Sliding Into Home Read online

  She was rummaging in her purse for something and didn’t look up, but he heard the car’s locks snap down. “No thank you. I’m about to call Triple-A.”

  “Let me save you the trouble. Pop the hood.” He might not be a certified mechanic, but he knew his way around an engine block well enough to diagnose minor problems.

  “No thank you.” Her head was still buried in her bag. “I maintain a Triple-A membership for a reason.”

  Greg refused to take “no” for an answer. “Come on, Jade. Let me help.”

  She froze. “How’d you know my name?”

  “I know more than just your name.”

  Finally she peered through the glass. She reared back. “You!”

  “Greg Bartlesby, here to help.” He gave her a smile meant to be reassuring.

  “I think you’ve done enough already.” The glass muffled her response, but not enough to completely block it out. The car door whined in protest as she wrangled it open. “You’re lucky I couldn’t find my phone to call 9-1-1. I thought you were one of the creepers from the club.”

  Oops. Best not mention that he’d watched her from the bar for the last five hours. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that, Jade.”

  She joined him outside the car. “That’s easy for you to say. You probably don’t have a crap-ton of student loans to pay off.”

  “Can’t say that I do.” He shrugged. “So you had to borrow a lot for law school?”

  “Law school?”

  Because he was busy hatching that half-formed plan from earlier, her tone didn’t register. “If you really need a second job so badly, why don’t you come with me to the Bartlesby Foundation tomorrow? I’m sure Dad can find something…safer…for you to do.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “You deserve better.” He gestured to the squat, squalid industrial building surrounded by desert sand and scrub. Not only was it beyond bleak, it was a direct contrast to the brunette’s lush looks and luxurious locks. “You don’t belong here.”

  “Thanks. But unless your dad pays several hundred dollars a day, I can’t afford to give up all this splendor.”

  Greg clamped his jaw against what he wanted to say, that he’d pay her hundreds of dollars a day to make him a happy man. Taking money for sex was a step—or ten—down from stripping. “You’ll never know unless you ask.”

  “Thanks, but no. I don’t accept handouts. I prefer to earn my paycheck.”

  He clenched and unclenched his fists until the urge passed. “At least let me try to fix your car, then.”

  “Be my guest.” Jade turned around and stuck her head inside the car, no doubt looking for the hood release. As she felt around, her delectable rear end waggled.

  Greg ground his teeth and shoved his hands in his pockets. Yep. Her turning down his half-baked offer was for the best. No matter how appealing he found her, he didn’t need to get involved with Jade. Not when she’d just end up letting him down.

  ****

  Jenn groped on the nightstand for her ringing phone. Without bothering to check who was calling, she answered it. “Hello?”

  A voice she knew as well as her own answered. “I think you have an admirer.”

  “Jess?” She sat up, instantly alert, even though the room was still dark. Too early for sunrise. “What are you talking about?”

  “That jock from the club. Greg. Tall, blond and dreamy.”

  Oh, how well she knew that. The sexy ballplayer was the subject of all her dreams last night. With her free hand, Jenn hugged her knees to her chest. “I’m well aware of who you mean.”

  “Well, he was back again last night—but he seemed to think I was you.” She giggled. “He offered me a second job to pay off my law school loans.”

  “Um, about that …” She launched into the story of how she’d met Greg. “He assumed I was Jade and refused to believe I had a twin sister.”

  “Men can be so stupid.” Jess laughed. “Whaddaya say we mess with his head a little?”

  Jenn rolled her eyes. “We gave up playing tricks in grade school, remember? Besides, we’re both too busy for fooling around.”

  “It’ll take hardly any time at all,” her sister countered. “Just show up at the Bartlesby Foundation today looking for that job Greg wanted to give me. And don’t forget to snap a picture of the look on his face for me. I bet it’ll be priceless.”

  She shouldn’t.

