Chapter 23

"Iwant you to have your microphones active at all times, okay? So you can immediately let me know if anything goes wrong. Understood?"

Emma looked up at the three hulks who were supposed to be today's security detail.

The hulks returned her gaze, and judging from their expressions, Emma might just as well have spat on their shoes.

"I asked whether that's understood?" Emma repeated with a little more stress.

She had learned early on that you had to project authority in the first few minutes, if you wanted to be respected by your staff. That way, you were able to retain your composure, even if later you had a glass of bubbly too many, or stumbled over cables or bridal veil.

"Yeah, sure," the musclemen grumbled and duly switched on the microphones that were clipped to the collars of their shirts. Emma made sure that she could hear each of them in her headset, before sending them off to their respective positions. She had arranged it so that she was able to switch the channel in their ear pieces, in order to switch from one bouncer to another.

The ceremony would start in an hour, and the first guests were already being led to their seats – so if anything went wrong, she needed to know right away where the source of the problem was located, and then eliminate it as quickly as possible.

She tugged at the collar of her white blouse to straighten it, checked the flower arrangements once again, and made sure that the cute little girl, who would be the ringbearer, was just putting her own finger up her nose, not the rings. Then she headed for the coat room in her uncomfortable black heels, to ask the bride once again about any last-moment wishes.

Emma didn't reach her destination; she was held up in the entrance hall by Luke, who approached her with a dark look. He was wearing a black tux, which hugged his broad shoulders and made Emma want to sigh. Everything about this man was pure seduction, from his toes to the last strand of hair. How could her heart have been this stupid? You didn't fall in love with a playboy. You fell in love with a down-to-earth guy, who wanted two-and-a-half kids and a family home.

Luke stopped in front of her and looked as if someone had just revealed to him how babies were made.

"Who trod on your toes?"

His eyebrows came together in an unhappy frown. "My great-aunt just asked me whether I brought my boyfriend."

Emma struggled to keep a straight face, but gave up after a fraction of a second, and grinned at him.

"Well, you know, there's your uniform … and if you hop out of the way of a ball, because the pitcher hasn't thrown it the proper way, that might look just a little gay," she explained matter-of-factly.

He returned her grin, pulled her up on tiptoe, and let his hand slide down her back slowly, while kissing her senseless.

"I don't have to prove to you that I'm not gay," he murmured.

Dear God, no, he didn't!

Her cheeks were infused with red when she slapped his hand away. "I'm working!"

"Who said you can't combine work with pleasure?"

Emma had no idea who might have said it, but she was sure that there had been at least one Greek philosopher who held that conviction.

"It's unseemly," she stated and squirmed out of his grip.

Luke made a face. "The word ‘unseemly' is unseemly."

"It's a perfectly normal word."

"Honey, you're the one who believes that ‘picturesque' is a very popular word … but it's not!"

She rolled her eyes. "But it should be, and now stop sexually harassing me. I need to go check if the bride isn't choking on all that tulle."

She waved the back of her hand in his direction, but he didn't budge. Instead his lips curved into a leer, and he stated in a low voice: "If you call that sexual harassment, I want to know what you'd say to the things I'm doing to you in my thoughts right now."

He threw her another salacious glance, before turning away and leaving Emma with flaming cheeks and wobbly legs. She put a hand on her forehead and took a deep breath. She had a job to do. That's what she needed to focus on.

She shook her head at herself and raised her hand once again, to wave a quick hello at Luke's teammates, who had just stepped into the foyer. Then she disappeared through the large double doors into the room that was reserved for the bride, certain that the next crisis was already waiting for her in there.

***

Luke hated walking around in a tux. After half an hour you started to sweat rivers, and you kept feeling you were being strangled by your bow tie. And Emma was buttoned up to her chin, hiding her curves underneath a blazer, which didn't make him appreciate the dress code any more. He was already looking forward to unwrapping her later that night … like a present under the Christmas tree.

He looked around the half-filled room that would host the actual ceremony, and realized with a grin that, contrary to his teammates, he was at least able to hide his aversion for the required dress.

