It Had To Be You

Chapter 19

Phoebe studied her reflection in the long, narrow mirror that occupied the end wall of the only ladies' rest room in the Stars Complex. The loose-fitting, gray cowl-necked sweater she had chosen to wear to work today covered her from neck to thigh. Below the sweater, a matching wool skirt fell in soft folds to mid-calf, where gray opaque hose and conservative pumps covered up the rest of her. She'd brushed her hair into a neat page boy held back from her face with a gray velvet headband, and only her enormous free-form silver earrings and wide cuff bracelets kept her from looking like the president of a suburban bridge club.

It was a good thing Viktor couldn't see her because he'd die laughing. She didn't care. For the first time in her life, she was enjoying dressing in different ways. Now when she donned her flashier clothes, it was because she enjoyed wearing them, not because she was trying to reshape who she was. Spandex and gold lame would always be part of her wardrobe, but she was no longer afraid to dress in less conspicuous outfits.

She turned slightly and frowned as she ran her hands over her hips. They weren't boyishly slim by any stretch of the imagination. Maybe Dan thought she was fat and that was why he hadn't indicated any desire to make love to her since that night in the airplane rest room nearly two months ago. As she left the rest room, she wondered if he would ever cash in on that "now" he'd promised her.

Pooh trotted up to her, the red and green plaid bows Phoebe had just refastened at her ears dangling, untied. The staff had left an hour ago, and after the chaos of the day, the building seemed unnaturally quiet. She passed offices decorated with swags of gold tinsel and pots of red poinsettias in anticipation of Christmas, which was less than a week away. Pooh padded out to the lobby to claim one of her favorite spots near the door.

Dan chose the dinner hour to work out because he could have the weight room to himself, and Phoebe'd fallen into the habit of stopping by to talk with him before she left for home. She heard his rhythmic grunts even before she entered. He was lying on a padded bench with his knees bent, feet on the floor, and hoisting an alarmingly large set of weights over his chest. His muscles knotted and the veins in his forearms stood out like thick, dark cords as he extended the bar and slowly lowered it. She watched his pectorals bulge beneath the sweat-soaked cotton of his T-shirt and felt her mouth grow dry.

He hadn't seen her yet, so she didn't have to hide her longing as she gazed at him. The muscles in his thighs bunched, and her eyes moved upward to the leg openings of his baggy gray shorts. She treasured their growing friendship, even as it left her frustrated. She wanted to be his lover, not just his friend, but she was beginning to believe she might as well wish for the moon. A decade's worth of hang-ups about men was proving hard to overcome, and she was increasingly afraid that she couldn't give him whatever it was he wanted in a woman.

With a noisy grunt, he dropped the bar into the standards and sat up. His damp hair was rumpled, and sweat glistened on his neck as he smiled at her. "When are you going to get into some sweats and start working out yourself?"

"I'll get back to my aerobics classes one of these days," she said without much enthusiasm. "Besides, Pooh and I walk every night."

"I'll just bet that's a workout and a half."

"Don't be smug. Not all of us want world-class muscles."

He grinned. "So you think my muscles are world-class?"

"For a man of your age. Definitely."

He gave a hoot of laughter, rose, and made his way over to another bench, this one with a padded roller. While he turned his back to adjust the weights, she kicked off her pumps and stepped up on the elephant-sized Toledo scale at the end of the room. If she allowed nine pounds for her clothing, she was exactly where she wanted to be.

The dial was nearly the size of a stop sign, so she stepped off before he had a chance to read it. She walked over to the bench he'd vacated, and as she sat down on it, her soft wool skirt fell in decorous folds around her calves. At last Sunday's game, she'd worn an updated flapper dress that had been a big hit with the fans, but coming up with a new outfit every week was straining her living allowance.

"The front office was crazy today," she said. "Since the Bears are out of contention, the whole town's caught Stars fever."

He had hooked his ankles under the padded roller and was straightening his legs to lift an impressive stack of weights. "Chicago likes its sports."

Two more Stars' victories had followed their upset over the Giants, and then they'd lost to the Saints and the Buffalo Bills in the final weeks of November. They'd won three games against formidable opponents since then, however, and their record made them long shots for the AFC Central Division title.

The most surprising development had been in the AFC Western Division. Dan had told her what a devastating effect injuries could have on a team, and she'd seen it happen with the Portland Sabers. What had begun as a brilliant season for them had turned sour when they lost their talented quarterback and three other key players. After going undefeated for five straight games, they had lost every game but one. Their quarterback was healthy again, however, and the experts were expecting them to come back strong in the playoffs.