  But the chance to see Greg again was too tempting to turn down. She needed to drink her fill, maybe even sneak a kiss, to get the infernal man out of her system. So even though she ought to put in extra hours at the office to make up for screwing up the Bartlesby case, she agreed. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  She paused. Better to find out now, before she got too invested in the guy. “Before I hang up to get ready for work, tell me one thing, Jess. Do you like him?”

  “Sure. He seems like a nice enough guy.”

  “I mean like him like him.” They’d promised each other years ago never to let a man come between them. And so far, they’d both kept the vow.

  “As in romantically? Heck no. You know I’d never date someone I met at the club.” She laughed again. “I’ll let you worry about his potential perversions and hang-ups.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “You’re welcome, Sis. Love ya!”

  “And I love you, too.”

  With that, her sister hung up and Jenn was left to wonder what the hell she was doing even giving this—whatever it was—a second’s consideration. Her time was too precious to waste. She ought to be spending every spare minute working, not daydreaming about playing with a man who had no idea what it meant to work for a living.

  But Greg Bartlesby was under her skin. Spoiled rich kid or not, she wouldn’t be able to chase him from her thoughts until she slaked her appetite for the tall, handsome ballplayer.

  She knew little about him, but she knew he had good manners and perhaps a healthy respect for the opposite sex. He had, after all, been arrested for trying to protect her sister. And his father made him angry and jumpy.

  “Not the greatest combination.” She tried to look on the bright side as she wrapped herself in a cotton robe and padded to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. “At least he’s not a cop.”

  Angry, jumpy and armed would be a lot more dangerous.

  ****

  Greg paused outside the door to his father’s office in the cushy Phoenix high-rise that housed the offices of the Bartlesby Foundation. He wasn’t looking forward to letting the great Jake Bartlesby rip him a new one for this latest mistake.

  He sighed. Delaying the confrontation wouldn’t make his father’s criticism sting any less.

  After knocking, he let himself in. Dad’s longtime secretary, Ellen, smiled at him. “Watch yourself, Two. He’s grouchier than a manager who was forced to put his star on the DL.”

  Greg hid his cringe. The secretary was at least seventy, and she’d called him Two since his birth. Hard to ask her to change now.

  Still, he had to try. “It’s Greg now, Ellen. Did you forget?”

  “Sorry. Hard habit to break.”

  “I know.” His whole family called him Two, to differentiate him from his father. The hazard of having the same name. He’d even objected when the Condors had given him the number two jersey. But their manager, Jerry, was adamant, so he wore the hated number. The one positive? The constant reminder of how he’d never measure up to his father pushed him to work harder, be better.

  “Ellen!” his father bellowed from the inner sanctum. “Is my son here yet?”

  She squeezed his hand. “Get on in there.”

  “You got it.” He started toward the office and raised his voice. “Yeah, Dad, I’m here.”

  “Well, stop wasting time. You can’t count the time you spend shooting the shit with Ellen as community service.”

  Greg gritted his teeth and then threw open his father’s door. “Of course not.”
>
  “Good, good. Glad to hear that.” His father pointed. “Have a seat.”

  He folded himself into the overstuffed leather chair, careful not to slouch. “How’ve you been, Dad?”

  “Not having as much fun as you, Two. What the hell were you thinking, going to some seedy strip club on the wrong side of town?”

  On the attack already? Why was he not surprised? “A bunch of us decided to go out to celebrate the end of the season. I didn’t pick the place.”

  “I should hope you’re smart enough to frequent a higher-class establishment.”

  Greg kneaded his fist into his thigh. “Strip clubs are all the same, Dad.”

  “Sure, sure.” His dad waved a big, beefy hand. “But in the high-end ones, there’s less chance of getting into trouble. Classier customers, classier women.”

  “Unlike you, I’m not planning to marry a stripper.” Marry? No. Date? Maybe.

  His father’s face reddened. “Watch yourself, boy.”

