Sliding Into Home Read online

  Sliding into Home by

  Arlene Hittle

  All Is Fair in Love and Baseball

  Vintage Category Romance

  Copyright © 2014, Arlene Hittle

  Sliding Into Home

  Media > Books > Fiction > Romance

  Category/Tags: romance, contemporary, baseball, Arizona, comedy, attorney, family, coming home

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-62237-270-6

  Digital release: April 15, 2014

  Editing by Suzanne Barrett

  Cover Design by Calliope-Designs

  Stock Art by istockphotos.com and thinkstockphotos.com

  All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

  This edition is published by agreement with Turquoise Morning Press, a division of Turquoise Morning, LLC, PO Box 43958, Louisville, KY 40253-0958.

  DEDICATION

  For my readers. May you have as much fun falling in love with Greg and Jenn as I did making them fall for each other.

  And, as always, for Eric, who continues to believe in me—and my ability to someday buy us a lakefront vacation home.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Acknowledgments

  ABOUT ARLENE HITTLE

  SLIDING INTO HOME

  Will a sexy attorney help the Condors’ rebel first baseman outrun his father’s shadow—or merely strip him of his illusions?

  More than anything, Arizona Condors first baseman Greg Bartlesby wants to make his own name in the big leagues. Too bad being the son of MLB legend Jake “Big Man” Bartlesby makes that impossible. Even worse? His attempts to differentiate himself from his old man more often land him in legal trouble. His latest brush with the law brings him in contact with an attorney he’s met before—as a dancer at the club where he was arrested…for protecting her.

  Jenn Simpson isn’t a stripper—not that she can convince her bonehead client her twin is the one doing the dancing. When Greg offers her sister a job at his father’s Foundation, Jenn is the one who accepts, at her sister’s urging. She soon discovers she likes the work—and her new boss. As she and Greg forge a friendship and more, she knows it’s time to convince him she’s not who he thinks. But when his father’s hospitalization compels Greg to fast-track his leap to the majors by capitalizing on Big Jake’s fame, it might be too late for her to expunge the record.

  Chapter One

  Greg Bartlesby knew it was a bad idea before he threw the first punch, but he still took satisfaction when his fist connected with the jerk’s chin.

  An uppercut, followed by a right hook, and Frat Boy was flat on Twin Peaks’ floor. The kid’s punch had barely grazed Greg’s jaw. One of the advantages of being the Arizona Condors’ best brawler four years running, he supposed.

  Too bad that wasn’t the No. 1 title he was aiming for.

  The fallen man’s buddies scrambled to help him up, but didn’t look inclined to throw any punches of their own.

  Good. Even in a strip club, there was no reason to disrespect a woman. Especially a woman who clearly didn’t welcome the man’s crude advances. Treating women—all women—right was one thing he and his father agreed on. Probably the only thing they agreed on.

  He turned to the teammates who’d come out with him to celebrate the end of the Condors’ season. “Watch my back?”

  Jim and Luis nodded. Luis threw in a “No problem.” Then the two of them stood. Side by side, arms crossed and feet planted wide, they glowered menacingly in the other men’s direction.

  Greg doubted Frat Boy’s friends would get any belated ideas about revenge. A one-time Tau Kappa Epsilon pledge himself, he knew the type—more swagger than action. Still, it was better to be safe than get a beat down once he turned his back.

  He turned his attention to the dancer Frat Boy had been mauling. “Are you all right?”

  The brunette gazed at him, her lush green eyes wide and frightened. Mesmerizing. Still, her chin jutted out almost as far as her rather impressive and barely covered chest. “You think I can’t handle myself?”

  “Maybe you can.” It took effort, but he kept his eyes trained on her face instead of ogling the mounds that threatened to overflow her tiny bikini top. He was determined to respect the woman, even if she didn’t like herself. “But I don’t think you should have to.”

  All the fight went out of her posture then, as if one kind thought deflated her bravado. “Thanks, I guess.”

  “You’re welcome.” He smiled and—because flirting was as natural to him as breathing—added, “I guess.”

  Amusement sparked in her eyes. “You do know we have a bouncer to take care of the unruly ones, right?”

  “Didn’t see anyone jumping to your aid.”

  “Well, Rusty can be a little slow sometimes.” She smiled, a full-fledged, full-wattage dazzler.

  Uh-oh. Before she’d been gorgeous. With that smile, she was absolutely stunning. Not the kind of distraction he needed in the offseason, or anytime, for that matter. After Stephanie, he wasn’t looking for a relationship.

  Greg shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Best to think of something besides Steph—or the charms of the dancer in front of him. “Maybe someone should tell Rusty to take better care of his girls.”

  “He does all right.” Bare shoulders lifted in a shrug. “With his broken elbow, the poor guy doesn’t move as fast as he used to.”

  Greg scanned the club, seizing any excuse to break away from her magnetic charm. Near the door loomed a burly guy with a gray-streaked beard and a cast on his arm. “He looks…formidable.”

