The All-Star Antes Up
Page 13
None of her family had understood her dream of living in the Big Apple. Her father pushed her to join the 4-H club. Her mother wanted her to date the local boys so she could find a nice, solid husband. They shook their heads in bafflement when she saved up her babysitting money to subscribe to New York magazine so she could pore over the reviews of Broadway shows and restaurants. They said such things were only for idle rich people. Even Dennis felt that way, although he was more diplomatic about it.
Nowadays the guilt lay heavier on her because her brother carried all the responsibilities of the farm since her parents had moved to Florida. He had shouldered them willingly—being a dairy farmer was what he wanted to do with his life. But because it wasn’t what she wanted for herself, she felt as though she’d abandoned him in some way.
Hanging her coat on the coatrack, she sat at her desk and started clicking through the e-mail requests that had come in since she’d left that morning.
“Miranda Tate?” A man in a royal blue tracksuit with some sort of logo on the sleeve stuck his head in the door.
“Yes, I’m Miranda. Do you need me to sign for a package?” Usually the doorman took care of that, especially this late, but maybe it was something unusually valuable.
“You don’t have to sign for it, but I have a delivery for you.” The man ducked back out before returning with a hand truck stacked with three cardboard boxes.
Miranda came around her desk as the deliveryman picked up a manila envelope off the top box. “The message is that you should open this right away. Compliments of Mr. Archer.”
She took the envelope and glanced at the label. Sure enough, her name was typed on it underneath the whooshing blue-and-gold E of the New York Empire. “I don’t understand. I was supposed to get a football.”
“Oh, there’s a football in one of these boxes, I guarantee you,” the man said. “There’s also authentic Empire jerseys, posters, towels, polo shirts, T-shirts, baseball caps . . .”
“Okay,” Miranda said to stop the flow. “But it can’t all be for me.”
“Yup.” The man nodded emphatically. “Doug—that’s Mr. Archer’s assistant—said you get the works. Where do you want me to put ’em?”
“In that corner, I guess.” She pointed to the only space where the pile of boxes would fit. She hoped no one stopped by her office tonight, since the look wasn’t in keeping with the luxurious decor.
The man waved away the tip she tried to give him, saying, “Mr. Archer takes care of me.”
Once he was gone, Miranda opened the envelope, spilling the contents onto her desk. Four tickets fell out, along with a note scrawled on a sheet of Empire stationery.
Dear Ms. Tate,
A football wasn’t enough to make up for my brother’s unfortunate request. Enjoy the game, or at least the food in the VIP box.
Luke Archer
A flush of heat coursed through her. Embarrassment or arousal? She wasn’t sure, but she had to stop it now. He was a client.
She looked at the tickets, which were embellished with shiny gold borders. She sat down and read the note again. On top of being gorgeous, famous, rich, and talented, the quarterback had a sense of humor, a rare attribute among most of the celebrities she had dealt with. Somehow, by going so over the top with his gifts, he had turned this into a charming inside joke.
It looked like she would be rooting for the Empire from now on.
That reminded her of her nephew, Theo, who was the ultimate Empire fanatic. She glanced at the shiny tickets she still held in her hand. Theo would love to go to the game. Maybe she could convince Dennis to take a day off and bring his family to see the Empire play. It was less than two hours’ drive from the farm, but Dennis didn’t like to leave his cows with the hired hand.
She picked up her cell phone and hit her brother’s auto dial. “Are you okay?” he asked, sounding alarmed.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“You never call after nine because you know I go to bed then.”
“Sorry, I forgot.” She’d been thinking about Luke Archer, not her brother’s working hours. “But you’re awake now, and I have a treat to offer you and Patty, and most especially, Theo. I have four tickets for a VIP box at the Empire game on Sunday. With free food.” That might get him there.
“On Sunday. I don’t know.” She could almost hear her brother worrying about his cows.
“I have all sorts of Empire stuff for Theo, including a football signed by Luke Archer.”
“How did you get that?” Dennis knew she could get tickets, but sports collectibles didn’t usually come her way.
“I just might have met Luke Archer himself,” she said with a note of triumph. And another shimmer of remembered pleasure.
“You met Luke Archer?” Awe rang in Dennis’s voice. “Did he shake your hand? If he did, don’t wash it until Theo gets to touch you. I also might want to.”
Miranda laughed. “So will you come?”
“Whatever it is, he’ll come.” That was Dennis’s wife, Patty, shouting into the phone. “He needs a day off, and so do I.”
