Power Play by Deirdre Martin Page A

at?” Monica asked warily.
    â€œWe commence a mutually beneficial relationship.”
    â€œYou’re kidding, right?” This was the last thing Monica expected to hear.
    â€œIt’ll help each of us get what we want, right? This could even help me out with Blades fans, who are kind of gunning for me, too, since the team traded one of their most beloved players for me.”
    Monica nodded her head, impressed. “You must be good at what you do.”
    â€œBabe, I’m good at a lot of things.”
    â€œOh, God. Look.” Monica pointed a warning finger at him. “If we’re going to be spending time together, you cannot say icky things like that. Got it?”
    Eric looked mildly wounded. “But what if it’s true?”
    â€œThen keep it to yourself. I don’t care if you have the biggest package east of the Rockies; (A) I’m not interested, and (B) it makes me want to stick a fork in your eye. So save your breath.”
    Eric frowned. “Fine,” he said, his expression reflective as he gave a stretch. “How do we do this?”
    â€œBy constantly being in the public eye, doing couple type things. Dinner, stuff like that.” Monica gave a small frown. “I suppose I could go to a hockey game sometime, meet your teammates. And you could visit the set.”
    â€œSounds great.” Eric stood, stifling a yawn. “So, we’ve got a deal?”
    â€œDeal,” Monica said, rising.
    â€œCan we at least seal it with a—”
    â€œHandshake?” Monica cut in, glaring at him.
    Eric rolled his eyes. “Fine.” Eric extended his hand, and Monica took it. His hands were big and strong, the grip firm. She pulled away as soon as politely possible. “I’d love to stay and talk, but believe it or not, I’ve got practice tomorrow. My coach is a bit of a fanatic.”
    â€œShould we set up our next rendezvous?”
    Eric shrugged. “Sure. What do you want to do?”
    â€œThere’s this new restaurant called Dijon that just opened up on East Seventy-ninth. I’ll make reservations for Thursday night and have Theresa alert the press. My car will pick you up.”
    â€œYour car ?”
    â€œIs there a problem with that?”
    â€œNo. I’ve just never had a girlfriend—”
    â€œ Business partner —”
    â€œâ€”who had her own car service before.”
    â€œI told you: daytime’s been very good to me.”
    â€œSounds like it’s going to be very good to me, too.” He paused. “Don’t you think I should kiss you sometimes, just so it looks realistic?”
    â€œIf we must.” An unwanted streak of heat shot through Monica as she remembered another detail of her dream: they’d had sex here on the couch. “You should go,” she said, hustling quickly to open the door.
    Eric sauntered after her. He appeared to have only one speed: saunter. “Well, thank you for a very nice evening, Miss Geary.”
    â€œYou, too, Mr. Mitchell.”
    He smiled at her—a sincere smile, which was somewhat unnerving—and sauntered out into the hall. Monica quietly closed the door behind him. Their arrangement was nuts, she thought, but Eric was right: it could help the both of them immensely. Still, what did it say about two people willing to use one another for their own purposes? She worried about that, but then again, as long as there was no risk of anyone getting hurt . . .
    She yawned, suddenly tired. She couldn’t wait to see the papers tomorrow.

FIVE
    Eric sat on the bench behind the rink’s Plexiglas, watching as his brother and five of their teammates were put through a two-on-one headman drill. Maybe it was a testament to his desperation, but the minute he’d woken up that morning, he’d hustled to the deli around the corner to pick up the Sunday edition of the Sentinel . Coffee in one hand, he’d hurriedly flipped to the