Player's Ultimatum Read online

  “But you’ve never been ashamed of your relationships.”

  “You know I know that, but Rome is still stuck in the nineteenth century. They might have women exercising in the nude on television, but if you’re openly gay you’re committing blasphemy. And it doesn’t help I live and work right on the Pope’s front door step,” Robbie snorted, finally finding the humor in his predicament.

  “This is the twenty-first century. People are more accepting than they were just twenty years ago.”

  “Yeah, but this is the home of the Italian stallion. And according to the general populace, the stallion shouldn’t be mounting another stallion.”

  “I still say you should have let me open a can of whoop ass rather than pretend to be your fiancée until you ink what we hope will be a seven figure contract.”

  A smirk lifted Robbie’s lips. “Are you sure you aren’t gay? You’ve always had masculine tendencies.”

  Not judging by the way her body reacted to Paolo Saito. “No way, hombre. This beard is strictly dickly.”

  Robbie’s shoulders bounced with laughter. “So are you still in?”

  “Isn’t what we’re doing a little extreme?” Yvonne asked, enunciating her words carefully, as if she spoke to a child.

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m about to lose my dream. I only have a few more months to prove myself by helping the team win the European Cup. I can’t do that with the media speculating on who I’m sleeping with.”

  Although deeply touched by his single-minded pursuit, Yvonne still needed to point out a more rational alternative. “Couldn’t you have taken your relationship underground or stopped seeing Chris for a while? At least until things died down.”

  “I did that. Chris returned to the states, soon after the first pictures came out. The media just started wondering why I kept to myself and why I haven’t picked up one of the hundreds of beautiful women who flock around the team.”

  “Why didn’t you fake the funk and grab some groupie to play house?”

  “There’s no one in the world I trust as much as I trust you. Plus, I’m not a douche. No way am I stringing along some woman to only drop her for my boyfriend again.”

  At least he wasn’t heartless. Maybe certifiably insane for coming up with such a ludicrous plan which landed her four thousand miles from home.

  “Come on, Yvonne. You’re in Rome, the city of love. Enjoy the opportunity to live in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. And think about the money you’ll earn to pay off your student loans.”

  “Ouch, you really know how to go for the jugular.”

  Smiling broadly, Robbie reached up and slid his finger across his throat.

  “You were that sure I would drop everything and fly across the ocean to lay up with you?”

  “I wouldn’t say that, but I was really lucky to catch you at the right time. You only have one semester left to earn your MBA and your love life is on hold right now. So I figured it would be a win-win situation for the both of us.”

  Reminded of her lack of a love life, Yvonne groaned, she’d been celibate for over two years.

  “Are you going to stick to the script or are you going home?”

  Not one to leave a friend in a lurch, even one as big as Robbie’s, Yvonne resigned herself to her fate. “Like glue,” she said, sitting back in the SUV’s hand-tailored leather. Yvonne took several deep breaths, releasing her past and accepting her future. “We’ve made our bed so it’s time to lie in it.”

  “Stop sounding like Ms. Doom and Gloom.” Robbie started the car and placed it in reverse. “This will be like old times—two fierce bitches hitting the town.”

  Yvonne chuckled. “I don’t mind hitting the town. I’m just worried about the repercussions.”

  Without taking his eyes off the road, Robbie reached out and chucked the bottom of her chin. “If there are any, I’m prepared to carry the full weight.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. You have way more to lose than I do.”

  Yvonne expected Robbie to counter her claims with more of his optimism, he didn’t. Instead, he kept his eyes on the road.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Robbie’s silver Range Rover rumbled over centuries old cobblestones while a light drizzle splattered against the windshield. The driving rhythm of Brazilian Bossa Nova drowned out the rumble of the vehicle’s engine and the weather.

  Like the music, Yvonne’s heart pulsated with excitement. Every morning she would wake up and watch the sunrise over the Colosseum while she sipped on espresso. She could spend her afternoons throwing coins into the Trevi fountain and her evenings trying every wine from the Tuscan Valley to Naples.

  She couldn’t wait!

