“We met earlier today,” he said.
“Yes, we did. And thank you again for the directions to the office.”
“You’re welcome. So, you’re a guest here tonight?”
She offered up a smile. “No. I’m not a guest.”
He arched a brow. “Party crasher, huh?”
She laughed. “No, I’m the event planner.”
“Is that right? You did a good job.”
Oh, man, she was getting warm all over. “Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”
“Not that I know a damn thing about throwing a fancy party, but I like to eat, and the food was good. There’s plenty of name-brand booze behind the bar, and the band is kick-ass.”
Okay, her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “Thank you again.”
Now if he would only say all those things to Irvin Stokes, the owner of the team. That would go a long way toward cementing her future.
“How late do you have to work?”
She tilted her head back and frowned. Was he hitting on her? She scanned the crowd, going blind from all the stunning female beauty in the room, many of whom had their gazes trained on Mick. Surely Tara was just misjudging his politeness for something else.
“I stay until the last person goes home.”
He laughed, and the dark husky tone skittered down her spine. “Honey, you could be up all night, then. These guys know how to close down a party.”
That’s what she expected, why she’d told the hotel they’d want the room for the entire night and guaranteed overtime for the band and extra staff for catering and the bar. “I do what needs to be done.”
“And you look fine doing it. How come you’re not wearing one of those butler outfits or a white apron?”
“I’m just the event planner. Everyone else does the real work.”
“So you get to dress up, supervise, make sure every play goes off without a fumble.”
“Something like that.”
“And look good in case someone wants to talk to you about booking a party.”
“Perceptive, aren’t you.”
“And they say football players are dumb.”
She liked this guy. He was funny and smart, but she still didn’t understand why he was talking to the help when the cream of the crop was here.
“I should probably move on,” she said.
“Someone beeping you in your earpiece or screaming for help?”
“Well ... no.”
He scanned the ballroom. “Something on fire somewhere or some high-strung chef in need of a Valium?”
Her lips quirked. “No.”
He moved toward her and took her hand, then slipped her arm in his. “Then you don’t really have to move on, do you?”
“I guess not.”
“Good. I’m Mick Riley.”
“Tara Lincoln.”
“Nice to meet you, Tara Lincoln.” He walked her away from the crowd, outside the ballroom.
“I really should ...”
“You have communication central in your ear. If something comes up, someone will holler. And your job is to make sure your guests are happy, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m a guest, and I’d like to get the hell out of this ballroom and talk to you. Which means you’re doing your job in making sure I’m happy.”
True enough, though for some reason she felt like she’d just been blindsided by a lineman.
And now who was thinking in football terms?
He sat her down on one of the cushioned benches in the outer lobby area beyond the ballroom. She had to admit it was blissfully quiet away from the noise of the party. And oh, what she wouldn’t give to be able to slip out of her heels for just a few minutes. But looking fashionable was required, even if it hurt. “Why aren’t you inside partying it up with your teammates?”
He shrugged. “Needed a break.”
“You needed a break from that awesome party I put together?”
“Your party is fine,” he said, leaning back and resting his arm over the back of the bench. “I’m just not a party kind of guy. Standing around making small talk just isn’t my thing.”
“And yet I see you in magazines at nearly every big event in New York and Los Angeles and here in San Francisco. Right in the center of it all, usually with some gorgeous woman right next to you.”
His lips quirked in a devastatingly sexy smile that made her belly quiver. “That’s just PR, honey.”
“Uh-huh. That’s not what the tabloids say.”
She felt his arm brush against her back. Very disconcerting.
“Don’t tell me you buy into those rags.”
“Don’t tell me all those women you’ve been hanging out with for the past ten years have been just arm candy and nothing more.”
“Okay, you’ve got me there. But I’ve never been seriously involved with any of them.”
“So you’re saying you’re a man whore?”
He choked out a laugh. “Wow. You don’t hold back, do you?”
She smiled at him. “Just call them as I see them.”
“Don’t believe everything you see on TV and read in the magazines. That’s not who I am.”
“Really. And who are you?”
“Hang out with me after this is over, and you can find out.”
He was definitely hitting on her. No doubt about it. And she had no clue why. But admittedly, it felt good. Star quarterback, fine-looking, and it had been a long time since a man paid attention to her. Plus there were some stunning women inside that ballroom, and for some reason he’d chosen her. Her ego had just climbed a few rungs up the ladder. Okay, maybe it had climbed to the top of the ladder.
Nothing was going to come of it, of course, but she was going to bask in his attention for just a few moments longer.
“I don’t get it, Mick. Why me?”
“Because you’re real.”
“And all those women inside the ballroom aren’t?”
He grinned. “Pretty much, yeah. But it’ll be time for me to get back to some serious work soon. And what better way to end my time off than with a woman who’s honest and not a game player.”
“You had a great last season. Congratulations. But I can’t imagine you wouldn’t enjoy your off season by basking in the glory of a beautiful actress or model or someone to help you relax.”