Комбат. Смертельная битва. Андрей Воронин

why can’t you do it?”

      “Because I’m not the slugger with the golden arm. You are!”

      Everyone chuckled.

      “We’re doing it real big this year,” Nichola declared. “We’re having magicians, flamethrowers, a dunk tank and even circus performers. To keep everything on track, I booked celebrity event planner Claudia Jeffries-Medina. And award-winning photographer Kenyon Blake will be on hand to capture every heartfelt moment.”

      “It sounds like the Demetri Morretti Foundation is throwing one hell of a party!” Todd said with a grin.

      “The more press we get to cover the event the better.” Nichola rested a hand on Demetri’s forearm. “I’m going to need you to be nice to the media from here on out. No more arguments with Angela Kelly or anyone else who rubs you the wrong way.”

      I’d let that sexy newscaster rub me the right way all night long. Demetri shook his head in an attempt to remove the insane thought from his mind. Angela Kelly was the enemy, a woman who took great pride in humiliating him, and he wasn’t even remotely interested in her.

      Then why are you thinking about all the wicked things you’d like to do to her in bed? his inner voice jeered.

      “Demetri, if you want this event to be a success, you’ll have to be that fun, personable guy we all know and love.”

      “It’s hard to be in a jovial mood when perfect strangers are snapping pictures of me in the bathroom and the paparazzi is trailing me around town.”

      Nichola wore a sympathetic smile. “Just remember this event is for a good cause. Last year, we raised over a half a million dollars for the foundation, and this year I’m hoping to triple that number.”

      Her words made Demetri grin, filling him with pride. That was what it was all about. Making a difference in someone’s life. Being famous definitely had its good points, and now, thanks to his new multimillion-dollar contract, he could help even more children in need. “Thanks for overseeing everything,” he said, feeling bad for snapping at her earlier. “As usual, it sounds like you have everything under control.”

      “Now,” Todd said, “all we need are some celebrity faces to give the event star power!”

      “Speaking of star power, I received dozens of letters from local area schools this week.” Nichola took a stack of envelopes out of her purse and showed them to Demetri. “Are you interested in speaking at any of these functions?”

      Demetri thought for a moment. As far as he knew, he had nothing planned for the month. But if he went to the career-day events, there was a good chance someone would tip off the media, and he’d arrive to find a mob of fans and paparazzi. This was a main reason Demetri avoided public events. Because of his wealth, and the poor choices he’d made in the past, he was an easy target, and these days he couldn’t go anywhere without some young punk looking to start a fight. “Tell the organizers I can’t make it, but send each school a check.”

      “For the same amount as last year?”

      “Double it.”

      Lloyd’s jaw hit his flabby chest with a thud. “B-but, Demetri, that’s over two hundred thousand dollars to each school. A million dollars total.”

      “I know, Lloyd. I did the math.”

      “I’ll ensure your accountant sends out the checks today,” Nichola said, typing furiously on her iPad. “And I’ll make sure to tip my source at the Tribune about your very generous donation to five inner-city schools.”

      “No, don’t. It’s nobody’s business how much I give.” Demetri’s expression turned serious. He’d learned early on in his career it was better to leave some things private. He didn’t want anyone—especially his relatives—to hear how much he gave to charity. He could almost hear the outlandish things they would request if they knew. “Keep it quiet, Nichola. The less people who know the better.”

      “But it would be great press,” she argued. “And a touchy, feel-good story even someone like Angela Kelly would love!”

      At the mention of the newscaster’s name, he remembered their heated argument that morning at the studio. He told himself to stop thinking about Angela Kelly, to forget they’d ever met, but he couldn’t get her pretty brown eyes and her toned, curvy shape out of his mind.

      After leaving the television station, he’d returned to his car and turned on his cell phone. Instead of reading his newest text messages, he’d opened the internet and searched her name, clicking on the first link that popped up. He read Angela Kelly’s bio, then watched an hour’s worth of her most popular interviews. Most of them were with celebrities—actors, singers, professional athletes and supermodels. But Angela was so engaging, and witty, she looked like a star in her own right. There were dozens of pictures of her, at various events in and around town, and in each photograph she looked like a million bucks and had a different date.

      What’s up with that? Demetri quickly told himself he didn’t care. And he didn’t. His mother had always warned him against falling for pretty money-hungry types. And from the day he was drafted in the major leagues, gold diggers had been throwing themselves at him left, right and center. Feisty, headstrong women—like Angela Kelly—where by far the worst type.

      Tasting his wine, he hoped the savory drink eased his troubled mind. Demetri closed his eyes and saw Angela Kelly glaring at him. He gave his head a hard shake. He had to quit wondering how many guys she was dating and if she had a lover, because after today he had no intention of ever seeing her again—unless it was in civil court.

      Chapter 4

      Angela stormed inside her best friend’s kitchen, dumped her purse on the granite countertop and paced the length of the room, gesturing wildly with her hands. “I’m so angry I could scream!”

      “Well, please don’t,” Simone Young said, glancing into the living room. “The boys just fell asleep, and if you wake them, I’ll kill you.”

      Angela blew out a deep breath and counted to ten. On the drive over from the WJN-TV station, she’d relived every second of her argument with Demetri and the subsequent meeting with her boss. It didn’t matter which way Angela looked at it—she felt cheated. As if Salem had thrown her under the bus.

      “Now, what’s got you all riled up?” Simone closed the dishwasher and then leaned against it. Rubbing a hand over her baby bump, she cocked her head to the side and frowned. “Did that sleazy sportscaster proposition you again?”

      “No. Worse.”

      “I can’t imagine anything worse than being propositioned by a guy who drives a lemon and still lives at home with his mama!”

      A giggle tickled the back of Angela’s throat. Leave it to Simone to make her laugh in the midst of a crisis. That was why she’d driven across town in rush hour to see her. They’d been friends ever since meeting on the University of Chicago campus ten years ago, and Angela loved Simone like a sister. The busy wife and mother could make her forget her problems, even if just for a few minutes. And now more than ever, Angela needed her advice. “Hakeem’s not that bad. Just annoying. I can handle him.”

      “I’m all for keeping the peace at work, but I would have spoken to HR about his unwanted advances months ago.”

      “And have everyone at the station turn against me? No, thanks. The lead anchor hates me, so the few friends I have, I’d like to keep.”

      “Do you want a cup of ginger tea?”

      “Yeah, but put some vodka in mine.”

      Simone opened the cupboard, took out two ceramic mugs and waddled over to the kettle. “I swear, Angela, sometimes you’re just too much.”

      “What? I need some alcohol to steady my nerves. I’ve had the day from hell!”

      “Girl,