"Now let's see if I've got this right." She dangled one gray pump from her toes and let it swing back and forth. Her silver ankle bracelet, with its tiny crystal beads, glimmered in the light. "We can take the AFC Central title if we win this week and if Houston loses its game against the Redskins. Is that right?"

"Only if the Bengals beat the Steelers." He grunted from exertion. "And I have to remind you that we're playing the Chargers this weekend. The last time we went up against them, their defense held us to seven."

"Bobby Tom told me he's not afraid of the Chargers' defense."

"Bobby Tom'll tell you he's not afraid of nuclear war, so I wouldn't put too much stock in his opinion."

The ranking system was so complicated that it had taken Phoebe forever to get it straight. Although she still didn't completely grasp all the variables, she knew that if the Stars won the Central Division championship, they were in the running for the two AFC playoff games, which would culminate in the AFC Championship the third week of January. If they won that, she would be the undisputed owner of the Stars, and her father would roll in his grave.

She could no longer put her finger on the exact moment when the idea of keeping the Stars had begun to be far more appealing than returning to New York and opening a gallery. It was more than her attraction to Dan, more than achieving some sort of posthumous revenge against her father that lured her. Every workday presented new challenges. She loved turning on her computer and manipulating the numbers on the spreadsheets. She loved the meetings, the phone calls, the sheer, impossible task of trying to perform a job for which she was so woefully unqualified. Sometime in the past few months, she had begun to dread the idea of turning the team over to Reed.

"Frankly, I wish you'd act a little more confident. Where's all that jock talk I hear you giving the players."

"It's just the two of us now…" He gasped for breath. "… and you've got even more riding on this than they do. I don't want to give you false hopes. We've got a great football team, and we're getting better every game." He kept glancing over at her, and for some unfathomable reason, he seemed to be growing irritated. "Nobody gave us enough credit at the beginning of the season, but for all the heart our players have, they're still young and we still make too many mistakes. The Chargers have one hell of a football team, and with Murdrey coming off the injured list for the Sabers-Would you mind not doing that?" The weights fell with a clatter.

"Doing what?"

"What you're doing!"

He was glaring at the gray leather pump she was swinging back and forth from her toes. She stopped the movement. "What are you so grouchy about?"

He got up from the machine. "I'm trying to concentrate is all, and you're sitting there showing off your legs!"

Her skirt had ridden up until it was a scandalous three inches below her knee. "You're kidding. This is bothering you?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

He stood in front of her with his hands on his hips and that mulish expression on his face that told her he didn't intend to back down even though he must know he was well on the way to making a fool out of himself.

She forced herself not to smile, but a small bubble of happiness was expanding inside her. "I'm really sorry." Looking contrite, she stood. "I had no idea you were so sensitive."

"I'm not sensitive exactly."

She stepped a little nearer to him. "Of course you're not."

He looked wary. "Maybe you'd better not come any closer. I'm pretty sweaty."

"Gosh, I hardly notice anymore. I guess that's what comes from spending so much time around a football team."

"Yeah, well…"

With the courage of the desperate, she placed the palm of her hand on his damp T-shirt, directly over his heart. "You've been working hard."

He didn't move. She could feel the solid, fast thump of his heart and hoped it wasn't just a reaction to the workout. Their eyes locked, and she experienced a yearning so intense that she knew it must show in her face.

"This isn't a good idea." His words had a tight, choked sound, but he made no attempt to back away.

She found her courage. "You didn't mind my touching you the night we were flying home from the Meadow-lands."

"I wasn't thinking straight that night."

"Then don't think straight again." Closing her eyes, she wrapped her fingers around his upper arms and kissed him. When he didn't kiss her back, she brushed her lips over his, praying he would respond before she lost her courage.

With a groan, his lips parted and he thrust his tongue into her mouth. He splayed one of his hands over her bottom and caught the back of her head with the other, pulling her hard against him. Their mouths ground together, tongues probing. Her hands were all over him, she wanted him so badly. She felt him hard, throbbing. Maybe now.

He grasped her shoulders and gently set her away from him. She could see him struggling for control. "We shouldn't do this, Phoebe."

"Why not?" Numbly, she tried to absorb his rejection.

"There you are."

She whirled toward the door as Reed walked in. His black wool topcoat was unbuttoned and a white cashmere scarf showed inside his collar. How much had he seen?

As the Stars had begun to pile up victories, Reed's friendliness had developed cracks. He had never expected it to take so long for him to gain control of the team. Although he was still careful how he spoke to her when others were around, when they were alone, she caught glimpses of the young bully who had torn up her mother's picture.