He moved through the room, nodded at the security guy who checked people's invitations, and stood next to Ray, Dexter, and Jake, who were fidgeting uncomfortably with their ties and bow ties.

"I know it's a formal occasion and everything, but I hated running around in this thing even at my own wedding," Ray grumbled, before welcoming Luke with a pat on the shoulder.

Jake scratched his back and made a grumpy face. "I swear this fabric is giving me a rash."

"I hope it's not going to stick in the wrong places, Braker."

"Shut up, Lucky. If I were you, I'd rather watch out that your wifey doesn't get any ideas tonight! Your father is getting married a second time; maybe she'll develop an urge to emulate him."

Luke gave his comrade the finger. "Don't be a pain in the ass, Braker."

"Someone's tetchy tonight."

Luke ignored him. The thought of his wifey being forced to break his heart in public after this weekend made him queasy.

Sure, for the sake of the press, he needed to look like a very poor sod, but wasn't there at least a chance he could come out with his pride intact in front of his team?

Ray cleared his throat. "I hate to tell you, but my wife only got the ‘I want a ring' glitter in her eyes after we attended her sister's wedding together. And now we have two kids and a detached house."

Luke stared at him with his mouth hanging open. Dexter laughed out loud – probably because he knew as well as Luke that he really didn't need to worry about Emma suddenly wanting to marry him.

"Yeah, Lucky, don't you want to start having a bunch of little Carters?" Dexter asked with a smirk. "How about nine kids? You could produce your own baseball team."

Okay, enough! It was time to return fire. He cleared his throat. "How about you, bud? Is it harder to share your apartment with somebody who's a lot prettier than you?"

"Hey, at least my sister doesn't want to marry me!"

Because that would be rather disturbing. "You're talking bullshit again. It's not like that."

Jake raised his eyebrows. "What's not like what?"

"The thing between Emma and me! She's not the type for the altar."

Ray gave him a strange look. "Believe me, every woman is made for the altar."

Luke groaned. He should probably just tell them. That it was all just a grand show. Dexter knew it already. They would keep their mouths shut. Wouldn't they?

But what if they didn't? He scratched his chin. On his father's engagement party, something had transpired, too, after all.

"Fine, maybe she is made for the altar for someone out there, but certainly not for me."

Dexter had narrowed his eyes a little, but none of the others seemed to notice.

"What's that supposed to mean, man?" Jake wanted to know with a grin. "I thought you were the current dreamboat. Cinderella and all that."

Luke snorted. Cinderella.

It was time to salvage his honor.

"Listen, Braker. She may be a lot of things, but she's anything but a Cinderella. My God, I know she's my first girlfriend in a long time, but somehow … she's also just a groupie from Germany."

Jake smirked and slapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, but groupies always did it for you, didn't they?"

Ray shook his head and furrowed his brow. "Well, they did it for him in the sack, but that was it … I don't understand," he finally added. "You seemed so damned happy. Why the sudden change of heart?"

Luke had managed to steer the conversation in an extremely awkward direction, and he could have kicked himself for it. Hell, what had he just stirred up? Emma was not a groupie! He had only said it so his ego wouldn't suffer, but that was incredibly selfish.

And now he couldn't take it back.

"I mean, sure. She was different. New. Just a little more down-to-earth, more average than the women before her. To be honest, I'm simply not sure whether that will be enough for something more serious."

Luke avoided Dexter's gaze, because he knew his friend was looking at him as if he was the biggest jerk in the galaxy. And that was also exactly how he felt.

***

Ten yards and twenty rows of chairs away, Emma listened to the last crackle in her earpiece, and felt a cold hand grip and squeeze her heart. The blood left her head, and she felt nauseous.

A groupie from Germany. Average. Different. Not enough.

She pressed her lips together and fought the tears that stung her eyes. She was not the kind to cry in public, it was just …

How could a man pull her up on tiptoe, kiss her almost senseless, and say something like this only a minute later?

