“Yeah, yeah, I heard that. That’s why I’m calling. But, lady, you never had anyone this big,” he said with an air of superiority that was nothing short of skin-crawling. At least he had upgraded her to “lady.”

If he wasn’t being such a total jackass, she might have taken him more seriously. “Would you like to tell me who he is so that I might inform security?” she said with overt sarcasm. He could either take being spoken to in kind or start to ream her out and she would hang up on him and he could dine elsewhere, bad business or not.

There was a pause and she thought he may have hung up on her first. But then he said, “No. Better you don’t know till he gets there. Someone tips off TMZ and the night’s a bust. And he brings his own security.”

“Will they be joining you for dinner?”

His laugh was particularly smarmy. “They’re not paid to eat.”

So he wasn’t only rude, he was also a tyrant. “That’s fine, sir, they can stand guard with mine.” Only hers were imaginary. She no longer cared if the computer was ready. It was a Wednesday, when they were rarely fully booked, and this man and his famous guest seemed intent on dining there. He was probably going to be more aggravation than anything else, even if he was only half as self-important as his representative. “You’re all set, dinner for two at seven. Would you like to leave me a name or is there a code word or what?”

There was another pause, and once again Amanda was given the false hope that he might have hung up, saving her from a night of inconvenient distractions at the very least. But then she heard him on the other end; the noise he made sounded like a snort.

“You’re spunky, kid,” he told her. “Name under Alan Shaw. I’ll be there at six fifty. I don’t like to wait, either. And make sure there are good steaks on hand, he’s a meat eater.”

There was no mistaking the disconnection this time. A security-conscious carnivore with popelike status was joining her for dinner tonight. One who had an obnoxious toady. She pulled the phone away from her ear, turned it off, and wiped the watered-down bird residue off it with the sleeve of her shirt before setting it down on the bar. She noted the time on the now fully booted-up computer, which opened to the day’s reservation page. They were completely booked for seven. She had forgotten about the art house theater opening a few blocks away. Strike three. Her day officially went bust at 2:02 P.M. That was fast, and on a day that had started off so well. When would she learn to keep thoughts of perfection out of her head?

Amanda took a look over at Eric and Nicki. When the telephone exchange had started taking a turn for the testy, they’d stopped what they were doing to watch, waiting to see if their usually competent boss was about to unravel. Amanda picked her purse up off the bar.

“Can you two hold down the fort for a couple hours?” she asked, more out of courtesy than concern, while fishing out her keys.

“Sure,” they said in unison. Then Nicki added, “Where are you going?”

“I’m using a mulligan and starting the day over,” Amanda said over her shoulder as she headed for the door. She wasn’t sure it was going to help.

CHAPTER 2

CHASE TOOK A moment to appreciate the clear blue sky just before putting on his batting helmet. He loved the first home-day games of the season, before the humidity kicked in and the sun was so high at game time the ball was difficult to spot. Not to mention, crowds were much more forgiving and optimistic in April and May. When they were being baked in ninety-degree sun for two and half hours, unless the division title was already all sewn up, fans expected a win, and even then, they could be cranky.

But even in the dog days of summer, Chase Walker rarely needed to be forgiven. He had done his part since the day he put on the uniform as a rookie four years ago, a regular on the all-star roster. One of those years he’d won the home-run derby. He was what sportscasters referred to as “one of those naturally gifted corn-fed boys out of Iowa,” all of which were true. He could always make it as a farmer, but he’d learned early on that as long as he kept hitting balls over outfield walls, he wouldn’t have to. Luckily, the balls and the walls cooperated. The same could be said of his speed and agility. Given his size, neither was expected of him, but he worked on both anyway. He’d earned two gold gloves for the effort.

He walked out onto the field and, picking up a weighted donut, slid it down the end of the bat before stepping into the on-deck circle. He started haphazardly swinging to get the feel, and thought about Julie Harrison’s five-year-old son, whom he’d signed a baseball for two hours earlier. Damn, that kid was cute.