He pulled off a pair of black leather gloves. "I'm glad I caught you, Dan. I want to get together soon to talk about the draft. I have a few ideas we need to discuss."

"It'd be real nice to chat with you, Reed," Dan said pleasantly. "But until we lose, I'm afraid I can only listen to Phoebe's ideas."

She could see that Reed didn't like being brushed off, but he was too smart to let Dan know it. Instead, he gave her that patronizing smile that made her want to claw his eyes out. "Phoebe doesn't know anything about the draft."

"Now you might be surprised what Phoebe knows. As a matter of fact, she was just now giving me her opinion about Rich Ferguson at Michigan State. Weren't you, Phoebe?"

"The kid's really something," she replied with remarkable confidence, considering the fact that she'd never heard of Rich Ferguson.

"It's amazing how much a smart woman can learn in just a few months. That doesn't mean I agree with you about that Jenkins kid, though."

"You may be right. I'll think it over." Lord, don't strike me down for lying. She appreciated Dan's defense of her, but it couldn't compensate for the undeniable fact that she had practically thrown herself at him, and he had rejected her.

Reed sensed an alliance and didn't like it. "You'll have to deal with me sooner or later," he said tightly. "And I'm afraid my management style is going to be more direct than Phoebe's."

"I'd expect you to do things your own way," Dan replied, refusing to take the bait.

Gary Hewitt, who was working nearly as many hours each week as Dan, poked his head through the door. "Sorry to interrupt, Dan, but we've got some new film I want you to look at. I think we may have an answer to the problem with Collier."

"Sure, Gary." He turned to Phoebe, and by the slight lift of his eyebrow asked if she wanted him to stay to lend moral support.

She smiled. "We can finish our discussion tomorrow."

He wrapped his towel around his neck and, with a nod to both of them, left.

Reed slapped his black leather gloves in his palm. "Let me take you out to dinner. It'll give us a chance to catch up."

"I'm sorry. I try to eat with Molly during the week."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "I haven't told you how much I admire the way you've taken over with her. You're hardly the maternal type, so I know it's been a sacrifice."

"I enjoy Molly. It hasn't been a sacrifice at all."

"I'm glad. Now that Bert is gone, I can't help but feel at least a little bit responsible for you. I guess that's only natural since I'm your only surviving male relative."

"Thank you for your concern, but I'm doing fine."

"I'm just grateful that you're a woman of the world. It's obvious from what I saw when I walked in here tonight that the sharks are circling."

"Sharks?"

He chuckled. "It's all right, Phoebe. You don't have to pretend with me. I'm sure you find Dan's courtship as amusing as I do. Nobody expected the Stars to get this far-not even their coach. I suppose it's natural that he'd hedge his bets, although I would have expected him to be more subtle about it."

"Reed, I have no idea what you're talking about," she said stiffly.

His forehead knit with concern. "Oh, God, Phoebe. I'm sorry. I thought-You're really serious about him, aren't you? God, I feel like an ass. I didn't mean to be so clumsy about this."

"Why don't you just say what's on your mind." Phoebe affected a calmness she didn't feel.

He gazed at her as if he were a kindly uncle. "Football is the most important thing in Dan's life. Both of us know that. Having even an outside chance of getting his hands on the Stars has to be driving him crazy. Now he's using you without any risk to himself. If the Stars lose, he can ease out of the relationship with no harm done. But if they don't lose-" His jaw tightened. "I think you can expect our head coach to hit you with a marriage proposal so fast your head will spin."

Dan wasn't without his faults, but he wouldn't use her to get the Stars, and she had never liked Reed less than she did at that moment. He was slick and oily, totally unprincipled and utterly selfish. Even so, she knew he probably believed what he was saying since that was what he would have done had he been in Dan's shoes.

"Thank you for your concern, but I think you're taking my relationship with Dan more seriously than I am." Liar!

"I'm glad to hear that. I probably shouldn't have even mentioned it. This discussion will be pointless by Sunday evening anyway. The Stars are overmatched this weekend. I hope you're prepared for the team to lose."

"We'll see."

After Reed had left, she stood in the empty weight room and thought how ironic his suspicions about Dan were. If Dan was trying to get his hands on the Stars by romancing her, he was certainly botching the job.

Ron had to make a last-minute telephone call from his car phone, and Phoebe was alone as she entered the impressive silver and blue lobby of one of DuPage County's newest and most prestigious country clubs. It was three days after Christmas, and the lobby was still decorated with evergreen boughs and poofy silver bows. Since Jason Keane was the prime backer of the club, she wasn't surprised that he'd chosen its private dining room as the site of this meeting she had requested.