  Greg hated that, after his mother died, his father hadn’t even waited a year to remarry. But Dad already knew that. No point in rehashing that argument when they had so many other things to disagree on. “Maybe you ought to take your own advice when it comes to lawyers. If you’d hired a higher-class attorney, I wouldn’t be here today.”

  Now his father’s face turned purple. “Winchester, Stoops and Stull is the best law firm in the Valley.”

  “Well, they assigned the case to a woman who’s a better stripper than lawyer.”

  “I met with that gal yesterday morning. She’s no stripper.”

  “You oughta know,” he muttered. His father’s narrowed eyes said he’d heard anyway. Greg raised his voice. “But I saw her at the club. On the stage. She was the girl I got arrested for defending.”

  “Then she wouldn’t have been able to take the case. Conflict of interest.”

  “Whatever.” His father’s refusal to accept the truth didn’t surprise him. Jake Bartlesby never considered the possibility he could be wrong.

  Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Greg used the pause to regain control of his emotions. His father didn’t even have to try to bring out his worst.

  His father watched him over tented fingers. Finally, he spoke. “Greg, this is the last time I’ll bail you out of trouble.”

  He didn’t believe it. “That’s what you said after Vegas.”

  “Well, this time I’m serious.”

  “You said that last time, too.” His father had been livid when Greg got himself arrested with cocaine on the Las Vegas Strip. An after-game party gone bad. Real bad.

  “Two, I’m a sick man. I’m not likely to be around the next time you need legal advice.”

  His stomach lurched. “What?”

  “Doc says I have less than a year to live.”

  “Dad, that’s not funny.”

  “Good, because I’m not joking.”

  They might butt heads like two pitchers battling for one starting position, but the thought of losing his father still twisted his gut in knots. Bile rose in his throat and blood rushed in his ears. He couldn’t speak, didn’t know what to say. Which question to ask first.

  No way could Jake “Big Man” Bartlesby be dying. He was too full of vitality…and just plain too damn ornery to go before he was good and ready. Greg swallowed hard. “This can’t be happening.”

  “I wish it weren’t. But I’m not likely to make it to the top of the liver transplant list before mine gives out.”

  Greg’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. This was surreal. After an unusually long silence, he managed to force out some words. “Can’t you buy your way to the top? Your fortune should be good for something.”

  “Besides bailing you out of trouble, you mean?” His father’s pointed look made him feel like a skewered bug Greg’s cheeks heated. “Point taken.”

  His father waved as if that was neither here nor there. “Before I’m cold and in the ground, I need you to do something for me, Greg.”

  The knot in his gut pulled tighter. Life without his father, waiting in the wings to prop him up and help him out, scared him shitless. He’d make any promise, do whatever it took. “Anything, Dad.”

  “I want to see you play ball in the majors before I go.”

  He winced. “Maybe I should have said ‘Anything in my power.’”

  “You have the power, Two. All you need to do is straighten up so a major league team will be proud to take you on.”

  Greg rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

  “You can do it. I know you can. You just need a little more focus.”

  More focus? He was the most disciplined, focused ballplayer on the field. Never missed a throw from anywhere on the diamond. He and the Condors’ second baseman held the record for most completed double plays in their division. Nothing got past him. “That’s not the problem.”

  “You’re a good—no, a great—player. More than one major league scout has said it. Your off-field antics are what’s holding you back.”

  He groaned. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “Well, maybe today’s the day it’ll penetrate through that damned thick skull of yours.” His father sighed. “It’s my fault. You’ve been coasting through life on my coattails for far too long.”

  “Bullshit.” Stung by the criticism, Greg jumped up and stalked to the window. “I do everything I can to separate myself from your golden image.”

  “By getting into trouble?”

  “By playing first base, not third. By avoiding your signature mullet. By staying away from the Foundation.” He ticked each one off on his fingers, and could have kept right on going. Instead, he settled for adding just one more. “By not bringing up my legendary father at every turn in conversation. I’m not even sure most of my teammates know we’re related.”

