raw masculine energy. Everything about him was a turn-on.
“I’ll give it some thought.” Demetri took his sunglasses out of his back pocket and slid them on. “My publicist will be in touch.”
“That sounds great, Mr. Morretti. I look forward to hearing from her.”
“Thanks for your time, Mrs. Velasquez. Have a nice day.” Demetri nodded, then turned and strode out of the small, cramped office.
“Angela, I know you’re upset because I ordered you into my office, but I had no choice,” Salem said, her facial features touched with concern. “You were losing control.”
“Of course I was! Demetri Morretti is a complete jerk!” Gesturing to the door, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, she raged, “Who the hell does he think he is?”
Salem picked up the latest copy of People magazine off her desk and held it in the air. “The sexiest man alive, that’s who!”
“I wonder who he had to bribe to get on the cover.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, Demetri’s a jerk, and in my opinion there’s nothing sexy about him.”
Salem snatched her phone off the cradle and started dialing.
“Who are you calling?” Angela asked, frowning.
“My optometrist.” She was wearing a straight face, but her tone was rich with humor. “I’m booking you an emergency appointment.”
“Why? My eyes are fine.”
“No, they’re not.” A smirk lit her glossy, pink lips. “There’s definitely something wrong with your vision and your hormones because Demetri Morretti is the finest man on the planet!”
Chapter 3
The moment Demetri entered MVP Sports Bar & Grill and smelled fresh garlic wafting out of the open kitchen, his mouth began to water. Located a half block from Skyline Field, the sports bar was insanely popular among young and college-aged sports fans. Every time Demetri stopped inside the restaurant bar, the staff gave him a hero’s welcome.
“Demetri, my man, so good to see you!” The manager, a portly man with a double chin, grabbed his hand and gave it a hearty squeeze. “How are you doing?”
“Good, Mr. De Rossi. How’s the family?”
“My sons are growing up fast and getting in all sorts of trouble.” Chuckling, he bent down and pointed at his receding hairline. “The kids are the reason I’m losing my hair, and the little I have left is turning gray!”
Demetri laughed heartily. The fellow reminded him of his dad, right down to his wrinkle-free pants, buffed leather shoes and thick Italian accent. Shooting the breeze with the jovial bar manager always put Demetri in a good mood. And after the tongue-lashing he’d received from Angela Kelly at the station, he needed something to laugh about.
“I just put your calzone in the stove,” he said, patting Demetri on the shoulder and steering him toward the dining room. “I’ll bring it out as soon as it’s ready.”
“Thanks, sir. I appreciate it.”
Spotting his staff sitting in one of the cushy, padded booths, Demetri acknowledged them with a nod of his head. Nichola Caruso, his savvy, no-nonsense publicist and personal assistant, waved, but his manager and agent were too busy on their cell phones to notice he’d arrived. Every Friday, he met with his team at MVP Sports Bar & Grill, and because Nichola rented out the entire restaurant, they could eat and talk in peace. Demetri didn’t have to worry about paparazzi snapping pictures of him with barbecue sauce on his face or crazed fans hitting him up for autographs or cash. “If it’s not too much trouble, can I have a basket or two of bruschetta?” Demetri patted his stomach. “I’m starving, and I bet the guys finished what was on the table.”
“No problem. I’ll whip up a fresh batch for you.”
Demetri thanked him again and strode into the lounge. Dark wood paneling, vintage sports memorabilia and plush burgundy couches created a sophisticated decor. The tall, oversize windows provided a tranquil view of downtown Chicago and plenty of warm sunshine. It was the perfect weather for gardening or reading out on the deck, and as soon as Demetri finished his meeting, that was exactly what he was going to do.
“Sorry I’m late, but the I-94 was backed up for miles,” Demetri said, taking off his hoodie and chucking it inside the booth. Sitting down, he snatched a menu off of the table and flipped it open. “Did you guys order already?”
His agent, Todd Nicholas, answered with a nod of his head. Buff, with blue eyes and tanned skin, he looked like the quintessential all-American boy. “I have a meeting across town in an hour, but I couldn’t leave here without having Chef Sal’s delicious lasagna. I’ve been craving it all week.”
Demetri stared longingly at the barbecue chicken wings and licked his lips.
“Want some?” Nichola picked up the basket and offered it to him. “Go ahead, Demetri. They’re all yours.”
“Are you sure? I know how much you love Sal’s wings.”
“I’m sure. I shouldn’t be cheating on my diet anyway.”
Demetri plucked a wing out of the basket and took a big bite. “Thanks, Nichola. I can always count on you to give me just what I need.”
“Just make sure you remember that when my birthday rolls around in August!” she said, swiveling her neck. “I want shopping money and Porsche Cayenne in pink just like Mariah Carey!”
Demetri released a hearty chuckle. Small and petite, with a short, funky haircut, Nichola looked more like a high school student than a Princeton graduate. A friend of his family for years, he’d hired her as a favor to his father, Arturo, and in the twelve years Nichola had been working for him, he’d never once regretted his decision.
“You’re moving a lot better today.” Nichola wore a concerned expression on her face, but her tone was upbeat and bright. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Not bad. It’s only been a couple weeks since the surgery, but my surgeon and physiotherapist are pleased with my progress.”
“Is that where you were this morning? At your doctor’s office?”
Demetri glanced to his right. His manager, Lloyd Kesler, may have needed a haircut, and an extreme fashion makeover, but when it came to negotiating deals, he was the best in the business. “No, I’ve been around. Just maxin’ and relaxin’.”
“Around, huh? Doing what?”
“You know, this and that.” Demetri continued eating the barbecue chicken wings. They were onto him. He was sure of it. He couldn’t do anything without this terrible threesome finding out, but he wasn’t going to let anyone make him feel guilty for confronting Angela Kelly. The television newscaster had it coming to her. Or at least that was what he told himself when guilt tormented his conscience.
“Why are you giving me the third degree for being a couple minutes late?” Demetri said, choosing to stare at the mounted flat-screen TV instead of at his chubby, high-strung business manager. “I said I was sorry, man, so let it go. It’s no big deal.”
Nichola and Todd exchanged a worried glance, one he’d seen a million times over the years they’d all been working together, but it was Lloyd who spoke.
“You disregarded my advice and went down to WJN-TV station, didn’t you?”
Demetri shrugged. “So, what if I did?”
“I told you I would handle it.”
“You were taking too long,” he said, shrugging his shoulders once more.
Nichola pointed a finger at him. “You went down to the TV station dressed