“Oh, I trust my employees. It’s you and your little friends here that I have misgivings about.”

Their banter was comfortable—familiar. Obviously, they knew each other well. They might not be doing this chummy routine to aggravate him, but that was the result. Jarrett ground his teeth. He watched with annoyance—and no small amount of envy—as Boomer curved an arm around Samantha’s waist, and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

“Yeah, you may not trust me, but you gotta love me anyway.” He gave Samantha another bold, bristly kiss, then turned to Jarrett. “Hey, Jarry. How’s the ol’ shoulder holding out? I hear you might have to pitch underhanded.”

Jarrett crossed his arms over his chest. Boomer thought himself a great comedian. “It’s fine. How’s your ol’ arm doing?”

“Great. Never felt better,” the left fielder replied and flexed the biceps in his free arm. “I’ve been knocking them out of the park.” Boomer turned his attention back to Samantha again. “Listen, Sammy, have you got a minute? I need to talk.”

“About what?”

Boomer flashed a glance at Jarrett. “Not now, you’re too busy. How about later, when you’re done here?”

Samantha’s curiosity was evident. “All right. I’ll try to catch up with you after I’ve finished.”

“Great!”

Boomer pressed another kiss on her cheek and walked away with a parting wave. Jarrett noticed how Samantha’s eyes followed him out the door.

“Known him long?” The question rushed out before he could stop it.

“Since we were in diapers,” she quipped. She wore a generous, teasing smile, as if she knew that this vague information would really goad him.

“I guess ‘Sammy’ comes from a long way back, too.” Jarrett tried to sound politely interested. To his ears, he failed miserably. He was surprised to see Samantha’s cheeks tint lightly in a rosy blush.

“Yes, it does. But you can call me Samantha.”

“Sure,” he muttered under his breath. “For now.”

Coach Cummings rejoined them, forestalling any further retort from Jarrett. “Sorry about that, Ms. James. That was Mr. Elliott. I see you’ve had more than enough time to size up Jarrett.”

“Yes, thanks, Coach. Mr. Corliss and I are finished.”

“He’s the last rat in the pack. Now, you wanted to take a look at the uniforms?”

“Yes, then the stadium.”

“Sure. Follow me.”

Before the coach escorted her away, Jarrett summoned a grin and winked at her. Boomer was gone and that was reason enough to smile. “It’s truly been a pleasure, Samantha. Call me when you need help with your sales pitch. Pitching’s what I do best.”

Her eyes flickered to his, but she looked away before he could catch a hint of her thoughts. She didn’t say another word, just walked out with the coach. Jarrett watched her until she was gone. You may be finished with me, he thought, but I’m not finished with you. Not by a long shot.

SAMANTHA FELT JARRETT’S EYES follow her every step out of the locker room. As the coach showed her the team uniforms, the costume for the mascot—a brown fuzzy suit that was supposed to resemble a marmot, but looked more like a man-sized rug—and gave her a tour of the stadium, she mused over Jarrett Corliss. Like most jocks, he obviously thought of himself as God’s gift to women. With his teasing blue eyes and that dimple, she supposed he had more than his fair share of baseball groupies. He would be popular with the young women who hung around the gates after practice or a game, offering their bodies to anything in a uniform. “Mitt-muffins,” Boomer called them. Jarrett probably took advantage of that willingness on occasion, too. Just like all the other players.

Samantha had yet to meet a baseball jock who would resist what a mitt-muffin offered. She supposed they saw it as their due, a perk of fame and success. But, to her, it was repugnant. She had tried to love a ballplayer once or twice and learned a bitter lesson. Let the boys have their fun: she would find a real man who played the game by the rules.

Which made her own starstruck gawking at Jarrett doubly embarrassing. What had she been thinking? She had acted like a groupie—or nearly as bad. No wonder he had flirted with her so outrageously. He was gorgeous, she admitted, but he was just one piece of her advertising campaign. Nothing more, nothing less. This was business, not some singles club. From now on, she would treat him like all the rest of the team. She would put his offer of cooperation to profitable use—though certainly not the way he intended.

She pushed Jarrett Corliss and his dimples to the back of her mind and concentrated on the tour Coach Cummings was giving her. She took copious notes as they walked to the dugout, stood at home plate and took a quick tour of the concessions area. Every new sight, every detail, added to the ideas swirling in her head. All the while, she peppered the coach with questions. When they completed the tour and the talk, Samantha had a feel for the inner workings of the Rainiers: how they practiced, who made decisions on and off the field, what they hoped to achieve and how, and what the biggest obstacles were to winning. She requested videotapes of recent practices and last year’s games. Cummings promised that he would get them to her office before the week’s end.