  The car slowed and Yvonne sat up. “Home sweet home,” she breathed, still in awe of the three-story villa they would share until the end of the football season.

  This time her mouth didn’t fall open as Robbie swung the car into the short driveway. And she no longer gasped in wonderment when the two heavy oak doors set in a ten-foot wall, bordering the entire property, slid open to reveal a private courtyard.

  Robbie whipped the low-slung truck into the courtyard, but took his time hitting the garage door opener. Thinking nothing of it, Yvonne reached for her door.

  “Wait!” Robbie’s arm shot out, blocking her from getting out. “I have a surprise for you.”

  Yvonne’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of surprise?”

  “Take a look,” he said nodding toward the garage.

  Yvonne’s mouth dropped open. When they’d left, the garage had been empty except for Robbie’s motorcycle. Now a white E Class Mercedes Benz sat next to it. “W-what’s that?” she stammered as goose bumps ran down her arms. “And whom does it belong to?”

  “The team leased it to me after I told them you would be coming over from the states. I had her customized so that’s why it wasn’t here when you arrived.”

  Yvonne blinked then blinked again. The Mercedes was still there! Unable to resist a peek, she jumped out, ran over to the car and cupped her hands over the window. She inhaled so hard, she almost swooned. She could smell the newness of the interior even through the separation in the glass.

  Yvonne’s smile slowly faded. Would I be able to give up this lavish lifestyle once Robbie inked his contract? She hoped so or she would be applying for a sex change operation as soon as possible!

  “You can take it for a spin in the morning. We have the Mid-season gala to attend. You do remember the party tonight?”

  “How could I forget,” Yvonne grumbled, following Robbie into the house. “I was tortured yesterday afternoon in preparation for it.”

  Robbie stopped to open the front door. “The spa wasn’t that bad was it?”

  “The haircut and body scrub no, the Brazilian butt wax h…e…double hockey sticks yes.”

  “It’s not a Brazilian butt wax. It’s called a…”

  The rest of whatever Robbie had to say became background noise the moment he opened the front door. As always Yvonne found herself drawn by the quiet beauty of the villas’ cool interior comprised of gleaming ebony wood floors and all white decor.

  What looked like an ordinary three-story villa with a faded stucco façade and red tiled roof was in actuality a chic bachelor pad. Though sparse in superfluous decoration, the furniture was top quality and expensive.

  Crème-colored goatskin rugs were thrown about haphazardly allowing the beautifully crafted floors to peek through. Cubist-inspired paintings dotted the living room walls while two kidney-shaped couches faced a large look-through fireplace.

  “I’m going upstairs to catch a little shut eye.”

  “You can take a short nap, but the limo arrives at seven.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be ready.” Yvonne mentally calculated the time. If she went upstairs now, took a shower, she could lay down for a couple of hours.

  Yvonne climbed the stairs to the second landing. Taking a deep breath, she palmed the gla
ss knob and went inside. Unlike the rest of the house’s cool elegance, her bedroom had been designed with her in mind.

  Like a hot-house flower, the room was fit for a sultan or pasha. Multi-colored curtains made of sheer gauze trailed from the vaulted ceiling and draped around the large bed, giving her some privacy from the rest of the room.

  With a cat-got-the-mouse grin, Yvonne climbed on top of the bed. As she stretched out on the cool satin duvet threaded with silver and gold thread, she moaned. “I can so get used to this,” she whispered, making satin angels in the spread, her arms and legs akimbo.

  Lying there reveling in her supreme luck, Yvonne’s eyes drooped, grew heavy. She’d take a shower later. As she snuggled into the coverlet, her last waking thought involved a certain Brazilian soccer player.

  *****

  “Please make yourself at home.” The butler waved his hand toward a group of chairs set in front of a large antique desk. “Signor Saito will be down shortly.”

  Instead of affording himself of his client’s hospitality, Joaquin Malfi continued to stand in the middle of the room.

  Of course, this wasn’t his first visit since accepting the assignment more than five months ago, but as a man of limited means Joaquin was afraid he might break something.