She was still trying to absorb the fact that the Stars' hopes were alive for at least one more week. Contrary to Reed's prediction, the Stars had beaten the Chargers by a field goal in an unbearably suspenseful game on Sunday, managing to win the AFC Central Division title over the Steelers, who had lost to the Bengals in overtime. Now they would have another chance to keep her dream alive.

She was undoubtedly setting herself up for a fall. Bert had tried unsuccessfully for years to renegotiate the stadium contract with Jason Keane, and she had no reason to believe she could resolve a situation that had defeated her father. Her weeks of study had given her a fairly comprehensive understanding of the team's finances, but she had no experience with complex negotiations.

Logic dictated that she simply sign the new contract the lawyers had delivered last week. There would be no more last-minute reprieves for the Stars; their next defeat would put them permanently out of the running. If she somehow managed to improve the terms of the stadium contract, she would only be helping Reed. On the other hand, until the Stars lost their next game, she was still the owner, and she was going to do what was best for the organization.

Thinking about what lay ahead of her tonight had taken its toll, and her stomach was churning. The sensation escalated as the heavily etched glass door marked Members Only swung open on the far side of the country club lobby. She sucked in her breath as she identified the tall, well-built man in the tuxedo as Dan.

Planning for this evening had kept her mind too busy to dwell on his rejection of her kiss in the weight room last week. Now the hurt came back, and she stiffened as he walked toward her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm a member. Did you think I might be crashing your meeting with Keane?"

"How did you know about our meeting?"

"From Ron."

"It's supposed to be confidential."

"I haven't told anybody."

"You're deliberately missing the point. You weren't supposed to know about it."

"Now that doesn't half make sense, Phoebe. How could Ron invite me along if he didn't tell me you had a meeting?"

Tonight would be difficult enough without having Dan witness something that had every chance of turning into a disaster. "I'm afraid I have to withdraw Ron's invitation. We agreed this was to be a private meeting between the two of us, Jason Keane, and a few of his advisers."

"Sorry, Phoebe, but Ron gets vicious when I don't do what he tells me. I've been afraid to tangle with him ever since he gave me that shiner."

"He did not give you a shiner! You're being-That's the most ridiculous-"

As she sputtered, Dan had to force himself not to bend over and lick the scowl right off her mouth. A surge of hundred-percent pure lust had shot through him the moment he'd seen her. Instead of getting used to keeping his hands off her, not touching her had grown more difficult each day. Everything about her turned him on. Right now, for example. Most women's hair when they got dressed up looked all stiff and sprayed. Phoebe's looked bedroomy instead. It fell in soft blond waves nearly to her shoulders, curling a little bit at the ends as if he'd just run his fingers through it. And she had the prettiest neck he'd ever seen on a woman, long and graceful.

He told himself he should be thankful the rest of her was still covered up by that black evening coat. Even those loose-fitting clothes she wore to work sometimes lately didn't do much to conceal what was underneath. He knew he should be happy that she was dressing more like a conservative businesswoman, but the truth was, he found himself anticipating those days when she showed up looking like her old self. Not that he was going to admit that to her.

The hardest thing he'd done in his life was to stop kissing her that last time. Even though he'd been trying to do the honorable thing by backing away, the forlorn expression on her face had made him feel like a worm. Except for those few seconds when he'd lost control, he hadn't done anything in almost two months to lead her on. He should feel good about that, but instead he was miserable. He kept telling himself Phoebe would be going back to Manhattan soon and everything would be better, but instead of cheering him up, that made him even more depressed.

Phoebe was still going at him. Those tilty-up eyes of hers had darkened to the color of old brandy as she did a slow simmer over his unanticipated presence tonight. He wished Sharon could stand up to him the way that Phoebe did, but Sharon was a sweet little thing without one ounce of Phoebe's sass, and he couldn't imagine it.

Even though he saw Sharon at least once a week, this was the first time he'd ever been involved with a timid woman, and he hadn't quite made the adjustment yet. A few times Sharon's mild nature had begun to irritate him, but then he'd reminded himself of the benefit. He'd never in his life have to worry about Sharon Anderson smacking his kids when she got upset. He'd never have to worry about her treating his kids the way his old lady had treated him.

Phoebe was tapping the toe of one of her high heels while her sparkly earrings swung back and forth through her hair. "Why did Ron want you here? He didn't say anything to me about it."

"You'll have to ask him that."

"Take a guess."

"Well, he did say something about maybe needing a backup quarterback. In case you went off the deep end or something."