Emma let her hand sink from her ear slowly, and stared at the back of his neck.

This was a man who was apparently still fully aware of the fact that their relationship wasn't real, and that sex was just that, sex. A man who was looking forward to the day she would be back in Germany, for that would be the day he could resume his former lifestyle. Such a man would say exactly what Luke had just said.

It was the same thing it had been five years ago, all over again. She wasn't good enough. Not exciting enough. But this time it was a lot worse, for she should have simply known better than to fall in love with Luke Carter.

***

The ceremony dragged on forever, and when his father had finally put the ring on the finger of his newly-wedded wife and kissed her, Luke would have given a lot to simply leave the room, find Emma, and drive home with her.

But there was still a reception and dinner to get through – it would take a while before he could fulfill his wishes.

He congratulated his father, even gave Nadia a kiss on the cheek, and was promptly dragged outside for the photos of the couple together with their best man and woman.

He only saw Emma in passing, when she exchanged a few words with the caterer.

It took another hour for the guests to finally assemble for the champagne reception, and when he tried, Luke simply couldn't find Emma anywhere.

He circled the room several times, until he ended up next to his father and his new wife again, shaking his head with a frown.

"Are you looking for someone?" Nadia wanted to know with a friendly smile. His father could really have done worse.

Luke nodded. "Yes, I haven't seen Emma for quite a while."

Nadia blinked several times, and then a small line appeared between her eyebrows. "Emma? But she left more than half an hour ago."

Luke stared at her, utterly dumbfounded. "What does that mean, she left? We came here together."

"She said she wasn't feeling well. A migraine attack. She was going to take a taxi. I thought she had told you."

"No, she didn't."

Like hell she had! The only question was: Why?

If she didn't feel alright, she could just have told him! He could have driven her home. And anyway: She had abandoned the event she was responsible for? Because she wasn't feeling well?

That didn't sound like the Emma Luke knew. Emma was not the type to leave her job for other people to do, not for something as mundane as a headache.

Something was wrong.

Luke searched his pockets for his car keys, and then rushed out to the parking lot without another word.

***

She had lived in this apartment for over a month, and yet Emma needed no more than half an hour to make it look as if she had never been there.

It really shouldn't be that easy to remove a person from another person's life, but it was.

It didn't take more than a large travel bag, two hands, and thirty minutes time. It might even have been accomplished in twenty, if Emma hadn't spent the first ten of them crying in the bathroom. Not one of her proudest moments.

But here she was, ready to step out the door and leave Luke behind. To pick up the pieces of her self-esteem once again, hoping she would do better next time.

She slowly folded the place mats, the last things that were left of her. Just when she had closed the zipper on her bag, the door was pushed open.

She wished she had started packing the minute she got here. Then she wouldn't have had to look at Luke once again.

The door slammed shut behind him, and he stared at her bag with his eyes narrowed, before looking straight into her face.

"That doesn't look like a migraine."

She lowered her head and lifted the bag, putting the strap over her shoulder.

"Well, what does it look like?" she asked, giving him a wide berth as she walked towards the door. She knew he was staring at her, but she couldn't take it. Not his eyes, which had looked at her with so much affection, nor his lips, which had driven her crazy, just to speak those words only seconds later. Words that nobody deserved to hear – not even a real groupie.

"It fucking looks like you're leaving."

"Maybe you haven't gotten too many balls to your helmet after all. You still seem able to think logically."

She put the bag down again, took the key to his apartment from the pocket of her coat, and placed them on the dresser next to the door.

His hand grabbed her wrist and forced her to turn around. "Don't you want to at least give me a why?" he flared at her, his face torn between anger and utter despair.

She shrugged her shoulders. "There is no reason to stay any longer. The situation has long calmed down. My apartment is no longer under siege. I'm going home."

He let go of her hand. "And that's a decision you made in the middle of my father's wedding?"

Her jaw tensed. "Yes."

He crossed his arms and gave her a searing look. "The four months aren't over yet. We had a deal."

