Fool Me Once (Bad Boy Romance) Page 4

  My mom came back to the table and sat down. “He’ll be okay. He needs some time.”

  I shook my head. “I doubt that. He’s been mad at me since I left home to play in the minors.”

  She offered me a soft smile. “He had a different dream for you. He thought you would go to college and earn a degree.”

  “He’s the one that taught me to play baseball!” I retorted.

  She laughed. “That’s what all dads do.”

  “He’s the one who told me I had a good arm. He sent me to those special camps to get better and then when I do get good enough to be picked up by the minors, he decides he doesn’t want me to play. How am I supposed to keep up with that?” I asked with exasperation.

  “I know, I get it. I think he misses you.”

  I scoffed. “I think he hates me.”

  “That isn’t true. He isn’t exactly thrilled by the man you’ve become, or pretended to become, but he loves you. Of course he loves you. You are his only son and he thinks the world of you. He’s an old-school man, raised in the South. You know he has ingrained good manners in you since the day you were born.”

  “I didn’t mean to be rude to that reporter. I didn’t even realize I had been,” I confessed.

  She gave me a look. “Maybe that’s a problem.”

  I nodded, knowing she was right. I had changed since I’d been away. I knew it and I didn’t think it was all bad but seeing the look of disappointment on my father’s face wasn’t cool. I didn’t like feeling like that at all.

  “I’ll go over to the house with you and help you get the bed made,” she said.

  “Mom, you don’t have to do that,” I told her.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you here because you’re injured? Aren’t you down an arm?”

  I laughed. “Yes, technically I am.”

  “Then I’m going to help you. I don’t mind.”

  We piled into the rented SUV and headed down the connecting driveway to the house I had purchased for them. It was probably two hundred feet from their own. There was a row of tall evergreen shrubs that offered a modicum of privacy, but it wasn’t a lot. Together, we went inside the house I had only seen once before.

  “Mom look at this place,” I exclaimed, taking in the gorgeous hardwood floors that ran through the open floor plan. There were huge windows facing the covered patio that made the room feel much bigger and airier.

  She laughed. “It is a very nice home and I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable. I’m going to open some of the windows and get some air in here.”

  That was her way of telling me it was nice for me, but not for her. I carried my bag into the master bedroom. There was a large queen-size bed against one wall and a set of French doors that led outside to the backyard. The home was sparsely furnished, with the bare minimums. I had expected my parents to move in their own things. Instead, my mom had bought furniture for me to use when I came home to visit. It completely defeated the purpose of me buying the home, but there was no changing her mind once it was made up. I guessed I could think about selling it or using it as my getaway when I needed a break from city life.

  Chapter 6

  Evie

  I was folding towels in front of a window facing the lobby of the clinic that allowed me to see what was happening outside of the quiet linen room. I liked folding towels. It was cathartic and gave me a chance to think while inhaling lots of fabric softener. The smell reminded me of my mom, back in the days when we’d go camping for a few days and instead of her trying to catch up on the laundry at home, we would go to the laundromat. I used to love those days.

  The sound of the machines humming and the smell of soap and fabric softener triggered good memories. I remembered her letting me sit in one of the huge wheeled baskets and pushing me around. I would giggle and laugh and pretend I was driving a car. I found myself smiling, thinking about some of the happiest days of my life doing the simplest things, like laundry. My reverie took me down a path to a time when my mom and dad had been happy. A time when our family had been whole, and we never had to worry about anything big.

  I heard the alarm indicating someone had come through the front door and looked into the lobby. I wasn’t expecting any clients, but I was on standby in case someone walked in off the street. People often found themselves in desperate need of a massage if they wrenched their back at work or developed a kink in their neck after sleeping wrong. I loved being able to work the strain away and leave them feeling right as rain.

  I watched as two men wearing suits walked in, looked around and headed for the reception desk. They were definitely not the usual clients we saw in the clinic, but they did look like they could use a massage. They were very stiff and uptight.

  I watched as the receptionist listened to whatever it was they had to say before smiling and nodding. She was still smiling when she picked up the phone. I began to wonder if there was something going on, like something serious. It was the only way to explain the official look of the men. Soon, my boss, Tom, came up front and talked with them. I wondered if they thought we were one of those massage parlors. It was laughable, but I understood they had to investigate. There was no way I was giving hand jobs or blow jobs to the clients that walked through my door. No way. I started to think about my coworkers and wondered if one of them was making a little money on the side. I thought of Gretchen, who was somewhere in her fifties, giving out little perks and quickly dismissed the idea.

  All of a sudden, Tom and the two men looked at me through the window. My boss pointed at me, his mouth moving but I couldn’t read his lips. Oh shit. Oh shit. Someone had reported me for doing something nasty. I rewound the last few weeks. I had never, ever touched anyone inappropriately or offered any additional services. I shuddered thinking about the very idea.

  Soon, they were coming my way. I thought about locking the door. Unfortunately, there wasn’t another way out and I’d just be trapped in the laundry room with them staring at me through the window.

  “Evie, can I see you in the office?” Tom asked.

  I nodded. “Sure,” I said, putting on my most innocent face.

