Yes, it had. He didn’t need his publicist to point out the double-digit increase in ticket sales. The Mustangs’ entire front office had been buzzing about it since he’d walked in this morning. And he had Trinity Forrester, CMO, to thank.
Who would have thought that sizzling kiss would pay such huge dividends?
Duncan McLaughlin had never done that to get customers to open their wallets, but in Logan’s defense, it hadn’t been his idea. Yet he’d gotten on board with it pretty dang fast, at least once he’d realized the hot woman he’d been salivating over was not coming on to him. She’d simply found one last way to get the camera on them. As tactics went, he could find little to complain about.
Other than the fact that one bad-girl kiss later, he’d come to the uncomfortable realization that he could not wipe the feel of that tongue piercing from his memory.
His admin, Lisa, popped into his office, eyes wide. “Um, boss? You have a visitor. Ms. Forrester?”
Well, well. He leaned back in his chair as Myra’s expression veered between intrigued and very intrigued. Logan had a feeling his own face might be doing something similar, so he schooled it before nodding to Lisa. “You can send her in. Thanks, Myra. I’ll get back to you.”
And then everything in the world of baseball ceased to exist as Trinity waltzed into his office, her off-kilter hair throwing him into a tailspin. God, how was that so sexy? On her, it was one more in-your-face reminder that she was a force to be reckoned with.
Today’s outfit consisted of a deep purple suit with a micro skirt, black stockings that made her legs look a mile long and silver ankle breakers that he’d like better on his bedroom floor.
“Thanks for seeing me on short notice,” she said.
That throaty voice. He’d underrated what it did to him when the sound slid down his spine. His blood woke up and sluiced through his veins in a rush that made him feel alive—only being on the mound had ever replicated that feeling.
Why her? Of all people? He’d always been on the lookout for a simple, uncomplicated woman who listened to country music and planned picnics. A nice woman to settle down with, who could have his babies and be the love of his life. That was how his dad had done it. That was how Logan wanted to do it. The fact that he’d yet to meet his fictional perfect lady was neither here nor there—she was out there somewhere.
And her name was not Trinity. He should not be attracted to her.
All at once, he remembered his manners and rose to his feet, palm outstretched toward the love seat near the window that overlooked the ballpark, his favorite spot in the whole stadium as long as there wasn’t a game in progress. Then it was the dugout until the bitter end.
Most general managers sat in an air-conditioned luxury box, but his players were slugging it out on the field, and in August, it wasn’t unusual for the temperature to hit 110. The senior McLaughlin had regularly hit the trenches alongside his employees. Logan could do the same.
Instead of taking the offered seat, Trinity slid a steamy once-over all the way down his body. “You’re wearing a suit. What was it you said about those?”
I’d rather go naked.
The unspoken quote hung in the air between them, dissolving into a dense awareness that answered one lingering question on his mind since that kiss—whether or not he misremembered how deeply she’d gotten under his skin with all her innuendo.
He’d recalled it perfectly.
“I’m being a grown-up today,” he croaked and cleared his throat.
“Oh, yeah, I once thought about being one of those for Halloween.” She shrugged with a smile that he felt in his gut. “By the way, I like you in a suit.”
“What can I do for you, Ms. Forrester?”
The sooner he got her out of his office, the sooner he could get back to work. Or take a cold shower. The last thing he should do was give her an advantage, or she’d railroad him into doing her bidding before he’d fully surfaced from being whacked upside the head by all the pheromones.
“You can call me Trinity.” She jerked her chin toward the desk, flinging the dark swath of hair into motion. She hadn’t colored it today, strictly to throw him off, no doubt. “Talk to me about your numbers.”
He glanced at the spreadsheet Myra had thrown at him to give himself a half second. What was she fishing for? “I’m happy with the results of the viral video and hopeful that when the show airs, the upward trend will continue. How about your numbers?”
“Fantastic. So good, in fact, I’m here with a proposal.”
The way she said it brought to mind closed doors, a secret rendezvous and a solid block of time to explore just how good that bar through her tongue would feel on his body. If that ever happened, she’d completely ruin him for all other women, no doubt.
His body tightened in anticipation. Let’s find out, it begged.
“I’m listening,” he said when what he should have said was there’s the door.
“My target customers loved the video of us together. My publicist thinks we should take advantage of it and start a public relationship. Pretend that we’re dating after meeting on the show.”
“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. We’d kill each other before anyone believed we were a couple.”
His mind ignored his instant denial and latched on to the idea, turning it over. The timing of the video coincided with the increase in ticket sales too neatly to be a fluke. What would it hurt to capitalize on the momentum?
It could hurt a lot. His major objection had nothing to do with the brilliance of the idea and everything to do with his illogical reaction to her every time she got within breathing distance.
And then last night, she hadn’t even been in the room when he’d let himself envision a bedtime story about finishing that kiss with her legs wrapped around his waist. Yeah, she might be the star in his current shower fantasies. It wasn’t a felony. Except he’d never in a million years have guessed that today would bring her back into his orbit, especially not this way.
Her gaze glittered with calculation. “Actually, the worst idea you’d ever heard was the one where we got paired on that stupid game show. But we made that work. Together. It was a team effort, and we almost won. Just think what we can accomplish with a concerted effort to exploit the public’s thirst for celebrity couples. I’m offering you my complete attention to boost your ticket sales.”
Her negotiation skills hit all the right notes, buttering him up, stressing the goal. Worst of all? He had an urge to say yes, simply to find out what her complete attention looked like.
Was it distasteful to use this opportunity to sate his curiosity about Trinity? A better question was how long he could do it and keep his hands off her. Not long—either he’d make good on the urge to strangle her or he’d provoke her until she kissed him again.
This idea got worse and worse the longer he thought about it.
“How do you even know I’m single?” he countered. “Maybe I’ve got the perfect girlfriend already and I—”
“Please don’t insult me, McLaughlin.” She snorted. “Or yourself. You couldn’t have cut the sexual tension between us with a meat cleaver. If you do have a girlfriend and you can still kiss me like that, you’re not the man I assume you are.”
He scowled, and not just because of her excellent point.
“I get it now.” He nodded sagely. “This is a ploy to earn yourself some more camera time. Attend a few Mustangs games where the general manager’s hot girlfriend would most definitely be a subject of interest.”
Boldly, she contemplated him, not at all bothered by his half-assed accusations. “What if it is?