Playboy Billionaire

“You saw the train wreck last night, Katie Holmes. Fuck, you got to witness it first-hand. I go to clubs, I get fucked up, I try to screw beautiful women, then I get up the next day and do it all over again. And if I’m not too hungover, I run down the field and catch balls Matt Murphy throws at me. If you’re looking to write an exposé, knock yourself out, but you won’t be telling the world anything it doesn’t already know.”

“Does the world know that your drinking and partying is about to cost you your job?” I asked bluntly.

He frowned for a moment, then opened his mouth wide. “Ah, you talked to Monique.” He chuckled under his breath. “I saw her up there feeding number three. I guess she told you everything Leon told me.”

“She said the coach is going to play Denzel Lockett if you don’t sober up and get your life back on track.” I studied his handsome face for a moment. The muscles in his jaw twitched. “Is that true?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is that the story you want to write?” he asked. “The rise and fall of Sean Donovan?”

I thought about it for a minute, then said, “I’d like to write the story of how Sean Donovan got his life back on track and took his team to the Super Bowl.”

His handsome forehead wrinkled as he stared out the windshield. Quietly, he said, “I’d like to write that story, too.”

“We could write it together,” I said. “If you’ll let me.”

He thought about it for a moment, then glanced at the side mirrors and cut across two lanes of traffic to take the next exit. I grabbed onto the dash to keep from sliding sideways into the door.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You want to write about the real Sean Donovan?” he asked. “The one that the public doesn’t care about becau

se it’s not headline news?”

I blinked at him. “Yes, I would.”

“Okay, Katie Holmes,” he said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Kate

I stood at the back of the room with one of the nurses who worked in the Children’s Cancer Center, watching Sean make his way around the dayroom, passing out hugs and little stuffed footballs to the sick children seated there.

The kids ranged in age from a few years old to early teens. They were all in pajamas and little bathrobes. Some didn’t have hair. Some wore knitted caps with the Kings gold crown logo sewn in. Some smiles, others didn’t seem to have the strength. They were all very sick little boys and girls.

Some of them knew who he was, but most didn’t. It didn’t seem to matter to Sean. He was clearly not there to stroke his own ego or have someone like me document how loving and kind he was. He was there because he wanted to be.

“How often does he come here?” I quietly asked the nurse.

“At least once a week,” she whispered back. “He always brings stuffed footballs or Kings t-shirts or caps to pass out to the kids. When he’s finished handing out goodies, he’ll either read them a story or play something on his guitar.”

“He plays guitar? I had no idea.”

“He plays beautifully,” she said, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. “Aren’t you his girlfriend?”

“No, I’m a journalist,” I said. I found it flattering that she thought someone like Sean Donovan would be interested in someone like me. I tried to sound professional rather than enamored of Sean.

I said, “I’m doing a profile on Sean for a magazine.” I’m glad she didn’t ask which magazine. I’m not sure she would have been as friendly after I told her I (supposedly) worked for Playboy.

I glanced over at her. She was watching Sean with a look of respect and admiration, nothing like the way the women were looking at him in the club last night. Of course, the man I was watching now was a far cry from the man who had humped me so flagrantly on the dance floor.

That was one side of Sean Donovan.

This was another.

I wasn’t quite sure yet which one I liked better.

“When you write your story make sure you mention how much money he has donated to this program,” the nurse said quietly. “I know he doesn’t like to talk about it, and all his donations are done anonymously, but I think it’s around a million dollars.”

“Wow,” I said. “I’ll remember to ask him about that.”