  I followed the three of them into the office, looking at the receptionist as we passed, silently asking her what the hell was going on. She shrugged her shoulders.

  “Have a seat.” Tom gestured.

  He sat behind the desk while the suits remained standing. It was an intimidation tactic. I looked at my boss, waiting for him to explain.

  “We’re with a team out of California,” one of the men began.

  “A team of?”

  “Major League Baseball,” he answered.

  “Oh.”

  “We have a player that will be coming in to the clinic. Your boss says you’re the best,” he continued.

  I smiled. “Aw, thank you,” I said, before realizing there was more to say.

  “This client’s privacy is our concern.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Okay. I’m not sure I’m following.”

  “We want you to be his massage therapist, but it has to be completely secret. You cannot tell anyone who he is or that he is your client. No one can know he is in town,” the man explained.

  I thought they were being rather extreme. I felt like I needed to remind them we weren’t that kind of a massage place. We did legit massages that were medically necessary.

  “I don’t talk about my clients,” I told them.

  “We can appreciate that; however, this is very serious. If you agree to take this client on, you will need to sign an NDA before the service can start.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “A what?”

  “NDA, non-disclosure agreement.”

  I shook my head, holding up my hands. “I have no idea what you are saying. Is this some kind of doctor patient privilege thing?” I asked.

  “That and then some. It’s an agreement that says you will not talk about this client and if you choose to violate the agreement, your boss has promised us you will lo
se your position here. There is also the possibility you would be financially liable,” the man said.

  I looked at him, folding my arms over my chest. “And what does that mean?”

  “It means the team or the client could sue you for violating the agreement.”

  “Well, hell, you guys take your privacy seriously,” I scoffed.

  “Evie, this is serious. This is a big client. I’ll be signing an agreement as well,” Tom muttered.

  I sighed. “Fine. I don’t care. I don’t talk about my clients. This is nothing new. Is this person going to be getting special treatment? Am I supposed to come in at midnight?”

  “No ma’am, nothing like that. We are hoping he will go unnoticed and unrecognized. He’ll be holding regular appointments and be a regular client for the most part. However, there will be extensive follow-up by our team doctor to track progress,” the other man said, talking for the first time.

  “Okay. I’m sure he’ll be added to my schedule. No big deal,” I said casually.

  “It is a big deal,” the first man stated, almost irritably.

  “When is all of this supposed to happen?” I asked.

  “We’d like to start as soon as possible. It is imperative he is on the road to recovery as soon as possible.”

  I looked at Tom, who was already on the computer. “We have an opening tomorrow with Evie.”

  “Perfect. We brought the NDAs with us. If we can get those signed, we can take care of anything else you need to get started,” the man said, producing a file that had been tucked inside his jacket.

  I waited until I was handed the contract, quickly skimmed over it and didn’t see anything too horrible. Basically, it was a threat to ruin my life should I open my big mouth. I still believed they were being very dramatic. It was Hollywood hype. They were trying to make the player sound more important than he actually was.

  With the paperwork signed and the appointment made, there was only one little piece of business left to deal with. “Who is it?” I asked.

  The two men exchanged a look. “His name is Dayton Black.”

  I was thoughtful for a second. “Dayton Black,” I repeated, mulling over the name.

  “Yes. He’s in town. He is from around here, so people will recognize him. If that happens, we need to make sure no one suspects he has the injury,” the man in the suit said again.

  I shrugged. “I really don’t understand what the big deal is.”

  “It is a big deal and we need your word you will keep his name and his business to yourself.”

  I scoffed. “You guys act like he is POTUS or someone people actually know and care about. I’m sure some people do care, but I don’t follow sports and I know a lot of people who don’t. His little secret is safe.”

  “Good. Great.”

  The men walked out of the office with the assurance my client would be there tomorrow, on time and ready to be healed. Once they were gone, I looked at Tom, who was grinning like a fool.

  “What the hell was that about?” I asked.

  “You just landed the biggest client of your career, hell of my career. This is awesome!” he said, clapping his hands together.

  “I don’t see what the big deal is. A body is a body, except the ones with a layer of fur. Those bodies are not the same,” I muttered.

  “Are you going to be ready for tomorrow?” he asked in a professional tone.

  I shrugged. “It’s just another client. I don’t know who the guy is, and I truly don’t care.”

  “He’s something of a local hero around these parts. I’ve heard his name several times. His parents still live here in Hope.”

  “I’m sure I’ve heard the name, but I have heard a lot of names. I think this guy, or his team, must have a very inflated ego. They are making him sound as important as the Queen of England. He plays baseball. That’s it and I don’t see why he warrants such special treatment,” I said, getting to my feet.

  “Because he is a big deal and we are going to make him feel like he is a big deal. Understand?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Got it. Now, I have a client coming in soon. She isn’t anyone special, but her money is just as green as Baseball Boy’s and she deserves the same attention.”

  Tom nodded as I walked out of the office. I headed for my small room mulling over what had happened. I should have asked if I got hazard pay or something like that. If this guy was such a big deal and I had to sign papers that could end up costing me my livelihood, I really felt I should be getting paid more. Obviously, if the dude had men in suits clearing a path for him, he could afford it.

