Hot Stuff (Hot Zone 1)

PROLOGUE

YANK MORGAN WAS A BACHELOR, a gambler, a ladies' man and completely unprepared for the sight sitting before him. Three little girls in descending height and matching dresses stared at him with wide eyes and expectant expressions. Ages twelve, ten and eight, they were his sister's children. Nieces his assistant Lola bought birthday and holiday gifts for, signing his name to the cards. Kids he saw a few times a year for an hour at a time. That was about to change.

Thanks to a chartered plane crash in the Andes, his sister and her husband were gone, leaving Yank as guardian of their three girls. Frustrated by the notion and emotionally devastated by the loss, Yank balled up the note left by the attorney and tossed it across the room, not even aiming for the garbage can.

The oldest girl, Annabelle, shot him a scowl, then quickly schooled her features into an unreadable expression. He wondered if she was afraid of him but before he could ask, one of her sisters chimed in.

"Mama was right about him. Uncle Yank's a pig," Sophie, the middle one, said.

"Shh." Annabelle placed a hand over her lips. "Don't be rude. He's the only relative we got left." Her eyes, big and wide, showed all the fear inherent in those words. So much so that he was determined to do his best by all three of them.

The youngest, whose name he thought was Michelle, bent down and picked the paper up off the floor. Before she tossed it into the trash, Yank caught sight of her white panties beneath her short dress.

"Well I'll be damned. You've got a bow on your butt," he muttered aloud.

His niece turned. "You have a foul mouth, Uncle Yack."

"That's Yank and you're darned right I do. Any of you got a problem with that?" he asked all three girls.

Annabelle immediately shook her head. She obviously understood the value of staying on his good side. He liked her intelligence in a bad situation, but worried about how he'd handle her as she got older. It wouldn't do to have a kid smarter than him living in the house, he thought wryly. Maybe the other two weren't as swift.

"If you can curse, does that mean I get to do what I want, too?" The youngest faced him, hands on her hips, a determined tilt to her chin.

She obviously had gumption. "That depends. What do you want to do?"

"Ditch the dress!"

Yank chuckled. Maybe this parenting business wouldn't be so hard after all. "I think that can be arranged. You're Michelle?" he asked.

She nodded. "But you can call me Micki."

"Nobody calls you Micki and besides that's a boy's name," her middle sister complained.

"Micki it is," Yank said, thinking of his idol, Mickey Mantle.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Tomboy," she called her sister.

"Barbie doll," Micki yelled back.

With each word, their voices escalated and Yank cringed. Annabelle jumped between them and stamped her feet. "You two behave," she said, but in trying too hard, the words came out just as loud and whiny as her sisters'.

And that was Yank's introduction into the world of little women. He had no clue what to do with any of them.

CHAPTER ONE

"THE MEETING WILL COME TO ORDER." Yank Morgan slammed the gavel against the rubber plate, calling The Hot Zone weekly meeting to order. His dark, wiry, hair liberally sprinkled with gray was full and shaggy on a normal day, but after continually running his hands through it in frustration while he waited for his nieces to settle down, it was considerably more disheveled.

As president of their sports agency/PR firm located in a high-rise in midtown Manhattan, Uncle Yank liked to assert his authority. He used the gavel, an engraved birthday gift given to him by Judge Judy, often and with zeal. Unfortunately the gavel didn't change the fact that he was a man outnumbered by three women. Four if he counted Lola, his personal assistant, who liked to tell him what to do and when to do it.

Annabelle Jordan glanced at her sisters who also studied their uncle with fond amusement. As teenagers, they'd paid little attention to Uncle Yank's rules, mainly because he didn't have any. The older the girls became, the more their uncle searched for a way to pretend he hadn't let his personal and professional life go to hell in a handbasket, as he liked to say. The gavel seemed to give him a measure of pride and confidence, and was a small price to pay for him to feel in control with his new partners.

He'd continued the sports agency, but on Annabelle's graduation from business school, he'd allowed her to make her dream of a family business into reality. None of the sisters wanted to be sports agents, but they'd all desired to get into public relations. It was Annabelle who'd seen a means to tie the agency to PR and expand the reach of Uncle Yank's clients beyond their limited career on the field.

Her vision had been a success. The PR side of The Hot Zone specialized in handling professional athletes both in the prime of their careers and into retirement, forced or otherwise. And as each niece had graduated business school, Uncle Yank had rewarded them with a position and piece of his firm. Together they'd created a family business which fed Annabelle's need to keep her siblings and small family together.

"So let's go through today's agenda," Lola said, pen in hand to document the meeting. As usual, her attitude indicated she was ready to do business, even if her longing gazes toward Yank spoke of something entirely more personal. Lola, with her business demeanor, buttoned-up dress and raven hair pulled into a bun, was in l

ove with Uncle Yank. Everyone knew it.

Everyone except Uncle Yank. Neither was over the hill and Annabelle felt bad for Lola. After all, the other woman had wasted most of her life waiting for the ultimate bachelor to notice her as something more than a prize assistant and a surrogate mother for his nieces.

"First order of business. Our annual summer party is scheduled for the third Saturday in July. Does everyone have it on their calendar?" Lola asked.

All nodded. Annabelle already had the date jotted on her agenda. The annual Hot Zone party was as much a family event as a business one.

"Okay then. On to the clients," Lola said.

"Micki? What's going on with Roper?" Uncle Yank asked of their star baseball player. Even when he was questioning the girls about their social lives, Uncle Yank always started with Micki, the youngest and worked his way up to Annabelle, the oldest.

Her youngest sister rolled the pen between her palms. "I'm trying to counter some bad media. He'll be fine. He just needs to watch what he says to the press," she said in a soothing voice. With her blond, curly hair and deliberately casual dress, Micki always presented the epitome of relaxed confidence.

"Admitting to having his nails done and a full body wrap at St. Lauren's spa on his day off will definitely put a kink in his reputation as a ladies' man," Annabelle murmured.

"He isn't gay, he just likes the finer things. He needs to learn discretion," Micki insisted. "I'll stick by his side for a few weeks and he'll learn how to handle the media. We' 11 spin things in his favor," she assured them.

"He'd be better off pulling a Hugh Grant than acting the part of a sissy boy," Uncle Yank said. "Handle him, Mick."

Sophie snickered and Micki shot her a dirty look. "Don't worry. I will."

Annabelle had no doubt her sister would accomplish her goal. All three of them usually did. Although each took on a client as their own, they worked as a team, brainstorming and formulating a PR plan together. The only division occurred in how they assigned clients.

As every guy's friend, Micki preferred to tackle the difficult athletes. She enjoyed cultivating trust, smoothing ruffled feathers and keeping an athlete looking good to the media. Sophie, the brains in the family, thought, dressed and acted above it all. Her hair was always perfectly set, either professionally blown-dried or pulled into a conservative updo and her designer suits complemented the appearance she sought to present. Not surprisingly, photo shoots and an athlete's upscale ventures were more her terrain.