  Considering the opulent accoutrements in the home of one of Europe’s highest paid football players, he knew he couldn’t afford to replace anything if he did.

  Doubling as a library and home office, Saito’s study was an enormous space, the square footage equivalent to his one bedroom apartment.

  A combination of the old and new, the study consisted of art deco furniture dating back to the early twenties. Three of the four walls contained built in cherry wood shelves filled with hundreds of books. On the fourth wall, a pair of French doors opened onto a well-cared for garden. In front of these doors and somewhat cater-cornered sat a massive desk piled with books and several stacks of magazines.

  “Would you like a drink Signor Malfi?”

  Joaquin tried not to gawk at his host as he entered the room. An exotic blend of Brazilian and Japanese, Paolo Saito was what all the women magazines he free-lanced for called the total package.

  Blessed with a commanding height, a lean muscular frame and perfect symmetrical features Joaquin had to agree. Paolo Saito had a face that could sell thousands of magazines and he did on a consistent basis.

  “May I offer you a drink Signor Malfi?” Paolo repeated, drawing Joaquin back into the conversation.

  “No thank you, Signor. I like to keep my senses clear while conducting business,” he replied softly, suddenly insecure about his protrusive overbite. “I’m not keeping you from something more important am I?”

  Although the younger man’s feet were bare, Saito was elegantly attired in a black suit and tie.

  Probably on his way out to pick up some groupie, Malfi speculated. The footballer’s success with the opposite sex was legendary and well-documented in the press. He ought to know, he’d shot most of the evidence.

  “No, no sit.” Paolo gestured to a leather chair in front of his desk. “The Club is having a gala to celebrate the second half of the season.” Paolo settled behind his desk.

  Not wanting to appear rude, Joaquin sat down as well. “So why did you want to see me?”

  “Our arrangement has come to an end.” Paolo reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a padded envelope.

  Even though he resisted the urge to lick his lips, Joaquin sat forward. “H-how much is there?”

  Saito tossed the envelope on the desk between them. “Three thousand euro per our agreement.”

  Joaquin thumbed through the envelope’s contents.

  “Well that will be all then.” Paolo smacked the arms of the high-back chair as he moved to stand.

  “Wait!” When Paolo’s eyebrows rose in surprise, Joaquin smiled apologetically for his tone. “I have something which might be of interest to you.” Joaquin dropped the money in his photographer’s bag and then produced a manila envelope.

  “What’s this?” Paolo asked his gaze on Joaquin’s bargaining chip.

  “Pictures of Robbie Gutierrez and his lovely, new fiancée. She was at this afternoon’s match.”

  To Joaquin’s surprise, Paolo shrugged. “I already knew she was coming. Your job is done, Malfi. My first impression was obviously wrong.”

  Joaquin rushed forward before the new Vespa he’d planned on buying slipped through his fingers. “Do you not find it strange that as soon as Gutierrez shipped his boyfriend back home he brought in this woman?”

  Paulo stood up, a sure sign their meeting was over. “Maybe he and the male model were just friends.”

  “B-b-but Signor Saito.” Joaquin licked his lips nervously. “Don’t you think there is a certain advantage to this woman’s arrival?”

  Saito frowned down at the unopened envelope as he fingered the clasp with a manicured fingernail. “What kind of advantage?”

  “How many women have claimed to be in love with someone else and then slept with you?”

  Joaquin knew the instant Saito caught on. The other man’s eyes narrowed and he tapped a finger against the desk.

  “Probably dozens, but that’s none of your business.”

  Joaquin went in for the kill. “If you really want to break Gutierrez, this woman is the key,” he implored. “Seduce her, woo her away from him. And of course, I will be more than happy to document your secret trysts and leak them to the press. Don’t you want to finish what you started?”

  Saito glanced back down at the unopened envelope. His expression unreadable, he shoved his hands in his pants pockets and rocked back and forth on his toes.

  Joaquin could see the wheels spinning in his head. Paolo Saito might be too good-looking for his own damn good, but he wasn’t dumb.

