Page 27 of Secret Offer
“I need a drink,” I say out loud. And I need to stop pouting in my room like a bratty teenager. I’m a confident, competent woman of the world. Time to start acting like one.
Sitting up, I go over to the closet and pull out a sheer floral coverup. Then I dig out my skimpiest string bikini and high-heeled sandals. My plan is to find the beach bar closest to the resort and lay out with a drink for a few hours, in the hopes that a little sun (and alcohol) will improve my mood enough for me to face my parents again. Maybe then I can take my father aside and ask him to reconsider letting me assist him during the draft. He’s always more reasonable when my mother isn’t there nagging him.
As I change, I can’t help hoping that Sebastian will show up at the beach too, nursing a drink of his own after dealing with my parents. If he does, we can talk, maybe clear the air and make each other privy to a few more personal details. After that…I certainly wouldn’t mind a private tour of the resort’s more exclusive areas. We could even go back to the hidden pool with the waterfall—which must be tucked away somewhere around here, after all—or maybe he’ll surprise me again.
There’s no better way I can think of to work off my current frustration than in his arms.
The beach bar is packed when I arrive. Since the venue isn’t on the resort’s property, it’s open to the public, and it’s fullof enthusiastic tourists and hard-partying college kids. Music thumps through the air, and a crowd of dancing bodies moves in an undulating circle on the beach. The tiki bar has a huge line, but I manage to find one of the smaller drink carts and order myself a Sky Juice, which I sip slowly as I wander through the crowd.
I didn’t actually expect to bump into Sebastian here—he’s at work, obviously—but I’m more and more disappointed as I circle the entire perimeter and don’t see him. I scan under umbrellas, in lawn chairs and lounge chairs, even the wooden benches around the fire pit. Every open spot seems to be occupied, but not by him.
Resisting the urge to text him, I lose myself in the throng and end up finishing my drink much quicker than expected. I grab another one and am looking around for a place to sit when, to my good fortune, I spot an empty chaise longue positioned on the edge of the dance floor.
I dash over to the chair and practically dive onto it, then take off my coverup and arrange myself as sexily as I can. Back arched, bikini top adjusted, legs folded to one side. If Sebastian does show up, I need to make sure he notices me. But the minutes pass, the sun dips lower in the sky, and still no Sebastian. Feeling dejected, I end up downing my second drink. I’m about to ask the frat boy next to me if he’ll watch my chaise while I get a refill when a waiter stops by and hands me another Sky Juice.
“Thank you so much,” I say, reaching for the cash in my clutch.
The waiter waves off my money. “Courtesy of the gentleman at the bar.”
He makes a motion behind him at some random group of men, not pointing out anyone in particular before walking away. Studying the men, I sip the gin drink slowly, trying to figure outwhich one of them is my benefactor. None of them are looking my way, though. In fact?—
A shadow falls over me, and my pulse instantly picks up, my skin zinging as I get a whiff of masculine cologne. I grin. He’s here. With a sassy smile, I glance up…
And do a double take. It’s not Sebastian Argos, but I recognize this face instantly. I’ve seen him on television more times than I can count. I’ve studied everything about him, from his early beginnings playing baseball in high school a decade ago to his performance during his college years, to his impressive professional stats, to the way his body moves when he throws a killer pitch. I whip my sunglasses off and sit up straight, hardly believing my eyes.
“Enjoying the drink?” the guy asks, adjusting his baseball hat.
“Ted Polansky!” I blurt. “I always thought we’d meet under different circumstances.”
I’m not starstruck, per se, just flustered—because I literally thought I’d meet him when he became the owner of a rival MLB team someday, or maybe when our club made him an offer he couldn’t refuse to ditch the Miami Marlins and be a star pitcher for the Rockets instead.
He raises a brow. “Blair Tisdale wanted to meet me?”
It’s a question, not a statement, which means he isn’t doing the kind of off-puttingly arrogant flirting that I’ve come to expect from the guys in my usual social circle. Admittedly, the question mark at the end of his sentence is kind of endearing. Like somehow, the multimillion-dollar price tag on him hasn’t given him the grossly inflated ego of most pro athletes.
“I…yeah,” I say, still taken aback. “What are you doing here? Is this a work trip? You’re not leaving the MLB for one of the national teams here, are you? I thought Miami was treating you well.”
“Nothing like that,” he says, laughing. “I flew out to the island for a weekend off. But this is wild, running into you like this.”
“How do you even know who I am?” I can’t help asking.
“Everyone knows the owners of the New York Rockets,” he says. “You and your dad go to almost every game together. Not a lot of owners are that dedicated. It’s obvious you love the sport.”
I can feel myself blushing. “I really do.”
It’s not just his attention that has me flushed. He’s objectively handsome. With his muscular build, his shaggy, dark blond hair, cleft chin, and warm brown eyes, he’s got an All-American charm that’s pretty undeniable. I’m sure Brooke would kill to be in my shoes right now.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
He moves his long, athletic body as if to sit on the sand beside my chair. Without really thinking, I scoot over on the chaise.
“Oh, don’t sit on the sand. It’s too hot. I can share.” I pat the seat next to me. “Please, sit.”
He looks genuinely pleased and I can’t help but wonder if he doesn’t realize that he could literally take home any woman, or multiple women, on this beach tonight. Anyone but me.
Because as he sits, all I can think is that he’s not Sebastian. But Ted is a big deal in the industry, and it can’t hurt to show him just how friendly the Rockets franchise can be, so I’ll make nice.
And yet, as we get to chatting about how the first half of baseball season is going, I find that I’m really enjoying myself. He has a smooth, deep voice that’s easy to listen to. We discuss the upcoming MLB draft and which players are looking the most desirable, then we quiz each other on who we’d pick for a fantasy baseball team. He talks about his flight here being delayed because somebody tried to sneak a goldfish in a tiny bottle of water onto the plane. As we banter, we finish our drinksand then more magically appear. I’m shocked when I check my phone and find that a few hours have passed.
