Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

He tried to win the receptionist over with a smile. “No.”

Her cheeks flushed. She lowered her eyelashes and picked up the phone. “I’ll see if Andrea’s available.” She pressed a few buttons. “Andrea, Troy Marshall is here to see you.” After a moment’s silence, she slid her eyes back to him. “I’ll let him know.” She replaced the receiver and nodded toward a row of chairs. “She’s on her way. Please have a seat.”

Troy stepped toward the cracked and battered vinyl chairs. He chose one in direct line of sight of the newsroom. Before long, Andrea Benson walked through the doorway. Troy stood as she came closer. Her long, lithe body moved with a sexy confidence that defied her conservative black slacks, white blouse, and gray blazer. Her honey brown skin glowed. Her straight dark hair swung hypnotically behind her narrow shoulders as she advanced on him across the aging linoleum.

She stopped and offered her hand. The expression in her wide sherry eyes was more curious than welcoming.

“This is a surprise.” Her melodic voice reminded him of satin sheets and summer nights. But with her distant manner, he’d never confuse fantasy with reality.

At five-foot-nine, she was almost a foot shorter than his six-foot-four inches. But her energy and assertiveness made her seem even taller.

Her hand was warm and delicate in his. Troy gave her the smile that had won over her receptionist. “Do you like surprises?”

Andrea ignored his question and drew her hand from his. “What can I do for you?”

He glanced behind her at the newsroom before meeting her gaze again. “Could we talk privately?”

She arched a winged brow. “A private conversation? What was wrong with the phone?”

Andrea was his challenge. He needed something more than a smile to charm her, but he still hadn’t figured out what that was. “I wanted to talk with you in person.”

Her perceptive eyes searched his. “All right.” She led him to the newsroom.

Troy had never been to the New York Sports offices. He’d suspected the organization struggled financially. The worn gray carpeting, peeling paint, and battered furnishings confirmed his suspicions.

He was struck by the stench of newsprint and burned coffee, battered by the cacophony of ringing telephones and shouted conversations. The scene brought back memories of his days as a sports reporter. Part of him missed the adrenaline rush of chasing a story. But, on the whole, he’d rather be back on the court.

Andrea turned a corner, leading him around the newsroom’s perimeter and into what appeared to be a combination conference and storage room. She turned on the light.

Troy looked around at the room’s stained walls and scarred furniture. “Maybe you should turn the lights back off.”

Her eyes sparkled with humor, but her manner remained cool. “What’s on your mind, Troy?”

She shut the door, closing them into the musty space. Troy quashed the urge to step closer and inhale her soft scent instead. He’d better get this over with before he became even more distracted.

He rested a hip against the conference table and slipped his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “Let’s talk about the article you wrote on Barron.”

She remained near the door. “What about it?”

“You weren’t fair to him, were you?” Troy tossed the words as a friendly question. But he was here to demand a retraction.

Andrea’s eyes widened. “What makes you say that?”

“You accused him of being on drugs without giving him a chance to respond.”

Andrea’s smooth brow wrinkled. “I never mentioned drugs.”

Troy shrugged. He hoped his smile would mask the frustration roiling in his gut. “The accusation was implied.”

“Only if the idea of Barron using drugs is already on your mind.” She tilted her head, causing her thick brown hair to sway behind her. “Is it?”

The muscles in Troy’s shoulders bunched even as he strained to keep his tone light. “Come on, Andy. You know as well as I do that your article put that idea in readers’ minds.”

“I quoted people who know Barron. They’re concerned about his increasingly irresponsible behavior. And don’t call me Andy, Slick. You know I don’t like it.”

“Why didn’t you interview Barron?”