Dirty Play (The Ferrari Family Book 1) Read online

  “Yep. He confirmed within ten minutes of me sending the email. I have never seen someone say yes so fast.”

  “Well, you know how athletes are with their schools. It means so much to them.”

  I decided it was probably best not to mention how he had said he wanted to meet me personally.

  “Well, I was coming in to see if you needed any help wrangling anyone in, but from the looks of it, you are well ahead of the curve in that regard.”

  “Luckily,” I said. “I definitely did not think it would work out.”

  “Well, sometimes, it does,” she said, and I knew she didn’t just mean with work. “Email me if you run into any problems with logistics.”

  “Will do,” I said as my phone buzzed in my pocket, though I positioned myself so that Jordan didn’t notice it.

  As soon as she left, though, I grabbed it. I had unfortunately become a bit compulsive with checking my messages whenever one came in, as I never knew when something with Ryan would come up. He was a good kid, and he actually let me sleep at night, but one could never be too careful.

  The buzzing was to alert me I had an email in my personal inbox, one that I had been very diligent about preventing from falling on subscription lists and whatnot. I was almost zealous about having inbox zero be a thing because life was already hectic enough as a single parent.

  “Malcolm let out of jail early for good behavior.”

  The headline of the email made me slink into my chair. It was the worst possible news that I could have read. Seriously? Good behavior?

  Good fucking behavior?? Did the prison system even watch him, or did they just get bored and play roulette on who to let out early with that bullshit of an excuse? Did they need to be reminded of the evidence of what he had done to me and how badly he had done it?

  I locked my phone, weakly tossed it to the back corner of the desk, and let out a very long sigh. I did not need Malcolm to ruin my life any further. If I could, at the risk of sounding ridiculous, I would have worked to get him a job in Maine just so I wouldn’t ever have to deal with his jealous, controlling ass ever again.

  And yet, here he was, about to be free, about to be able to stalk me. Did anyone really think a “restraining order” was going to stop him? The only thing that would keep him away was an actual restraint. The man saw obstacles and legal threats as comedy—and unfortunately, not even jail time would probably prevent him from coming for me.

  Well, I had options.

  I could quit work, take Ryan and my parents, and move to the country. I was a good enough marketer and event organizer that I felt I could find work just about anywhere, but there would obviously be time, and I didn’t like the idea of Malcolm controlling my life. He was the worst thing to ever happen to me, but that didn’t mean I had to change my life fundamentally.

  I could stay in town, just act like nothing had changed, and go on with my life. Unfortunately, that was equally dumb, probably more so; the greatest danger of Malcolm was that he was relentless in what he did and could not be stopped by anything other than what physically held him back.

  Maybe I just need someone who will go and beat the shit out of him and teach him a lesson. Maybe that will work? If there was anyone it wouldn’t work on, though, it was Malcolm.

  But, for now, at least, he wouldn’t have an idea of where I was. For one, after he’d gone to jail, I had moved to a different part of the Bay Area, shut down all my social media accounts, and had even turned off my LinkedIn; it wasn’t impossible to find me, but I wouldn’t make it easy for him. Second, in what could only be described as a “weird” perk of being a single mom, my friend circle had dropped dramatically with parenthood; it was far less likely I’d be seen out and about in public.

  I supposed, for now, I could just focus on work. I could get this Nick Ferrari to Fresno State, get him all set up, and see what transpired from there.

  But as for what would happen after that, I had no idea. I had a terrible feeling it would take something dramatic, something violently aggressive, for Malcolm to stop haunting my life.

  Chapter 3: Nick

  One Week Later

  The alarm clock went off at five a.m., just like it did every day of the week.

  Unlike most people, though, I had already risen before my alarm. The alarm wasn’t what woke me up; the alarm was like my mother as a child, making sure that I wasn’t slacking for any given reason on a particular day. I already had my workout clothes on, in fact; the only thing I needed to do before I got to my basement gym was throw some shoes on.