Chase watched Baltimore’s pitcher a moment. Brandon Howard didn’t have a bad start; he had struck Chase out his first time up. But his curveball was coming in high and his slider had started breaking just short of the plate. His fastball had never been anything to write home about. If Troy Miller noticed it, too, he’d be working a walk and would load the bases. With the Miller’s count going to 2–0, chances were he did.

Chase went back to reflecting on Julie, playing with his batting gloves, oblivious to the twenty-five thousand people around him. It was such a nice surprise when she showed up at the stadium during warm-ups. Eight years had changed her from a rebellious teenager to a graceful woman. When she’d called out to him from the row above the dugout, he recognized her right away. Some women just said his name differently. He had security bring Julie and her family onto the edge of the field, where Chase met her son, Milo, and Greg, her Marine Corps sergeant husband. Greg was tall, clean-cut, and sturdy with a firm handshake and good posture. Chase thanked Greg for his service, immediately offered them seats in his luxury box, and then signed the ball for Milo, all the while musing he wasn’t the least bit surprised that Julie had ended up with a military man. Julie had a thing for discipline. But then again, so did he.

Troy Miller had swung on 2 and 0, and then took ball three. The catcher got up and ran out to the pitcher’s mound to give a small pep talk to Howard. Troy looked over to the first-base coach, then back to Chase, and they exchanged small nodding grins. Unless the next pitch was perfect, Troy would be strolling to first. Chase pounded the handle of the bat on the ground, releasing the weight, and then leaned on it. The catcher and pitcher spent a few seconds conversing from behind their mitts before the home plate umpire started making his way to the pitcher’s mound to break up the powwow.

Seeing Julie had made Chase nostalgic. After all, Julie had been his first girl. They had been seniors at Jefferson-Scranton High School in Iowa, long before he became a household name. They had been dating for several months when he dragged her kicking and screaming out of a party when the drugs appeared.

“I’m not about to blow my scholarship to Irvine over a buzz, Julie,” he had calmly told her from the driver’s seat of his father’s pickup truck. Wise beyond his years, he was already good at impulse control. “You shouldn’t want to get mixed up in that stuff, either.”

She accused him of sounding like her father and told him to drop her off at home; she would find another way back to the party. He remarked that with the way she was behaving, if she were his daughter, they’d be taking a trip out to the woodshed. She threw down the gauntlet and replied she’d like to see him try.

He pulled the truck over into the driveway of a deserted farm and showed her in no uncertain terms what he thought about dares. After scorching the seat of her jeans until she screeched a promise to stay put after he dropped her off, he drove her home and they made out in front of her house for an hour. Julie would go on to dare him countless times before they graduated. The night before he left for college she told him under a moonlit sky he was destined to be big and that she’d never forget him. He never promised he’d be back, and she had no means to follow.

Miller fouled off another two pitches before earning the walk. Chase heard his theme music start up and his name reverberating through the stadium’s address system, followed by the accompanying cheer. He strolled up to the batter’s box and went through his setup routine.

It was different in college. Girls were liberated and experimental; the dares became bolder, and antics to get his attention were brattier. He was more than happy to deliver, but it wasn’t the same. It was purely for sex, and he couldn’t get too invested in them. Baseball took up a lot of his time, and he took his education seriously, having never forgotten the words his father told him the day he left for California.

“Son, no matter where your talent takes you, you’re going to be a man a lot longer than you’re going to be a ballplayer. Knowledge is the only true power. Learn all you can.”

Chase got a degree in business and stayed at university for the duration. He hit eighteen home runs his freshman year and only got better. It took him until his junior year to convince scouts he wouldn’t be leaving Irvine until he finished what he’d gone there to do. After graduating magna cum laude, he signed with the team he always wanted to play for and began to call New York home. His father died of a massive heart attack two years later, proud of the man his son had become. Chase convinced his mother to sell the farm and moved her into a gated community in Florida, where she ran one of his foundations, dated a doctor from the local hospital, and played a mean game of canasta.