He deserved to be slapped for those words alone. No, more than a slap, he deserved a hook to his chin. Slapping was still too nice for Luke Carter!

But she didn't move. She didn't want to let him win. She was better than that.

She forced out a dry laugh. "Oh, don't worry, our deal's still intact. You'll get your grand finale soon enough! Tomorrow morning, after you've done your interview for the Morning Show, the press won't know what hit them. They'll paint you as the unfairly treated victim of a veritable fury, don't worry. Your image will rise like a goddamned phoenix."

She opened the door, but Luke put his arm against the doorframe, blocking her path.

His gaze bored into her, and Emma struggled not to lose her temper.

"What happened?" he wanted to know, every word like the slash of a knife. "What happened between that last kiss and now?"

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged to profess her indifference, while unshed tears stung her eyes in a merciless urge to fall.

"Reality happened, Luke." she said flatly, ducked under his arm, and hurried out into the stairwell, before he could see the first tear that had managed to roll down her cheek.

Luke couldn't claim he'd had an uneasy sleep, for he hadn't slept at all.

He kept replaying the evening in his head, and simply couldn't figure out what the hell might have happened! One moment she snuggled up against him as if she wanted to melt in a puddle at his feet, and the next she packed her bag and moved out.

He knew that women suffered from hormonal tides, but that seemed a little too much to be explained by her cycle.

Reality happened.

What was that supposed to mean anyway? Had she tried to be mysterious again? Because, God damn it, she had succeeded!

He lay on his back and let his head fall to the right. The pillow next to him was as untouched as a nun.

Shit.

He had wanted to run after Emma last night, had wanted to drag her back into his apartment. He should have tied her to a chair, until she was ready to tell him what the hell was going on. But he hadn't done anything at all. She was not his girlfriend, and she could do whatever she wanted.

Instead he had returned to his father's wedding, sat out the dinner, and had only gone back to his apartment after the wedding dance – which was officially the first legitimate point to leave such an event. His apartment had suddenly seemed fucking big and empty.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Of course Emma had to end it, but not like that, and not now! He'd planned on spending the rest of the weekend in bed with her, before getting used to the thought that he would never see her again.

Never again.

Why did those words suddenly sound so damned permanent? He groaned as he rolled out of bed and slouched into the bathroom. When he looked into the mirror, he knew that the Morning Show's make-up artist was in for a real challenge.

***

Emma had spent the night on her sister's couch. She didn't want to be alone, and cuddling her nephew was a lot more comforting that devouring a family-sized tub of ice cream.

It had taken Milla no more than a brief glance at her to know what was going on – but she hadn't forced her to talk about it. Which Emma was grateful for.

She was sick of hearing her own voice when it was shaking with tears, and she was also sick of getting pitying looks because her eyes were red from crying. She hated the Emma she had turned into. A woman who didn't feel complete without a man. Without this one man.

This time she wouldn't be that woman.

She wouldn't hide and bathe in self-pity, because another man had come to the conclusion that she wasn't good enough. She would give America the show it deserved. She would rise from being the innocent little German girl to being Germany's biggest and most-feared fury.

She had a plan. That plan involved her fanciest coat and skirt, a program on national TV, their rampant sensationalism, and an appreciation of her desire for revenge.

At seven thirty sharp, she pulled into the ESPN parking lot. The building was a square hulk of concrete, which sported the large, bright letters of the station's name.

She didn't give herself time to reconsider her plan. She simply marched into the building and approached the security guard. The man didn't seem in the physical shape to stop anyone taller than four feet – but it didn't matter. She wouldn't resort to violence today. At least no physical violence.

"Hello," she greeted him with a smile and a wink. "My boyfriend Luke Carter has an appearance on TV this morning, and I'm here to be by his side. He's expecting me."

For several moments, the man studied her with a skeptical expression, but then his face brightened.

"Of course." He stepped aside. "I recognize you from the photos."

For the first time Emma was glad that she had been plastered all over the pages of the gossip mags. Otherwise probably nobody would have believed her that she was the girlfriend of a famous baseball player. "You're the German girl!"