  After I did that, I grabbed my phone and checked my email as I walked down. I didn’t have anything of particular notice in the inbox; a couple of requests for endorsement, some notices from my agent, and one from my grandfather saying he’d love to see me perform on opening day. I smiled at my grandfather’s email; for one, I knew that he hadn’t actually sent the email, and for another, he always saw me perform on opening day. My family didn’t make every game—all the grandkids had their own lives—well, sans Leo—but opening day and any postseason runs were mandatory viewing.

  Just before I plugged my phone into the stereo system so I could start blaring some rock while I worked out, I took a look at my calendar. I had a radio interview to do at eight in the morning, and…

  Oh, look at that. The Fresno State presentation.

  In the week since, my initial infatuation with Izzy Saunders had faded a bit in favor of the fact that I was going back to campus. I thought about how I wanted to phrase my sentences, what points I would strike, and what parting messages I wanted to give. I swapped over to my notes app and read through the three biggest things I’d said to say: “Preparation, Discipline, Passion.” PDP, I called it.

  Catchy, easy to remember, and hopefully the kind of thing that captivated students. And maybe some of the people setting up this event…

  I laughed to myself as I plugged the phone in, and Metallica blared over the speakers. If there was one thing I was damn good at, it was not getting distracted by the pitfalls of women and other nightlife adventures. Maybe it was because I already came from money, but I never felt the need to flaunt what I had, nor did I feel the need to chase what I hadn’t had before.

  Admittedly because I’d never struggled in the romance department.

  But, given that I was still single, maybe I’d struggled in “finding the right one” department.

  Maybe, just maybe, I was on the verge of finally getting that department right.

  But if I was just going to keep living life as I was, alternating between games, training, endorsements, and the occasional high-end date, did I really expect something unexpected to happen?

  * * *

  I arrived at Fresno State’s campus about half an hour later wearing sunglasses and a hat with the San Francisco 49ers logo on it. The disguise was minimal, and the accessories so cliché that the very act of me dressing like this would have marked me as someone worth trailing to most eyes. But I had nothing to fear—those who would attend the job fair were probably in their dorms or apartments, dressing up as well as they could, and those not attending the fair had their necks craned forward, their eyes to their smartphones.

  I reread Izzy’s email telling me to call her number when I arrived so that she could escort me in. When I got to the entrance of the auditorium, I did just that, a little curious to see if the person in real life would match the Google image.

  “Rachel Winters, how can I help you?”

  Wait, uh…

  “Sorry, I must have—”

  “You’re trying to reach Izzy Saunders? I’m her assistant. Izzy is working to get an event set up. How may I help you?”

  “Oh, OK,” I said, unsure if I should have felt relief Izzy was still in the area or disappointment it would not be her coming to help me. “I’m Nick Ferrari. I was told to give you a call when I arrived—”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Ferrari, of course. Wait one moment, and I will come get you outside.”


  “Perfect. I’m…wearing sunglasses and a 49ers hat.”

  I hesitated to tell her only because I realized that nine a.m. on a college campus might as well have been five a.m. in the world at large. I didn’t need to give any identifying features because I was quite literally the only person standing outside the auditorium this early.

  “Great, one moment.”

  Rachel disconnected the phone. She seemed friendly enough. And, as I reminded myself, I had come to give back to Fresno State before the season kicked into gear and I got far too busy to so much as make a cameo on campus, even though it was within an afternoon’s drive from both my home and even our home stadium.

  Less than a minute later, I heard the sound of heels clopping on the ground, moving my way. I turned with a casual smile, one that remained very casual when I saw Rachel.

  She was friendly and nice enough. A little on the shorter side, looked like she kept herself in shape, well-dressed. She certainly was attractive in an objective sense, but she didn’t light up my fire or spark my deepest desires. I supposed that was exactly the ideal for an assistant to the event organizer, given that she would cause as few distractions as possible.

