Seemed like everyone was happy about the future of his career and, hell, so was he.
“I think it sounds excellent, gentlemen,” Caleb said, turning on the “Abs of Steele” charm. The media always loved that crap. “Mike and I are totally on board.”
The sports commentator position on one of the biggest cable sports channels in Australia was looking good. The execs couldn’t stop singing his praises, citing his great on-camera presence and charisma. No doubt the fact that he could string two sentences together coherently was also a bonus. It was starting to get a little embarrassing.
The suits beamed at him. “Fantastic, Mr. Steele,” one of them said. “We’d like to get you signed up as soon as possible. I’ll get our contract people onto it.”
Of course they would. He was hot property right now and no doubt when they looked at him all they saw were dollar signs.
After the meeting was over Caleb turned away, leaving Mike to deal with the contract details, while he moved restlessly over to the windows. Outside, the city went about its business, people hurrying about, thin winter sunlight glittering off the windows of the traffic.
This was great. The perfect move. A chance to prove to the world that he wasn’t just a man kicking a ball up and down a field. A chance to prove he could do more than kick, more than tackle, more than pick up hot women. Be more than “Abs of Steele”. A chance to hurl that ball right in the old man’s eye.
His father’s voice, full of the casual viciousness that was one of his least attractive qualities when drunk, floated through his head. Medical school? You want to be a doctor? Don’t make me laugh, boy. You don’t have the brains. You’re no better than the rest of us so stop trying to pretend that you are.
Caleb’s jaw tightened. Too late for med school, brains or not. But he’d proven himself enough in other ways. He had more success than New Zealand had sheep. And the part of him that wanted to make a difference was already doing so. There was this fundraiser for a start. And he’d already given a significant amount of his money to charity, and not just for the tax breaks Luke kept going on about.
Yeah, he was better. So much better than that drunken bastard. And the TV deal would seal it.
“Jesus, Caleb. Why do I get the feeling you never listen to a word I say?”
Caleb turned from the window. The TV execs had gone, his agent standing by the boardroom table looking irritated. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
“Don’t. It’ll ruin your image.”
“Now, now.” Caleb dug around in the pocket of his suit trousers for his phone. “Thanks for handling this deal, Mike. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” The other man folded his arms, eyeing him. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not too pleased with it, though?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“How about the fact you’re looking out the window like freaking Heathcliff every time I turn around?”
“Heathcliff, Mike? I wouldn’t have picked you for a Wuthering Heights fan.”
His agent made an impatient sound. “Come on, what’s the problem?”
Good point. Because Mike was right. There was a small, niggling doubt lodged somewhere in the vicinity of his gut.
Something to do with a certain brunette of your acquaintance perhaps?
At the thought of Judith, memories came flooding back. The taste of her in his mouth. The feel of her wet clothes and hot skin pressed against his body. The heat between her thighs… God, even the mere thought of it made him ache.
And don’t forget the hurt in her eyes when you pushed her away.
No, like he’d ever forget that. God, he’d been an idiot to keep kissing her, keep holding her when he’d known it was wrong. But he’d never been very good at saying no to Judith.
Why do you have to?
Mike was looking at him, eyebrow raised, waiting for an answer while the insidious thought of having Judith waited in his brain.
You couldn’t, I don’t know, come back and see me sometimes?
He’d said no to her back in the locker room because he’d had to. Because if he’d paused to think about anything other than “no”, he would have pushed her up against the wall and had her there and then.
But what if it was possible? What if he could come back?
“What kind of time commitment are we looking at here?” he heard himself ask.
“Time commitment?” His agent frowned. “Why would that be an issue?”
It would only be an issue if he wasn’t going to live in Australia for good. If he could stay here and not say “no” to Judith. Because why couldn’t he have both? His career and her?