  “They know, all right. How can they not? Even without the hair, you’re my spitting image.” Jake laughed. “Besides, how many Bartlesbys are there in the world?”

  Hadn’t he had the same thought yesterday in court? Sometimes it seemed as though he and his father shared the same brain. God, he hated that. As much as he wanted to distance himself, he couldn’t escape. “Don’t remind me.”

  “What?” His father shook his head, sending too-long golden hair rippling, and batted the girly eyelashes Greg disliked so much. “We’re real lookers.”

  Greg rolled his eyes. “Come on, Dad. Be serious.”

  “I’m trying. You’re the one who just turned this into a pissing contest.”

  “I am not!” But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. Lying to himself was exhausting.

  “Greg, it’s long past time for you to grow up.”

  He stared out the window. On the street far below, traffic rushed by. “I’m trying.”

  “Then try harder.” His father grunted as he pushed himself out of his chair. Then he came up behind Greg and laid his hands on his shoulders. “All this is gonna be yours sooner than you think. You need to be ready.”

  Greg resisted the urge to shake him off. He didn’t want it—any of it. “I’ll never be ready for you to leave me.” He hated the hitch in his voice.

  The intercom on his father’s desk crackled. “Jake, there’s a young lady here who wants to speak to you.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Jennifer Simpson.”

  “The lawyer?” His father’s fingers, so reassuring a moment ago, dug into his trapezius. “You do anything to piss off your attorney, Two?”

  “’Course not, Dad.” He kept his features neutral. That hug in the courtroom hallway had been only mildly inappropriate. Nothing to be ashamed of, really. And she didn’t know he’d spent the evening watching her.

  His father pushed a button on the intercom. “Send her in, Ellen.”

  Chapter Four

  “Mr. Bartlesby is ready to see you now. Young Mr. Bartlesby is in there, too.”

  Jenn thanked the elderly secretary and rubbed her sweaty palms down t
he front of her discounted designer skirt. It was silly to be so nervous, but she was about to talk to a man she now knew was a legend. A man whose games her father watched on TV. Not to mention, she’d be seeing that legendary ballplayer’s sexy son.

  And playing a trick on him.

  She shoved aside the reminder. It was harmless, really. Then she pushed open the office door. Both men were on their feet, near the large bank of windows. She stopped in the doorway, stunned by the resemblance. Greg was slightly taller and trimmer than his father, and both were blond. In a switch, the father’s hair was longer than the son’s. Meeting them separately, she hadn’t noticed that ’til now. Their stances were identical. They both stood with legs planted wide, hands behind their backs. The effect would be similar if someone aged her twin sister by thirty years and had them stand side by side.

  Jake stepped forward first. He extended his hand. “Hello again, Ms. Simpson.”

  “Good morning.” She shook off the strangeness and took Jake’s hand. His handshake was brisk and firm. No-nonsense. Like the man himself, no doubt.

  His son, on the other hand….

  Greg’s generous mouth tipped into a lazy grin. “Came back for a second helping of the Bartlesby charm, did you?”

  Just as she suspected. Nothing was serious to him. Fine by her. She had more than enough serious in her life at work and with her family. A flirtation could be fun. She smiled back. “I seem to recall someone offering a ‘safe’ second job.”

  Greg closed the distance between them. “And I seem to recall someone being pretty adamant about not accepting said ‘safe’ second job.”

  “Sometimes things look different after a night’s sleep.” She shrugged. “But if you’re rescinding the offer—”

  He rushed to interrupt. “No way.” Then he addressed his father. “Dad, Jade needs another job. A good-paying job that’ll keep her out of that damn strip club.”

  She saw the question in Jake’s eyes. Uh-oh. Time to clear up at least that misconception. “It’s Jenn.”

  “What?” Greg was clearly confused.