  That brought up another question: why me? I hadn’t been doing the massage thing for long. I was sure there were at least a million people better at it than I was. If this guy was such a big deal, why didn’t they buy him someone and fly them to some secret island hideaway? I shook my head, realizing there was no point in trying to figure out why crazy people did anything. He was a client, just like any other client, and I would treat him as such.

  Mr. Dayton Black was only a man with celebrity status. He was still a person with an injury that needed some massage therapy. I would keep it clinical. Maybe that’s why they chose me. I wouldn’t fangirl over the guy. I didn’t know him and just really didn’t care about what he did. I had more important matters to deal with that impacted my life and couldn’t afford to get all worked up over a man who would only be in town for a few weeks while he healed.

  It was life as usual for me.

  Chapter 7

  Dayton

  I woke up in pain. It took me a second to catalog it and then everything came flooding back. It wasn’t the usual pain I felt after a game or a particularly strenuous workout. It was my arm. My fingers were tingling and there was a prickling, painful feeling in my shoulder and all the way through my bicep and tricep muscles.

  “Fuck,” I mumbled, hating to acknowledge the idea I was actually injured.

  I knew other athletes suffered injuries, but so far, I had dodged the bullet. I had been in good shape and stayed in good shape to avoid those injuries. And then one day, I wasn’t, and it happened. I closed my eyes, imagining my life without baseball. It was hard to think about. Baseball had been my world since I was in high school. I had dropped football and basketball my sophomore year, wanting to focus solely on baseball. I didn’t want to risk getting hurt in one of the other sports and screwing up my baseball season.

  I had been so careful all those years and now, I was looking down a very dark tunnel with no light at the end. If I were five years younger, an injury wouldn’t be a big deal. I’d sit out a season and recover and go back stronger than ever the following season. I didn’t have that luxury. Athletes lived their lives in dog years. Twenty-six was a little long in the tooth and there were about a hundred guys in the minors waiting for their shot at the big leagues. If I didn’t get my ass back in the game, I would lose my spot and it wasn’t easy to ever regain once it was gone.

  I got out of bed, not quite ready to accept defeat, and headed for the shower. The hot water helped loosen up the joint, but it was still stiff and painful. I managed to dress, taking it easy when pulling on my shirt, being careful not to extend my arm too far. I grabbed the keys to my rented vehicle and headed out.

  As I went down the driveway, I saw my dad in the field, driving the tractor he was always tinkering on. I was willing to bet by the time I got back home, he’d have the hood up and be working on it once again. It was the way it went.

  At the clinic, I parked the SUV, pulled on my hat and checked my reflection in the mirror. The dark sunglasses and the hat were officially my disguise. I looked like a hundred other men and would blend in. Assuming the other hundred men were six-five or thereabouts.

  I walked inside, where one person was sitting in a waiting room filled with plenty of potted plants. White furniture and white walls gave it a very sterile, kind of spa look. I made my way to the reception desk and saw a pretty blonde sitting there.

 
“I’m Mr. White,” I said, using the code name I had been told to use.

  The woman nodded, pushed a button on her phone and smiled up at me. Thirty seconds later, a middle-aged man in khaki pants and a blue polo shirt tucked in tight emerged.

  “Mr. White, I’m Tom, the manager here,” he said, extending his hand.

  I gingerly took it and shook. “Hi, Tom.”

  “I’ll show you to the room,” he said, and I knew right away he was a fan.

  He was trying to play it cool but the sweaty palms, the big smile and the nervousness I saw were all dead giveaways. He knew who I was. That was expected. The important part was he knew but didn’t say a word. I was shown into a small room with a table on one side and one of those weird chairs with a hole in the headrest.

  “Are you the therapist?” I asked.

  Tom nervously laughed. “No. She’ll be in shortly. I just wanted to assure you that while you are our client, your privacy will be protected.”

  “I appreciate that. I need to be sure my name doesn’t get out to the general public. There is a lot riding on that,” I told him.

  He nodded, his head bobbing up and down. “Yes, sir, Mr. Black. We understand and have made sure it won’t be an issue. Your therapist has been apprised of the situation and understands.”

  “Good. I don’t want anyone knowing I’m coming here—for any reason,” I told him, using my professional voice.

  “No one will. You have my guarantee,” Tom said again. “I’ll leave you alone. She’ll be here in just a second.”

  The guy walked out, and I could imagine him on the other side of the door doing fist bumps or something like that. I would probably have to sign something for him. I didn’t mind, but I wouldn’t do it until I was on my way out of Hope. I didn’t want him showing off the autograph and the locals figuring out I was in town.

  I sat on the massage table, looking at the room that was supposed to be aesthetically pleasing and calming. There were a few of the standard inspirational posters and a large chart of the human body with all of the muscles. I checked my watch and quickly grew irritated. I had been a few minutes early, but I expected the therapist to have already been there and prepared. I didn’t appreciate having to wait. I felt my mood darkening and had to put myself in check. I was grumpy because I was in pain and my future was at stake. I tried to remind myself I couldn’t take it out on the therapist, but damn it, whoever she was, she was pissing me off.