"Is that so."

"You have a habit of doing that occasionally, you know."

"I do not!"

She yanked open her coat button, and as he saw what she was wearing beneath it, his amusement faded.

"Something wrong?" With a maddening smile, she allowed the coat to slip off her bare shoulders.

He felt as if he'd been poleaxed. How could she do something like this? He'd been strung tight for too long, and now he exploded.

"Dammit! Just when I start to think you might be learning a little common sense, you prove me wrong! Here I was actually believing you might be getting a faint glimmer of what this business is all about, but now I realize that you aren't even close!"

"My, my. Somebody certainly is grouchy this evening. Maybe you should mind your own business and go home." She finished removing her coat and carried it over to be checked, her hips swaying from side to side. As she turned back to him, he felt a pulse hammering in his temple. Just moments ago, he'd been thinking about how much he enjoyed Phoebe's exhibitionist clothes, but that was before he'd seen her current getup.

She was dressed like the head hooker in a bondage house. He took in the long, clingy black dress that looked more like an S &M harness than an article of clothing. The top half was made up of fishnet and black straps. One of the straps wrapped her neck like a collar, with a fan-shaped arrangement spreading down to a slightly wider strap that encircled the midpoint of her breasts and didn't do much more than cover her nipples. Through some black fishnet with holes the size of nickles he could see both the upper and lower swells straining against that narrow black strap.

At her waist the fishnet gave way to a slinky fabric that stuck like body paint to every curve of her hips. Near her thighs, the dress was ornamented with gold hardware that looked almost like garters, except garters should have been tucked away instead of hanging out where everybody could see. Adding insult to injury, the garment had a side slit that traveled all the way from here to kingdom come.

He yearned to bundle her up in his jacket and hide her from the world because he didn't want other people seeing so much of her body, which was a damned ridiculous notion considering her fondness for taking off her clothes. He grabbed her arm and led her toward an alcove off to the side of the lobby where he could hide her from public view and go at her in earnest.

"Is this your idea of how to dress for a business meeting? Is this your idea of what to wear when you want to negotiate a contract? Don't you understand that the only thing you're going to negotiate dressed like that is how much you can charge to crack a whip on some man's bare butt."

"What did you pay the last time?"

Before he could recover from that piece of impudence, she slipped right past him. Whirling around, he saw Ron walk in, and it was obvious from the stunned expression on his face that he was equally taken aback by Phoebe's getup. The men's eyes met, and Dan wondered if he looked as helpless as Ron did. Didn't she realize this was DuPage County? Women didn't dress like this in DuPage County, for chrissake. They went to church and voted Republican, just as their husbands told them.

He stalked toward her with a vague idea of executing a low tackle and then carrying her out over his shoulder when one of Keane's lackeys appeared. Before Dan could stop her, she had set off with him.

He didn't have much choice but to follow. By unspoken agreement, he and Ron quickened their steps until they had pushed the lackey out of the way and positioned themselves on opposite sides of her. At the end of the mirrored hallway, they passed through the doorway into Jason Keane's private dining room.

Dan had known Keane for nearly ten years. They'd partied together a few times, played some golf. Once they'd spent a liquored-up weekend deep-sea fishing in the Grand Caymans with a couple of lingerie models. Keane had always attracted women and, from what Dan had heard, turning forty hadn't made him want to settle down.

The small dining room looked like the library of an English manor house, with Oriental rugs, leather club chairs, and dark wooden paneling. Heavy crown moldings framed an ornate ceiling of plasterwork medallions and vines that flickered with shadows cast by the burning logs in the fireplace. Heavy velvet draperies had been pulled shut at the window, hiding a view of the ninth green beyond. The damask-covered oblong table was set for six with ornate silver and china banded in deep burgundy and gold.

Jason Keane, along with two of his cronies, stood next to the fireplace with heavy crystal tumblers in their hands. The atmosphere was decidedly masculine, and as Dan entered the room with Phoebe dressed in her bondage clothes, the uncomfortable memory of one of Valerie's favorite pornographic books came back to him. He shied away from the ugly feeling that Phoebe was O, and that he was about to offer her up to the brotherhood.

Keane came toward them, hand extended. The multimillionaire developer was a cool customer, but he couldn't quite hide his astonishment at Phoebe's dress. That astonishment quickly changed to something more intimate, and Dan had all he could do not to shove himself in front of Phoebe and tell Jason to set his sights on somebody else's bimbo.

Keane shook Dan's hand. "How's the golf game coming, buddy? Able to sneak in eighteen on any road trips?"