“Hey, give me that,” Dennis said. Miranda waited as sounds of a tussle over possession of the phone floated into her ear. She heard a muffled exchange of conversation between husband and wife before Dennis came back on, saying sheepishly, “I guess we’re coming to the game. Thanks for the offer, sis. Patty’s right. I haven’t taken time off in a while. And Theo got a great report card, so this will be his reward.”
Nowadays the guilt lay heavier on her because her brother carried all the responsibilities of the farm since her parents had moved to Florida. He had shouldered them willingly—being a dairy farmer was what he wanted to do with his life. But because it wasn’t what she wanted for herself, she felt as though she’d abandoned him in some way.
Hanging her coat on the coatrack, she sat at her desk and started clicking through the e-mail requests that had come in since she’d left that morning.
“Miranda Tate?” A man in a royal blue tracksuit with some sort of logo on the sleeve stuck his head in the door.
“Yes, I’m Miranda. Do you need me to sign for a package?” Usually the doorman took care of that, especially this late, but maybe it was something unusually valuable.
“You don’t have to sign for it, but I have a delivery for you.” The man ducked back out before returning with a hand truck stacked with three cardboard boxes.
Miranda came around her desk as the deliveryman picked up a manila envelope off the top box. “The message is that you should open this right away. Compliments of Mr. Archer.”
She took the envelope and glanced at the label. Sure enough, her name was typed on it underneath the whooshing blue-and-gold E of the New York Empire. “I don’t understand. I was supposed to get a football.”
“Oh, there’s a football in one of these boxes, I guarantee you,” the man said. “There’s also authentic Empire jerseys, posters, towels, polo shirts, T-shirts, baseball caps . . .”
“Okay,” Miranda said to stop the flow. “But it can’t all be for me.”
“Yup.” The man nodded emphatically. “Doug—that’s Mr. Archer’s assistant—said you get the works. Where do you want me to put ’em?”
“In that corner, I guess.” She pointed to the only space where the pile of boxes would fit. She hoped no one stopped by her office tonight, since the look wasn’t in keeping with the luxurious decor.
The man waved away the tip she tried to give him, saying, “Mr. Archer takes care of me.”
Once he was gone, Miranda opened the envelope, spilling the contents onto her desk. Four tickets fell out, along with a note scrawled on a sheet of Empire stationery.
Dear Ms. Tate,
A football wasn’t enough to make up for my brother’s unfortunate request. Enjoy the game, or at least the food in the VIP box.
Luke Archer
A flush of heat coursed through her. Embarrassment or arousal? She wasn’t sure, but she had to stop it now. He was a client.
She looked at the tickets, which were embellished with shiny gold borders. She sat down and read the note again. On top of being gorgeous, famous, rich, and talented, the quarterback had a sense of humor, a rare attribute among most of the celebrities she had dealt with. Somehow, by going so over the top with his gifts, he had turned this into a charming inside joke.
It looked like she would be rooting for the Empire from now on.
That reminded her of her nephew, Theo, who was the ultimate Empire fanatic. She glanced at the shiny tickets she still held in her hand. Theo would love to go to the game. Maybe she could convince Dennis to take a day off and bring his family to see the Empire play. It was less than two hours’ drive from the farm, but Dennis didn’t like to leave his cows with the hired hand.
She picked up her cell phone and hit her brother’s auto dial. “Are you okay?” he asked, sounding alarmed.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“You never call after nine because you know I go to bed then.”
“Sorry, I forgot.” She’d been thinking about Luke Archer, not her brother’s working hours. “But you’re awake now, and I have a treat to offer you and Patty, and most especially, Theo. I have four tickets for a VIP box at the Empire game on Sunday. With free food.” That might get him there.
“On Sunday. I don’t know.” She could almost hear her brother worrying about his cows.
“I have all sorts of Empire stuff for Theo, including a football signed by Luke Archer.”
“How did you get that?” Dennis knew she could get tickets, but sports collectibles didn’t usually come her way.
“I just might have met Luke Archer himself,” she said with a note of triumph. And another shimmer of remembered pleasure.
“You met Luke Archer?” Awe rang in Dennis’s voice. “Did he shake your hand? If he did, don’t wash it until Theo gets to touch you. I also might want to.”
Miranda laughed. “So will you come?”
“Whatever it is, he’ll come.” That was Dennis’s wife, Patty, shouting into the phone. “He needs a day off, and so do I.”
“Hey, give me that,” Dennis said. Miranda waited as sounds of a tussle over possession of the phone floated into her ear. She heard a muffled exchange of conversation between husband and wife before Dennis came back on, saying sheepishly, “I guess we’re coming to the game. Thanks for the offer, sis. Patty’s right. I haven’t taken time off in a while. And Theo got a great report card, so this will be his reward.”
