His Secretary's Surprise Fiancé(23)

       
           



       

He let go of her to turn the paper toward him so he could read the story.

"She has a part in a new action-adventure film," Addy admitted. "She mentions it toward the end."

"You see? Self-centered and trying to scam off the Hurricanes'  publicity when a lot of people are paying attention to the team." He  kissed Adelaide's cheek and pulled her to him again, holding her close,  savoring the feel of her wearing precious little under that T-shirt.  "C'mon. Let's have this breakfast you made. It smells fantastic."

"It's just eggs," she grumbled. Then her lips curled upward a bit.  "Although I did make use of the cayenne pepper, which is why you like  the scent, you crazy Cajun."

She hadn't called him that in a long time. Memories of their past-her  friendship and unswerving loyalty-stirred along with it. Reminding him  he didn't want to hurt her. She'd made him breakfast long ago when  there'd been no food at his place. Eggs were a cheap meal, and even  though he had access to the most exotic foods in the world, there was  nothing he'd rather share with her right now than the eggs she'd cooked  for him herself.

Taking care of him.

"Some spice in life is a good thing." He tugged her back and kissed her  harder, more comfortable thinking about the chemistry they shared than  that other, deeper connection. "And speaking of which, last night was  incredible."

"I had fun, too." She shot him a flirtatious look as she took her seat  at the table. "I'm glad you're not upset about the article in the  paper-even if I'm still steaming a little."

He flipped it over and shoved it away.

"Not at all." He tucked her chair in and then sat beside her. "Valentina is annoying but predictable. I'm only upset for you."

He took a few bites before he noticed Addy had gone quiet. Glancing up, he noticed her studying him.

"Is that a plus when you're dating?" she asked, carefully cutting a  piece of her egg and sliding it onto her toast. "Predictability trumps  selfish and annoying?"

And just like that, he stood alone in a minefield with no foreseeable path out.

"You must know that I've deliberately simplified my personal life these  past few years in order to focus on my career." He set down his fork,  realizing he should have paid more attention to the nuances of this  conversation.

It wasn't about the article in the paper. Or about a potential distraction for him on his season opener.

Adelaide was more than a little angry about Valentina.

"You want simple and predictable." She tapped the heavy band of her  engagement ring on the table. "It's strange that you opted to stage a  relationship with me right now since it's both complicated and  unexpected."

Didn't she understand that she was nothing like other women he'd been with? He wouldn't trade this time with her for anything.

"But you're not like other women, Addy. I trust you not to turn our  private affairs into a three-ring circus for your own ends." He wanted  to salvage a good day. He wanted to get back to where they were  yesterday, when they'd had dinner with family and then driven each other  wild all night long.

"You trust me to keep this simple and be predictable, too." She shook  her head, a smile that was the opposite of happy twisting her lips. She  shot out of her chair. "Unbelievable how the Reynaud arrogance has no  bounds."

"Wait a minute." He stood as well, scrambling to follow her, to  understand how he'd hurt her when that was the last thing he'd intended.

"No." The word was sharp. A short warning that her emotions were seething close to the surface.

He could see it in her face. In her eyes.

"Addy, please. Let me explain."

"No." She shook her head, her braid unraveling as she moved, since she  hadn't bothered to wrap a tie around the end. "I'm going to drive  separately to the stadium. And when I get there, I will be an excellent  assistant, as I've always been. I'll even keep the ring on my finger.  But don't ask me to pretend with you, Dempsey. Not today."

For a moment, he felt stunned, as if she'd kicked him in the solar plexus.

"What do you mean? You can't end our agreement-"

"Please." She held a hand up to stop that line of discussion. "I'm not  ending anything except this conversation. But I'm asking you-don't put  me on the spot today, okay? I might not be as predictable as you'd like  to think."                       
       
           



       

* * *

Members of the media rushed onto the field after the Hurricanes won  21 – 17 in their home opener against the defending Super Bowl champs.  Adelaide watched from the sidelines, a rare spot for her, since her  duties were more behind-the-scenes. But after her exchange with Dempsey  over breakfast that morning, she had been reminded that in three more  weeks, she would no longer have a role on the team. She might never have  the chance to witness a game from this vantage point again.

Rap music blared from the speakers in the stands, adding to the  celebratory mood. Fans whooped it up with one another. While some headed  out to the parking lots to party or drive home, many hardcore followers  remained in the stands, getting as close to the field as ushers would  allow.

A photographer with a camera and a big plastic sound shield shuffled  past her, his lens trained on Dempsey where he shook hands with the  opposing team's coach. A coach who did not look happy. The guy's face  was still red after a screaming match with a ref about a  pass-interference call that had not happened.

But the Hurricanes' game one was in the books. Dempsey and his team  were off to the start he'd wanted for this season, the start that meant  so much to him. Logically, she understood why. He'd always felt like an  outsider in the Reynaud family, working relentlessly to prove he  belonged, that his father had not made a mistake in plucking him out of  that crappy apartment down the street from hers.

Yet, she couldn't help but think that if St. Roch Avenue wasn't good  enough for him, then she wasn't good enough for him either. He'd dated  one beautiful woman after another for years, never looking at Adelaide  twice until she tried to quit. Hearing his easy defense of Valentina  this morning had brought that hurt to the surface. When Adelaide's time  with Dempsey was through, he'd go right back to women who were simple,  predictable and from a much different world than hers.

She had no illusions about his ability to move on. She'd seen him do that plenty of times. But she seriously doubted hers.

Heading for the door that led into the medical staff's offices and  bypassed the locker-room area, Adelaide picked up her pace when she saw a  female reporter charging toward her, a cameraman in tow. Seriously?

The press on the field were normally big-time sports reporters, not from the social pages.

"Adelaide!" the woman called. "Excuse-"

Arriving at the door, Adelaide hauled it open and risked a glance back to see what had happened to her follower.

Henri Reynaud, the Hurricanes' quarterback and Dempsey's younger  brother, had planted himself between Adelaide and the woman. Addy's  heart fluttered a bit. Not that she thought Henri was Mr. Dreamy the way  the rest of the female fans did. But because Dempsey's brothers had  made her feel as though she mattered this week. Gervais by inviting her  to dinner. Henri by running interference.

Seeing how she might have been accepted into their world made her chest  ache for the things she wasn't going to have with Dempsey. She would be  walking away from so much more than a job in three weeks. So why was  she spending this window of time second-guessing herself-and  Dempsey-every time she turned around? Why couldn't she just enjoy the  moment?

Maybe she needed to stop worrying about the future. Starting tonight, she wasn't going to look beyond three weeks from now.

She would save up her memories of being the woman who got to be on his  arm and in his bed. The memories of being part of a family. They  wouldn't be enough, but if they were all she would ever have of him, she  would make each moment count.

* * *

Dempsey drove the fastest street-legal BMW produced to date, but it didn't get him out of downtown any quicker after the game.

Had he ever felt so uneasy after a win?

He switched lanes to pass a slow-moving car, his G-Power M5 Beemer more  than ready to launch into overdrive at the earliest opportunity. Too  bad the ribbon of brake lights ahead meant he only succeeded in hurtling  headlong from one stop-and-go lane to the next.

He'd asked the public relations coordinator if she'd seen Adelaide, but  Carole didn't know where his fiancée had gone after the game. Now he  gave in and phoned Evan. Hitting the speed-dial icon on the dashboard,  he listened to Evan's line ring via Bluetooth.