Power Play by Deirdre Martin

know.”
    Monica whirled to face him. “Really? So which one is the real Eric Mitchell? The self-absorbed egomaniac who thinks women should fall at his feet, or the fluid, conversant charmer in the tuxedo who seemed oh so interested in everyone else?” His face fell, a trace of mortification in his eyes. A new wave of guilt washed over Monica. “I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh, tossing her bag onto the couch. “I’m tired and a little cranky.” Even so, the question she’d just posed was a valid one.
    â€œApology accepted,” said Eric, looking impressed as he gazed around the apartment. “This place is huge.”
    â€œTen years of W and F provides a very nice paycheck.” Visitors tended to be most impressed with the size, but it was how it was decorated that always made Monica proudest: English cottage style, with lots of dried flowers, stripped pine, baskets, and brass. Her home was her oasis, and she wanted it plain and homey, her own little piece of the Cotswolds on the Upper East Side. “What kind of coffee would you like?”
    â€œI’m fine, actually. No coffee for me.”
    â€œI don’t want any, either, to tell the truth.”
    Eric’s gaze was unnervingly direct. “So why am I here?”
    Now that the moment of truth had arrived, Monica wished she’d opted for the coward’s way out back in the limo. Telling the truth could easily undo the PR coup of the past evening. What was to stop him running to the paper and telling them that Monica Geary had used him? Nothing. But she was willing to take the risk. She didn’t want to be the type of person who used someone else that way.
    She sat down on the couch. “Why don’t you sit—at that end,” she added hastily, pointing to the opposite end of the sofa. Eric complied. “I’m not really sure how to say this.”
    Eric raised a hand. “Don’t worry,” he said kindly. “I know what you’re going to say.”
    â€œYou do?”
    â€œYeah.” He radiated self-confidence.
    Monica steeled herself. “What, then?”
    â€œThat you’re totally into me.”
    â€œActually, I’m not. I’m totally not into you. In fact, I think you’re an egomaniacal jerk who may very well have a personality disorder. This whole evening was Theresa Dante’s idea. I need to up my profile in the public eye, and she told me you’d be the perfect escort for me, since you’re the hottest thing on skates or something. We even discussed my stringing you along to keep the public tantalized.” Her cheeks were burning. “But it’s a crappy thing to do, and I—I won’t do it. So I’m telling you the truth. I’m sorry for using you, Eric.”
    She made herself continue to look at his expressionless face, waiting for the inevitable storm of curse words to come. “Wow,” he said, sounding awed. “You’re a total bitch.”
    Ashamed, Monica looked down at her hands. “I know.”
    â€œBut this is a great idea.”
    Monica slowly raised her head. “What?”
    â€œHere’s the lowdown, okay? I’m new to the Blades. Yeah, I’m a great player—that’s universally agreed upon—and yeah, I’m totally hot, but I kind of got off on the wrong foot with my teammates.”
    â€œAlienated them by being a jackass?” Monica murmured sweetly.
    â€œSomething like that,” Eric muttered. “Anyway, I have to prove myself on the ice, obviously. But I also need to do something to prove I’m not a dick off the ice, that I’m kinda cool. The guys all love you, Monica.”
    Monica felt a warm glow inside.
    â€œThey were totally impressed I did a cameo on the show, and even though they all thought I was bullshitting them about being your date tonight, the proof will be in tomorrow’s paper.”
    â€œWhat are you getting