  “Mr. Ferrari, pleasure to meet you,” she said, calling me by a formal name that I didn’t even think kids called me by. I legitimately could never recall getting the “mister” before; it felt like most people just assumed athletes could be called by their first name. I didn’t care, but it was a little jarring.

  “Likewise.”

  “Follow me, please.”

  I did so, keeping my head on a swivel. For as many times as I had been to Fresno State’s campus, going through the “back halls” of even just the auditorium reminded me how little I knew. I was also curious to see if any of the other speakers were someone I knew.

  But alas, I didn’t recognize anyone. Rachel put me in a room where another woman started to put my mic and stage makeup on.

  “OK, so you’ll hear the PA announcer introduce you, you’ll be on the side, and then you’ll go out and give your speech. We’ve already approved it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  And then, for a momentary flash, as Rachel continued to speak, in the opening of the door, I saw someone walk by that was stunningly attractive, so much so that it caught my eye without her ever slowing down. Was it Izzy? The brunette hair, the confident walk, the…hurried demeanor would certainly seem to match it all. But there was no telling, and in any case, just as I tuned out all extraneous distractions when I went to play baseball, I needed to do the same here for my speech.

  “Understood?” Rachel asked.

  “Definitely,” I said, even though I’d only heard a few words of it. It was, obviously, not my first public speaking engagement.

  But it seemingly was one of the few in which my innate ability to remain completely and utterly focused, regardless of the circumstances around me, was making things a little more challenging than usual.

  * * *

  “So, of course, having a Bulldog mentality would be good. Just make sure, gentlemen, you shave beforehand so you don’t look like one.”

  The crowd let out a polite laugh at one of my quips. Before me, probably a few hundred students sat. While there were certainly a few people there merely to say that they heard a professional athlete speak, the vast majority already looked like they were dressed ready to interview. They listened with rapt attention, took notes, and hung on every word I said.

  All the while, I remained conscious of maintaining that smile, gesturing with my hands, and throwing in an off-script—though not off-color—joke.

  I also kept scanning the crowd, but best that I could tell, there was no one I had a particular interest in.

  “I cannot stress this enough,” I said. “Your mentality will take you everywhere. A lot of people see the last name Ferrari and think, ‘Oh, he comes from that family. He doesn’t need to play baseball.’ And maybe in one sense, that’s true. But I wake up every day and imagine myself as the player who, if he doesn’t play at an All-Star level today, is going to get cut and be out of the league forever. And someday, that will happen, whether because of age or injury or just a decline in performance. But as long as I have that mentality, that mindset handed down by the honest work of my father and grandfather, I will have everything I need. Thank you.”

  The crowd burst out into applause at that, and I gave a short bow. I looked over to the side, behind the stage, where Rachel was waiting.

  And right behind her was Izzy.

  She was even more attractive in person than she had been on the screen. She was much taller than I had anticipated, and while I still had her by about three or four inches, there was something sexy about a tall woman. A woman who could “stand up” to me physically was intoxicating.

  But on a deeper level, I could see the way that she was watching me from behind the stage. She had a gaze of intensity that very few people, man or woman, had in this world; it was a gaze of absolute focus, certainty, and assuredness. I had often heard women say that confidence was one of my sexiest features, and while that may have been true, I would have to say confidence in a woman, if not the sexiest feature, was one of the most underrated.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She bore no smile, but she clapped; I didn’t think her lack of a smile came from disappointment. I had to imagine that her mind had gone off into a thousand different directions, already planning how to make sure the rest of the day ran smoothly. I smiled back.

  For a flicker of a second, I thought Izzy smiled at me.

  But then, before I could process it or react to it, she was gone. And it wasn’t a gradual, “look back” gone; it was as if someone had yanked her away. Trying to play it off as part of the show, I waved to the side of the room, waved to the other side of the room, and then took a bow before I exited off-stage.