She nodded and smiled. "Exactly. So, do you think it'd be okay for me to …" There was a sign with an arrow and the words ‘backstage area' on it. She indicated that direction with a shake of her head.

"Of course. I'm sure Mr. Carter won't mind."

"Thank you, you're a darling." She blew him a kiss and headed down the corridor. She'd never been to a TV station before, but she thought that everything looked even more fake than she had expected.

Just as fake as the relationship she had imagined.

She checked the door left and right, stuck her head into several dressing rooms, asking where she might find the person in charge of the Morning Show, until she was finally led to an office. She knocked on the door.

"Come on in, I don't have all day!" a voice barked from beyond the door.

Emma followed the invitation. "Hello, are you the producer?"

"Yes, I am, why?"

Emma cleared her throat and closed the door. "Well, I have a request …"

***

After half an hour in the make-up room, Luke felt more like a drag queen than a baseball player due to be interviewed. He had been right about the make-up artist: She was anything but pleased at the state he was in when he arrived at her door.

It wasn't the first time that had happened – that a woman was dissatisfied with the way he looked.

A young woman in her twenties stuck her head in and nodded at him. "Mr. Carter, the studio is ready; we'll be on air in five minutes."

Luke nodded and rose from his chair. He hated this aspect of his job. He didn't understand why people wanted to see him outside of his proper habitat, the baseball diamond. Why wasn't he allowed to have his own life, his own personality, as long as he gave them home runs? Wesley had urged him not to act like an idiot, and to gush a little about his relationship, before it would go down the drain in public. He detested the word ‘gush' in principle. If it was up to him, that word could be eliminated from the lexicon of the English language.

And the last thing he wanted to do right now was talk about his relationship. Come to think of it, he didn't feel like opening his mouth at all today. The perfect occasion for an interview …

He dropped heavily into the armchair that was positioned in front of a green screen, and leaned back into the cushions. The production assistant had told him that this was where he should sit.

"Two minutes!" someone called. "Where the hell is Cindy? We need our host!"

"Cindy's not coming," a female voice suddenly spoke up, and the hairs in the back of Luke's neck stood on end. "She was replaced … by me."

Luke stared in shock at the back of Emma's head.

What was that all about? She belonged even less in this studio than he did!

"I don't know anything about a replacement …" The production assistant pressed a finger to her ear and then nodded. "Oh, okay. Got that. Sit down please. One minute!"

Luke was unable to close his mouth again. He kept staring at Emma, who returned his gaze coolly, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and took the seat across from him.

Holy shit, that could only mean disaster. If this woman was capable of driving him crazy in private, what would happen in front of the running cameras?

"What the hell are you doing here?" he ground out.

She gave him a sugary sweet smile. "I told you last night. You wanted a show – what better place to deliver than here?!"

"Thirty seconds!"

***

It hurt to see him sit there. It hurt to have his blue eyes glare at her like this, and the only emotion Emma could detect in his face was anger.

Maybe this had been a stupid idea after all.

She had resolved to dump him in public – as public as could be. That was the easy part. But she had also resolved to do that without betraying her own emotions – which turned out to be impossible.

Everything in her squirmed and constricted, and all she could think of was what a rotten asshole he was! She wanted to rise from her seat, hammer her fists against his chest, and scream at him. Ask him what right he thought he had to give her angry looks. As if she was the one who had done something wrong.

"Okay, we're live in ten, nine, eight …"

Wait, how did one introduce a star baseball player?

"… five, four …"

The production assistant indicated the final numbers with her fingers only. Emma forced herself to smile, and stared at the camera, from where a small red light shone into her eye, indicating that millions of people could see her on TV right now.

She swallowed against her panic and took a quick breath. A show. That's what it was. Just a show – and now she would deliver!

"Welcome everyone to the Morning Show! Today we have a familiar face on our show, Luke Carter, who wants to win the cup this year for the Delphies …"

Was there even a cup in baseball?