  The dancer’s smile reappeared, along with a dimple in her left cheek. She gestured to the team jersey that flapped open over his T-shirt and jeans. “Formidable, huh? Pretty fancy word for a jock.”

  “That’s me. Single-handedly smashing the dumb jock stereotype. I even have a college degree.” An MBA, as a matter of fact. But she didn’t need to know that. He extended his hand. “Greg Bartlesby, at your service.”

  She looked at his hand but didn’t take it. “Jade.”

  “No last name?”

  “Just Jade.”

  He dropped his hand to his side. No point in holding it out there any longer. “Well, Just Jade, what do you say we get outta here and grab a drink?”

  She shook her head and took a step back. “Sorry. I don’t date customers.”

  “It’s not a date.” Technically, he was a customer, so he let that one slide. “Just a thirsty guy and girl enjoying a frosty adult beverage together.”

  “I doubt you’ll be enjoying anything anytime soon.” She pointed toward the door.

  Two cops had joined the bouncer, and all three were headed in their direction, plowing through the crowd with single-minded determination.

  “Someone called the cops?” Jus
t what he needed.

  “Management tends to get a little testy when you knock a guy out in two punches.” She was examining his hand again, staring as if it had an extra finger or two. “Are your hands registered weapons?”

  “Nah. I just know my way around a bar fight.” He grinned. “It’s not my first time at this particular dance.”

  “A tough guy, huh?” The question came not from the lovely Jade, but from a raspy male voice behind his left shoulder.

  He turned. Sure enough, it was one of the two police officers scowling at him. His nametag identified him as Collins. His partner clutched a notebook and pen, effectively hiding his name.

  Greg took a deep breath. Time to play the “I’m sorry” game. If he was lucky, he could talk himself out of trouble. “No, Officer Collins.”

  “Mind telling us what happened?”

  “That guy”—he paused to point at the frat boy with the bloodied nose—“was pawing Jade.”

  The cop holding the notebook leered at Jade’s chest, and Greg shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from slugging him, too. Assault on an officer would be an even dumber move than roughing up Frat Boy.

  Collins whispered something and Notebook Cop nodded.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to come down to the station with us, answer a few questions.” Collins said.

  “Is that really necessary, officer?” Jade laid her hand on Collins’ arm. Long, graceful fingers curved over his blue dress shirt.

  The officer seized her by the wrist and guided her hand back to her side. “Yes, it is, ma’am. You’ll need to come, too.” He looked at Jim and Luis, who were still glowering at the frat boys across the room. “You, too. All of you.”

  Greg held in a groan. “Sorry, guys.”

  Luis shrugged, but Jim just laughed. He slapped Greg’s back. “It ain’t a party until someone gets arrested, right?”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Greg muttered. His father would not be pleased if he landed himself in jail again.

  ****

  Jennifer Simpson limped into the downtown Phoenix law offices of Winchester, Stoops and Stull. She’d caught the heel of one of her favorite stilettos in a storm grate on the way to work.

  “You’re late, Jenn.” The frowning receptionist handed her an iced coffee, welcome after a trek in October’s desert heat. “Stull wants you in his office—ten minutes ago.”

  Of course he did. She did all his scut work. And most of the time was happy to do it. High-paying jobs like this one weren’t exactly plentiful in this economy. “Tell him I’m on the way. I just have to stop by my office for a sec.”

  She dumped her briefcase and coffee on the desk and swapped the ruined shoes for the spare pumps she kept in her desk drawer. Put together again, she grabbed a legal pad and pen and trotted down the hall to see what her boss expected her to do this time.

  She stopped in front of Steven Stull’s door. After pausing long enough to straighten her skirt and smooth her already impeccable hair, she rapped on the glass.

  “Come in,” her boss barked.

  Jenn yanked open the door. He wasn’t alone. A big bear of a man, probably in his early-to mid-forties, occupied one of the chairs in front of Mr. Stull’s desk. The visitor was handsome, and his fancy suit and expensive tie screamed money—obscene amounts of cold, hard cash.

  Her boss pointed to the empty chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”

  Without comment, she sank into the seat he’d indicated. No doubt he wanted her to take dictation. She was a junior associate, not a secretary, but Mr. Stull paid her well enough that she’d do it without complaint. She flipped the yellow pad to a blank page and poised her pen.

  “Jenn, I want you to meet Jake Bartlesby. Jake, Jennifer Simpson.”

  Odd. Her boss didn’t usually introduce her. Jenn set aside paper and pen so she could shake the man’s hand. “Hello, Mr. Bartlesby.”

  The visitor waved a meaty hand. “Please, call me Jake. When you say Mr. Bartlesby, I look for my old man.”

  “Jenn, Jake has a legal issue for us to take care of.”

  Mr. Bartlesby—Jake—flushed. “My son’s in trouble. Again.”

  “And the case is up in Judge Wyndham’s court. Ten o’clock this morning.” Her boss’ look was pointed.