"Afraid not."

"Why don't we play Pebble next month?"

"Sounds good."

Keane greeted Ron, who introduced him to Phoebe. To Dan's disgust, she went into her whole routine: breathy voice, come-hither eyes, centerfold breasts straining to break free of that narrow black band. While she was showing off her goods to Keane and his boys, she didn't once glance in Dan's direction.

Dan watched with a combination of disgust and fury as Keane curled his palm over Phoebe's naked shoulder and drew her toward the fireplace. Keane was all millionaire playboy charm in his custom-made tux and white tucked shirt with its half-carat diamond studs. Of average height and build, he had dark, straight hair and a high forehead. Until that night Dan had considered Jason an okay-looking guy, but now he decided that his nose was too big and his eyes too weasely.

Dan took a drink from a waiter and exchanged greetings with the other men present-Jeff O'Brian, Jason's administrative assistant, and Chet Delahunty, his attorney. As soon as he could get away, he sauntered over toward the fireplace to eavesdrop. Ron obviously had the same idea because he trailed along.

Phoebe had her back to them, and he was almost certain he could make out her bottom-crack under that slinky dress material. She was licking Jason with her eyes and leaning into him as if he were a street corner lamppost. Dan's blood pressure shot into the stratosphere.

"I can call you Jason, can't I?" she cooed. "Especially since we have so many friends in common."

Dan waited for the drool to slide right out of Keane's mouth. "Like who?"

"Half of Manhattan." She rested her hand possessively on his sleeve, her red fingernails standing out like drops of blood drawn from the lash of the whip. "You know the Blackwells and Miles Greig, of course. Isn't Miles a scamp? And then there's Mitzi Wells, you devil."

Jason was obviously feeling the effects of all those gamma rays of adoration that were blasting away at him because his smile blossomed even wider. "You know Mitzi?"

"Of course I do. And you almost broke her heart."

"Not me."

She lowered her voice until it was a sultry whisper, then sucked on her bottom lip in a way that made Dan feel as if the top of his head were blowing off.

"If I confess something to you, will you promise you won't think I'm awful?"

"Cross my heart."

"I asked her to introduce us-this was before the two of you started to date seriously-and she refused. It nearly broke up our friendship, but now that I've met you, I can understand why she was so protective."

Dan could see Jason trying to spot the fastenings on Phoebe's cathouse dress, so he wouldn't waste any time getting her out of it later on. With a murmur of disgust, he tilted back his head and drained his glass. Keane would unfasten that dress over this ol' boy's dead body.

Dinner was ready and they took their places around the table, with Jason at the head and Ron and Phoebe on each side of him. Dan sat at the foot between Jeff O'Brian and Chet Delahunty. The meal seemed to drag on forever. By the time the main course was removed and dessert was served, the men at the bottom of the table had given up on even a desultory attempt at conversation so they could eavesdrop.

Dan watched Phoebe suck an out-of-season strawberry with her X-rated mouth. As she gazed into Keane's eyes, he told himself he was going to propose to Sharon Anderson that very weekend.

Ron had barely looked up from his dinner plate all evening, but as the coffee was poured, he finally seemed to come to life, about ninety minutes too late, as far as Dan was concerned.

"Excuse me for interrupting your conversation, Phoebe, but I think it might behoove us to discuss the reason for this meeting tonight."

Phoebe looked at him so blankly that Dan wanted to shake her. Was she so eager to add Keane to her scalp collection that she had forgotten why they were here?

"Reason?" she said.

"The stadium contract," Ron reminded her.

"Oh, pooh. I've changed my mind, Ronnie. I don't want to talk about that tonight. Why don't you just relax and enjoy yourself? Jason and I are friends now, and everybody knows you shouldn't do business with friends."

"A woman after my own heart," Jason chuckled.

"All Ronnie thinks about is business. It's so boring. There are more important things in life than some silly old contract."

Dan straightened in his seat. Something was wrong here. Phoebe did care about the contract, and she never called her GM Ronnie.

Keane gave Ron a smug smile. "Why don't you have some more wine, McDermitt?"

"No, thank you."

"Don't pout, Ronnie. You can call Jason tomorrow and tell him what I've decided."

"What is there to decide?" Keane said smoothly. "Everything's pretty much cut-and-dried."

Once again, she curled her fingers around his sleeve. "Not exactly, but let's not spoil tonight by talking about business."

Keane grew almost imperceptibly more alert. "We've sent you a fair contract. The same one your father signed. I hope you're as satisfied."