  “Do you have any plans tonight, Malfi?”

  Joaquin shook his head. His wife was a shrew and his only child lived in Venice. So he had no reason to rush home.

  “Good. You’ve just been invited to a gala hosted by Roma Internazionale at The Atrium. I’ll put your name on the media list. Don’t forget your camera.” Saito glanced down at his messenger bag.

  “I carry it with me all times because you just never know.” Joaquin rose from his seat. As he followed his client to the front door, he tried to rationalize what he’d just done. Unfortunately, he only came up with dollar signs.

  *****

  “This is by far the best day of my life!” Robbie crowed settling into the back seat of the limo the Club sent around to transport them to the gala. “Who would have imagined I would have scored the match’s winning goal?”

  For the last ten blocks, Robbie prattled on and on about his stellar performance during today’s match. He was so excited he didn’t notice she’d been quiet during most of it.

  The gala was her official debut as his fiancée and Yvonne was scared shitless. Tonight she would be introduced as Robbie’s fiancée not only to the entire team, but to the world as well. Thank goodness she looked the part!

  Normally a t-shirt and jeans kind of gal, she was now clad in a midnight-blue slip dress by some hot designer, who’s name she could barely pronounce much less afford. Of course, Robbie picked up the tab along with the entire wardrobe he’d treated her to the moment she’d stepped off the plane.

  Satin ribbons crisscrossed the dress’ bodice, ending in tiny bows at her shoulders. Although cut at a modest length, grazing the tops of her knees, the dress hugged her like a second skin, reminding Yvonne of something a femme fatale would wear on some daring act of espionage. All she needed was a martini, shaken not stirred.

  Thanks to years of gymnastic lessons, she wore a pair of stiletto sandals, held up by satin ribbons wrapped around her ankles, with ease. To complete her look, Robbie had styled her shoulder-length hair into an abundance of loose waves and played up the boudoir effect by applying smoky eye shadow on her lids and slicking her lips with a deep burgundy lip gloss.

&
nbsp; “You still have that killer bod the neighborhood guys drooled after,” Robbie joked, pulling Yvonne out of her thoughts. “Without it I don’t think we would have been able to pull this farce off as successfully as I thought.”

  Bristling, Yvonne turned away from the window. “You couldn’t use an overweight fiancée to convince the team?”

  “Yeah I could have, but I don’t think they would have believed she was once an exotic dancer.”

  “A what!?” Yvonne exploded.

  Robbie slid into the corner just out of arms reach. Smart idea. She had murder on her mind. “The guys and I were talking in the locker room after the game one day and I let it drop you were coming to town. I got so caught up in the lies; I embellished your background a little bit.”

  “A little,” Yvonne fumed. “I refuse to be a part of some Jerry Springer episode Roberto Tomas Gutierrez. And if you think I’m taking off my clothes in public you have another thing coming like my foot in your behind.”

  Robbie reached over to pat her knee, Yvonne swatted his hand away. “I told them you used to be an exotic dancer,” he corrected. “And you only did it to support your way through graduate school.”

  Yvonne moaned. “Not the old Player’s Club excuse. That’s the oldest and lamest excuse in the book.”

  Appalled, Yvonne turned her back to him. She couldn’t believe Robbie’s spinelessness. How could a man who supposedly was gay and in touch with his feminine side, be such a chauvinist.

  “I’m sorry, Yvonne. It was crude and totally out of character for me. I took my desire to be accepted too far. It was like being in grade school all over again with me trying to be like one of the boys. If you want to back out now, I would understand.”

  After a few moments of silence passed, Yvonne let him off the hook. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, Robbie. You know I forgive you. But if you start making up stories about our love life and rehashing it for more locker room gossip, I will be on the next flight back to Orlando. Agreed?”

  “Agreed. Oh! I almost forgot something.” Robbie pulled out a small velvet box from his jacket. “Yvonne Floyd will you marry me?” Robbie paused to clear his throat. “I promise to never sleep with you. I will respect you, take you to the best clubs in Rome and make you the most stylish woman in Italy.”