  “Well done, Mr. Ferrari,” Rachel said. “Usually, we don’t have students paying such close attention.”

  “Well, hopefully, they remember more than just my batting average,” I said. “Where is Izzy? I need to get her thoughts—”

  “She’s moved on to other parts of the presentation, but I’m happy to provide you some feedback in the dressing room.”

  I begrudgingly went along with it. For at least today, it seemed I’d have to resign myself to serendipity to make it happen. And I don’t think I’ve ever had to rely on luck for a lady.

  “So, Mr. Ferrari, we would love to have you speak at more presentations if interested,” Rachel said as she led us back. “You have a dynamic presence on stage, and our firm hosts events at multiple locations…”

  Rachel continued talking, sounding like a true marketer, but at this point, I had already put future events out of mind. I instead thought about batting practice, the meeting with my physical therapist, Izzy—

  Wait, one of those doesn’t belong.

  I sighed.

  “Everything OK, Mr. Ferrari?”

  “Huh? Oh, yes, sorry,” I said, embarrassed that I’d gotten so in my head that I had completely forgotten that Rachel was by my side.

  At this point, I was reminded of something my high school coach had said—that if, after all of the work I had done, I was still feeling distracted, it was probably a sign that the distraction was not something to tune out but something to pay attention to. For as much of a stats-driven, analytics-based game as baseball had become, my high school coaches still liked to preach to us the importance of listening to our guts, telling us we were far smarter than any database could be.

  The notion was a little absurd, and for the most part, I just wanted to play baseball, but I decided I needed to do some digging.

  I decided that today could not be the last day Izzy Saunders and I crossed paths. I needed to see what would happen when our paths actually collided instead of barely grazing each other.

  And, in true baseball fashion, I decided I was going to swing for the fences on this one.

  Chapter 4: Izzy


  I gave myself five seconds to stand behind Rachel and watch Nick wrap up his speech.

  Boy, was he handsome. His presence commanded attention. All eyes were on him.

  I could see why everyone had said he was one of the most marketable stars in the Bay Area sports scene. It wasn’t just that he had a handsome, easy-going smile or that he succeeded on the field; it was that he actually wanted to leverage those things to help other people. So many athletes gifted with good looks either hated the attention or had a certain air of false appearance to them, but everything about Nick was genuine.

  And then he locked eyes with me as the speech ended.

  I felt trapped.

  But I wanted to feel trapped. I wanted to remain under this man’s spell. I wanted to…I wanted to keep looking.

  Nick Ferrari, star outfielder for the San Francisco Giants, son of Bill Ferrari, owner of Ferrari Wines, a man who appeared in more local commercials than just about anyone, was looking at me.

  And you’ve still got an entire event to run.

  The instant that thought came to mind, I yanked myself away. The sobriety that came from removing myself from his gaze and throwing myself back into work mode sobered up my thoughts and made me realize how ridiculous I’d acted. Nick was handsome, hot, and hella rich; he was also completely unattainable. I was a single mom with a psychotic ex who doubled as an alcoholic. You think someone like a professional athlete would want anything to do with me?

  “Give him the rundown when you can,” I told Rachel. “Let him know he spoke well. Come find me when you’re done. We’ve got to make sure the tables are set up for all the companies coming here.”

  “You got it.”

  “Thanks!” I yelled, knowing full well one word of thanks wasn’t going to make up for the fact that I was driving Rachel and the rest of my staff into the ground on days like this.

  I walked alone through the hallways to the student union, which might as well have been called the employer union for the next three days. In that time, perhaps fifty different corporations, ranging from Google to Goldman Sachs to a startup named Gozer that I had never heard of, had set up tables, all in an attempt to recruit, interview, and invite the top talent to their respective offices. My job usually entailed me working on things at a higher level than this, but my OCD would never let me allow a detail to go unnoticed; I had even suggested to Rachel that she let me test Nick’s mic before he went on, but she had thankfully worked with me long enough to know when to push back.