings,” he repeated, remembering last night’s conversation at the club. He didn’t add that he’d never had to pay for sex.

  Nor did he mention his concern about the press. The concierge—Miranda—had said she wouldn’t mention it again, and concierges probably needed to be discreet. However, if her boss gave her a hard time and she got miffed, she might talk to a reporter. Luke didn’t want Jodie or his parents hearing about Trevor’s little escapade from the media.