"Thank you for being on the show this morning. How are you doing today, Mr. Carter?"

He stared at her, and for three endless seconds, Emma was afraid he would simply refuse to talk to her, but then he answered slowly: "I can't say yet – the day has only just begun after all."

She would make sure that he knew how he was doing in about five minutes. Time for phase one. Emma cleared her throat.

"There's a rumor that your girlfriend complained about the problems you're having with your equipment … in bed. Is that true? And if so, what advice would you give men who suffer from similar issues?" She formulated the words in such a matter-of-fact manner that it took the crew members a few moments to realize what exactly she had just said. But then you could hear them all gasp, before the entire set seemed to hold their collective breaths.

Emma had to give it to him, his face hadn't fallen. Instead he gave her a haunting look.

"Sometimes a rumor is just a rumor," he said slowly. "My girlfriend never complained to me. Begged for forgiveness, yes, but complained?"

"I've never …" Emma caught herself and pressed her lips together. This wasn't the time or the place for engaging with him. She needed to stick to her plan.

Public dumping, yes, but not a real act of revenge – well, at least not primarily.

"Well, we all know what to think of male self-assessment. As what kind of man would you describe yourself? Do you consider yourself even tough enough to handle an intelligent, spirited German girl? Your history only shows us that so far, you haven't felt capable of keeping a real woman."

The grinding of Luke's teeth was clearly audible in the microphone. "Oh, I do. It's a challenge, no question. Especially if you consider what a bitch she can be. But it's important to take the bad sides along with the good sides, right?"

"Well, calling someone a bitch just because she knows how to advance her own opinion seems a bit harsh."

Luke shook his head. "No. I'm sticking to the term. A bitch with mood swings that could capsize the strongest ship."

Mood swings?

If Luke wanted to end up as victim, he would have to try harder and stop attacking her … or she would have to hit back even harder!

"Well, if you don't even try to understand your girlfriend's actions, then maybe a serious relationship simply isn't for you."

Luke sat up straight and said slowly: "Understand? What is there to understand? One moment she presses against me, and the next moment she seems to hate me – for no reason whatsoever!"

That was enough! She hadn't wanted to make it too personal, but if he accused her of having no reason to have acted as she did, then things had become very personal all of a sudden!

"Maybe she had a reason," she said, raising her voice. "Maybe she even had a lot of good reasons!"

"If that were the case – why the hell doesn't she talk to me about them, instead of packing her bags and running away?"

"Maybe because you are an absolute scumbag!"

The production assistant gasped loudly.

"Maybe she is simply too average, too down-to-earth, to mess with a guy like you! Maybe she simply doesn't want to be your damn groupie from Germany, doesn't want to be made to look like a fool and a slut in front of half of your team!"

At that moment it dawned on him, and he raked a hand through his hair.

"Fuck," he murmured, which made the crew gasp again.

"Emma, I just said that without thinking; it was a stupid moment and I–"

"There is no such thing! Ein dummer Moment!" Emma yelled, switching to German without really noticing.

The entire crew flinched. They had a feeling that this interview wasn't exactly normal fare. So did about three million people in front of their TV screens, who were hoping she would go on in a language they understood!

"You don't just say things like that without thinking!" She dropped the microphone and tore the taped cable from the waistband of her skirt. "But what does it matter anyway? It was only a deal, right from the start. We never agreed that you would like me if you slept with me!"

"Emma …"

He had risen as well, and now he grabbed her elbow, but she jerked herself free.

"I don't even hold that against you! I was around, and your bed was empty …"

"Emma, you know that it wasn't like that …"

She gave him a disdainful look. "Some words can't be taken back, Luke. The meaningless, average groupie from Germany is sick of your bullshit."

Emma turned to go.

"Emma," he yelled, "if you go now, you better forget my side of the deal! If you go now–"

"Screw the deal!" she yelled back. "I don't want your connections. I don't want your help. I don't want anything from you! You're out, number fourteen!"

And with that, she turned on her heel and rushed out of the studio.

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