  Jenn knew that look. Judge Donald Wyndham was known as a pervert. Mr. Stull expected her to go into the courtroom, flash a little cleavage and some leg and get Jake’s no-doubt spoiled son off with nothing more serious than rapped knuckles.

  She knew the drill. However, that didn’t mean she wanted to go in blind. Some people weren’t worth defending, no matter how well paid she was. That was why she’d taken a job with this law firm—mainly setting up corporations and handling financial transactions. It suited her that their criminal cases were few and far between. “Mind if I ask what your son did?”

  “Bar fight.” Jake tugged at his collar. “Damn hothead was flirting with some gal and apparently thought brawling would give him a leg up on the competition.”

  She didn’t particularly care for pretty-boy womanizers, but compared to, say, rapists and drug dealers, a bar brawler was harmless enough. She nodded. “Don’t worry, Jake. I’ll do what I can to make it go away.”

  “Thank you, darlin’.” He rose and then strode from the room.

  The endearment set her teeth on edge, but she kept quiet. She stood to leave, too, but Mr. Stull stopped her. He handed her a folder. “I’ll be the first to say Jake’s son is no saint. But it looks like he’s in the right this time.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Jenn? Jake Bartlesby is a VIP client. Don’t let him—or his son—down.”

  Her fingers itched to open the file her boss had given her, but she waited until she was back in her office. She had fifteen minutes to prepare before she had to leave for the courthouse.

  She sank into her comfy office chair and flipped open the folder. Gregory Jacob Bartlesby II. First baseman for the Arizona Condors. One prior assault arrest and one for possession of cocaine. They were five and more than three years ago, respectively. He’d gotten off with probation both times, no doubt thanks to his father’s influence. His record since was clean, but that was no indication he’d changed. He’d probably just become better at not getting caught.

  Jenn dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her temples. Just how she’d wanted to spend her morning: trading on her looks to help a rich jerk with a substance abuse problem go free to continue his carefree, irresponsible life.

  She sighed and shoved the file into her briefcase. Then she hoofed it down the block to the courthouse. The sooner she met this clown, the sooner she could get back to work that mattered.

  Her heels tapped against the polished floor, each step taking her closer to someone she didn’t care to meet. She drew a deep breath and pushed open the door to Conference Room B, where she was to brief Jacob Gregory Bartlesby II on what would happen in the courtroom.

  When she entered the room, the man seated at the table with his back to her rose to his feet. At least he had manners. She liked that.

  She also liked the way he filled out his expensive suit. The fine fabric of the navy jacket stretched taut across broad shoulders. And his slacks hugged a perfect butt. She tore her eyes from the impressive sight and cleared her throat. “Mr. Bartlesby? I’m Jennifer Simpson. I’ll be defending you today.”

  He started to answer while he turned to face her. “Call me Greg. Mr. Bartlesby’s my fa—” He stopped. His eyes bugged out and he ran a finger around his collar. “Jade?”

  “Jade?” Jenn’s heart beat faster. “You know my sister?”

  “Your sister?” He winked. “If that’s how you want to play it, sure.”

  She slid into a chair on the opposite side of the table and again skimmed the arrest report in the Bartlesby file. Sure enough, he’d been arrested at the club her sister, Jessica, who used Jade as her stage name, worked in. He claimed to have been protecting her when he started th
e fight. Funny how that detail hadn’t registered the first time. She must have been too busy processing his priors.

  A chair scraped against the floor. “You look just like her, you know.”

  “Not surprising. Identical twins generally do look alike.”

  His answering chuckle was a growly rumble—altogether too pleasing. Everything about this clown appealed more than it should. On paper, he was all wrong. But in person, he was too right.

  “Wait. Let me get this straight. You and Jade are twins, but you’re a lawyer and she’s a stripper?”

  Until he opened his mouth. Thank God for small miracles. All she had to do was keep him talking and the ridiculous pull he had on her would wither under the idiocy of his comments.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my sister dances to pay off her student loans.”

  “Uh-huh.” He winked again.

  “A degree in biomedical engineering doesn’t come cheap.”

  “No degree is cheap anymore.” His lips tipped into a grin. “Jade.”

  Obviously not planning to redefine the “dumb jock” stereotype. Oh well. Let him think what he would. She had only to get the imbecile through this hearing, and then she’d never have to lay eyes on him again. She tried to steer the conversation back on course. “Let me tell you how I’m going to get you off.”

  His grin widened and crinkles appeared at the corners of his sky blue eyes. “Surprise me.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Her cheeks heated.

  “When a beautiful girl offers to get me off, I’ll never say no.”

  She barely managed to stop herself from answering with an unprofessional eye roll. What a jerk. Did he really think that line would work for him? She flashed him a smile so sweet it made her teeth ache. “Duly noted. Mr. Bartlesby.”

  He pressed a hand to his heart and recoiled in mock terror. “Ouch. Point taken.”

  “Good.” She tapped a finger against the folder in front of her. “Now can we get back to business?”