"I'm not satisfied," Ron said with a forcefulness that earned Dan's admiration. He waited with interest to hear Phoebe's response.

"Oh, I'm not satisfied either," she giggled. "Ronnie made me so upset about the bad deal the Stars were getting that he convinced me I had to do something." Like a small child reciting a well-learned lesson, she said, "Ronnie keeps reminding me that I'm a businesswoman now, Jason. And even though I'll probably only have the team for a short time longer, I have to think like an owner."

Dan kept his expression carefully blank as he leaned back in his chair to watch the show. What was his brainy little bimbo up to now?

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that Phoebe Somerville isn't enough of a businesswoman to make the tough calls, but that just isn't true."

"I wasn't thinking that at all." Keane's lazy smile was at odds with the hawklike intensity in his gaze. "What kind of tough calls do you have to make? Maybe I can help. I have a lot of experience with that sort of thing."

Ron's mouth twisted into something that, on any other man, would have been a sneer. "He's trying to manipulate you, Phoebe. Be careful."

Phoebe wrinkled her forehead. "Don't be rude, Ronnie. Jason wouldn't do anything like that."

Keane's eyes were boring holes through her skull, as if he were trying to see whether anything lurked between the air pockets. "Of course, I wouldn't. All of us have to make tough calls now and then."

Phoebe's pout turned into something closer to a whine. "But this one was really hard, Jason. Ronnie kept telling me you wouldn't be mad about it, but I'm not so sure. I don't see how you can be happy about the Stars moving."

Jason choked on the coffee he had been in the process of swallowing. "Moving?" His cup landed in his saucer with a clatter, and all his flirtatiousness disappeared. "What the hell are you talking about? Moving where?"

Dan watched as Phoebe's bottom lip actually began to quiver. "Don't be mad. Ronnie explained it to me, and everything'll be fine. We're going to exercise that one-year option we have with you for next season, so it's not as if we're moving immediately. You'll have lots of time to find another team to play in your stadium."

Keane spoke to Phoebe through gritted teeth. "Exactly where are you thinking about taking the Stars?"

"Manhattan, maybe. Wouldn't that be a gas? I'm not absolutely sure, of course, that the other team owners will go along with it, but Ronnie hired these nerds to do this big market survey, and they told him the New York City area can definitely support another football team."

Keane, obviously having decided where the real power behind the Stars lay, shot Ron a look of pure fury. "That's ridiculous! The Stars won't be able to use Giants Stadium. There are already two teams playing there."

But Phoebe wasn't ready to turn over the stage to her GM yet, and once again she cupped Keane's arm. "Not Giants Stadium. That's in New Jersey, for goodness' sake, and I never go to New Jersey unless I'm on my way to Philadelphia. Just because I won't own the team anymore doesn't mean that I'm not planning on seeing every game. I'm crazy about football now that I know all the players."

"You can't move the team unless you have a stadium!" Keane was nearly shouting. "Didn't McDermitt tell you that?"

"But that's the best part! Donald has just about recovered from all those horrible things that happened to him a few years ago, and he wants to build a domed stadium on that West Side land he owns." Her eyebrows wiggled suggestively. "We're close friends, you know, and he told me he'd give me my very own skybox as a gift if I'd sign a contract with him before I turn over the team to Reed." She looked stricken. "Don't be mad, Jason. I have to do what Ronnie tells me. He gets all upset if I don't behave like a real businesswoman."

Dan was grateful no one was paying any attention to him because he'd gotten dizzy from the altitude. He had to hand it to the kid, however. Ron leaned back in his chair with the smug look of a mafioso who had controlling interest in a concrete block company.

Keane's attitude underwent a subtle transformation, and he regarded Phoebe in a manner that was both unfriendly and patronizing. The thought passed through Dan's mind that Keane, for all his smarts, had better take care. Dan knew from past experience how easy it was to get suckered by these two con artists.

"I have to warn you that the whole thing sounds much too tentative to me. It's extremely doubtful the League would agree to a third pro team in the New York City area. If I were you, I wouldn't set my heart on moving the Stars to Manhattan."

Phoebe gave the same giggle that only ten minutes earlier had set Dan's back teeth on edge. Now it sounded as musical as church bells. How could he ever have doubted her? Not only was she smart as a whip, but she had guts.

"That's exactly what Ronnie said," she chirped, "but I have a backup plan."

"You do?"

She leaned closer. "You wouldn't believe how much Baltimore wants its own NFL team. Ever since the-" She looked down the table at Dan, and he finally knew her well enough to recognize the glitter in her eyes. As he kept his expression inscrutable, his chest swelled with pride.

