Комбат. Смертельная битва. Андрей Воронин

lips.

      “Your ex plays for the L.A. Jaguars,” he continued. “And he was nice enough to share all of the dirty details of your relationship with him.”

      Fear blanketed her skin. Licking her dry lips, Angela cast a nervous glance around the studio. She spotted her colleagues at the other end of the room, perusing the snack table, and sighed inwardly. Angela wasn’t proud of her past, and the last thing she wanted was for her colleagues to find out about all the wild and crazy things she’d done while living in L.A. It was hard enough being the only woman of color at the TV station, and she didn’t want to give the other broadcasters another reason to resent her. Not that they needed one. They thought she was too young to host Eye on Chicago, unqualified to work at the station and skating by on her looks. “Who I’ve dated is none of your business, and furthermore, my personal life has absolutely nothing to do with my Athletes Behaving Badly story.”

      “You see, Ms. Kelly, I did a little digging of my own and discovered that you’ve dated a lot of professional athletes,” he said, stroking his jaw reflectively. “And from what I hear, several of them dogged you out bad. That’s why you did that story. To get back at the guys who dumped you and to stick it to anyone who plays pro sports.”

      “That’s ludicrous.” Lifting her head, Angela arched her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. She wasn’t going to be Demetri Morretti’s punching bag. Not now. Not ever. “This conversation is over. Please leave.”

      “I will, Madame Gold Digger, as soon as you—”

      “Gold digger?” Angela repeated, splaying her hands on her hips.

      “Did I stutter?”

      “I don’t know any gold diggers who put themselves through school or who volunteer twenty hours a week at various local shelters, do you?”

      Angela saw a bolt of surprise flicker across Demetri’s face, but bragging about her volunteer work made her feel small, as if she’d just insulted all of the families she worked with. But her unexpected confession clearly stunned the baseball star, and Angela was determined to use this leverage to her advantage. “I have nothing against you or any of the other athletes mentioned in my story,” she said, meaning every word. “I did the piece to warn young women about the perils of pursuing professional athletes and—”

      “To stick it to your ex-lovers,” he tossed out, mirroring her rigid body stance.

      Angela made her eyes thin. “Maybe instead of coming down here and harassing me, you should have gone to the clubhouse to practice.”

      “What are you trying to say?”

      “I saw your last game before your shoulder injury. You jumped every pitch, your timing was way off, and your swing looked lifeless.”

      Demetri flexed his jaw muscles. He was well aware of his batting slump, and the problems with his swing, but he didn’t need anyone—especially a newscaster—reminding him. “There’s nothing wrong with my game.”

      “Oh, but there is. Ask your coach. Ask your teammates. Hell, ask the fans.”

      “I didn’t come down here to get batting tips from a reporter with no conscience,” he said, folding his arms. “I came to issue a warning. Go on the air and apologize, or I’ll—”

      “You’ll what?” Angela jeered, cutting him off. “Hurl a beer bottle at me like you did to that poor college kid in Newark? Or get one of your flunkies to rough me up?”

      His nostrils flared, and the corners of his lips curled into a scowl. Demetri stepped forward, and when Angela jumped back, she bumped into one of the towering black light stands. A sharp pain stabbed her leg, but it was the menacing gleam in her adversary’s eyes that made her knees quiver.

      “I’m not going to touch you, Ms. Kelly.” Demetri’s voice was calm, but his tone was colder than ice. “But if you don’t go on the air and apologize, I’ll sue you, your boss and this damn station.”

      Chapter 2

      Angela felt a cold chill snake down her back. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she discreetly dried her damp palms along the side of her fitted Chanel shorts. Since part one of her series aired two weeks ago, she’d received scores of hate mail. Several athletes had taken to Twitter to express their anger, but no one had shown up at the station threatening litigation—until now. It wasn’t the first time Angela had ruffled someone’s feathers, and usually she wouldn’t give a threat a second thought. But the way Demetri was staring at her, with his head cocked and his eyes narrowed, made her stomach coil into a suffocating knot.

      “So, what’s it going to be?” Arms folded, he tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. “Are you going to issue that apology, or are we going to have to hash this thing out in court?”

      Angela swallowed hard. Demetri sounded serious, looked serious, too, but she didn’t believe him. Not for a second. He was too busy getting into bar fights, throwing wild parties at his Chicago mansion and drag racing in his Maybach to show up in court.

      “You’re not going to win this, so you might as well give up now.”

      “Get out,” she snapped, pointing at the studio door. “And don’t come back!”

      “I’ll leave, as soon as I get that apology.”

      Angela glowered but said nothing. What could she say? “Leave or I’ll call security”? The baseball star was trespassing, but the security guards weren’t going to throw a future hall-of-famer off the property.

      “I don’t want to play hardball with you, Ms. Kelly, but you leave me no choice. Your report was biased and unfounded. Not to mention full of outright lies.”

      When Demetri took another step forward, infringing upon her personal space, she imagined herself smacking the broad grin off his face. But instead of acting on her impulse, Angela faked a smile. It was time to try a different approach because arguing with Demetri Morretti was getting her nowhere. “I’ll give some thought to what you said, and someone from the station will contact you by the end of the week. Okay?”

      Demetri clapped his hands. “Well done, Ms. Kelly. Nicely played. For a second there, I actually believed you were a rational human being.”

      “Well, at least I’m not a—”

      Angela felt a hand on her shoulder and broke off speaking. She turned to her right, and groaned inwardly when she saw her producer, standing beside her, wearing a concerned expression. And worse, everyone in the studio, from the voluptuous makeup artist to the bearded engineer, was now staring at her, with wide eyes and open mouths. How much had her colleagues heard? And why were all of the men in the studio shooting evil daggers at her?

      “Welcome to WJN-TV, Mr. Morretti. I’m Salem Velasquez, one of the head producers.”

      Wearing a tight smile, he nodded and shook the hand she offered.

      “If you have a few moments, I’d love to speak to you in private.”

      “Great. The quicker we resolve this issue the better.”

      “Please follow me. My office is right this way.” Salem motioned to the studio door, and Demetri fell in step beside her.

      Angela stayed put. She didn’t want any part of this meeting, and she had better things to do than listen to Demetri Morretti whine about her report. Anxious to return to her office, she turned around and stalked off in the opposite direction. She needed to vent, and her best friend, Simone, was the perfect person to talk to.

      “Angela!”

      Angela stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart was hammering in her chest. The sharpness of Salem’s tone and the booming sound of her voice made Angela break out in a nervous sweat.

      Glancing over her shoulder confirmed her worst fears. Now her boss and the surly baseball star were glaring at her. The air in the studio was suffocating,