"What was the name of that team that left Baltimore?" she inquired.

"The Colts."

"Right. Ever since the Colts left, Baltimore's been dying to get another team. And then there's Orlando." An expression of pure bliss settled over her face. "Those men are the sweetest guys in the world. Last week when we talked, they presented me with the cutest little Montblanc pen with gold mouse ears on it." She gave a soft, Minnie-like squeal and sighed with pleasure. "Oh, I just love Orlando. Their stadium site is right next to Disney World."

Keane looked stunned.

"So you see, I do know how to be a tough businesswoman." She slipped her napkin from her lap and stood. "Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to make a trip to the little girls' room. And, Ronnie, you be civil to Jason while I'm gone. You've gotten everything you want, so you can afford to be gracious."

As she walked away from the table, she took all of their eyes with her. The door shut.

Dan wanted to jump to his feet and give her a standing ovation. At that moment, he knew without doubt that he couldn't marry Sharon Anderson, and he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Phoebe filled his heart, not Sharon, and he was going to have to rethink everything. The future he'd been so certain about was now murky, a fact that should have depressed him. Instead, he experienced a surge of exhilaration.

Jason threw his napkin on the table, jumped to his feet, and rounded on Dan. "I thought we were friends! What the hell is going on here?"

Dan concealed his elation with a shrug. "It's front office business. I don't get involved."

"Not even when your football team may end up wearing fucking mouse ears on their helmets!"

Dan set down his coffee cup and deliberately wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "Considering her past history, I think Baltimore's more likely. It's closer to Manhattan."

Jason turned his anger on Ron. "This is all your doing, McDermitt. You've manipulated that fucking birdbrain! My God, you're leading her around by the fucking nose!"

Ron's smile revealed the teeth of a baby shark. "I've done what I had to, Keane. You've been screwing us over for years, and I finally found a way to stop you. Bert would never consider moving the team, but Phoebe doesn't have his sense of tradition, and it was quite easy to persuade her to look elsewhere. She has wonderful connections, you know, and I don't inquire too closely into how she's made them. One day she's on the phone with Trump. The next day with Disney. They've promised low rents, hefty concession percentages. They'll pick up the tab for security. I realize this will leave you with an empty stadium, but perhaps the Bears-"

"Fuck the Bears!" Keane shouted. "Do you think I want McCaskey breathing down my ass?" His eyes traveled from Ron to Dan and back again. And then they narrowed suspiciously. He turned to his attorney. "Stand outside the door and keep Phoebe occupied if she comes back. O'Brian, get Trump on the phone."

Dan could see the flicker of alarm in Ron's eyes, and he couldn't suppress his own dismay. You gave it your best shot, Phoebe, he thought. Unfortunately, Keane wasn't as easily suckered in as he had been.

A heavy silence descended on the room as the men waited for the call to go through. After several moments of muted conversation, O'Brian passed the phone over to his employer.

Keane spoke into the receiver with false heartiness. "Donald, it's Jason Keane. Sorry to interrupt your evening, but I'm tracing down an interesting rumor." He walked over toward the fireplace. "The word here is that you're thinking about building a stadium on that West Side land you own. If it's true, I might be interested in getting in on the action. Provided you have a team lined up."

He gripped the receiver tighter in his hand as he listened. "Is that so? No, I understand. I thought maybe the Jets… Really? Well, those things happen. Yes, indeed. Oh, certainly."

There was a long pause.

"I'll do that. Of course. Good speaking with you, too."

His face was gray as he slammed the phone to the cradle. "The son of a bitch wants the Stars. He told me he's promised Phoebe a pink marble skybox. The bastard actually had the gall to laugh."

Silence fell over the room.

Ron cleared his throat. "Do you want me to get the names of the men she spoke with in Orlando and Baltimore?"

"Don't bother," he snapped. Dan could almost see the wheels turning in Keane's well-oiled mind. "Dan, I remember you admiring that antique George Low Wizard putter of mine. It's yours if you get Phoebe out of here."

"I'm always happy to help out a friend," Dan said slowly.

"And you." Keane jabbed his finger at Ron. "You're not going anywhere until we put together a new contract."

Ron took his time selecting a cigar from the humidor that had arrived at the table along with the brandy. He rolled it between his fingers like a miniature Daddy Warbucks. "It'll have to be an attractive offer, Jason. Very attractive. I rather like Orlando myself."

"It'll be plenty attractive, you slimy son of a bitch!"

"Then let's deal." Ron smiled as he slipped the cigar into the corner of his mouth. "And Keane-Don't forget who's holding Trump."