A Pact With A Player

Chapter 4 - Hell no!

Keegan’s POV

I was a nervous wreck after I got home from my shift at the motel the next day. I had convinced that guy to come back today after I finished work when I knew my Grams would be at the community centre playing her weekly game of gin with her friends before they started cooking the weekly community dinner the centre held. The last time someone came here to try and collect money Dale owed them, it nearly broke her. I didn’t want her to know what he had done until I had exhausted all other options or figure a way out of it. I was hoping I could work out an arrangement to pay this debt off too, not sure how I would make it happen, but I had to try.

When I got a job at the bank, I didn’t realise that it was the one that held both the loans against the house, so I had words with the branch manager about our family’s situation, even though it wasn’t really their problem, once I informed them that he wasn’t servicing the existing loan he had gotten and his gambling issues he did me a favor and noted it on the system so there would be no other loans against the property. I never thought for a second that he would use it as collateral in a poker game, but I guess it shouldn’t surprise me. I tried to call him numerous times on his cell, but of course, no answer and when I went past his apartment today, his landlord told me that he had been evicted a month ago due to being three months behind in his rent. I had to wait until Monday to confront him at his office, which gave me the entire rest of the weekend to stew about what I would say to him and come up with some more creative ways to call him a bastard without using that word over and over again.

I finished cleaning the rooms at the motel earlier than expected, so I got home an hour earlier than expected. I was so nervous about this guy showing up again that I needed to do something to calm my nerves, so I decided to finish some of my design sketches at the dining room table. Normally I sketched in my room, but I didn’t want to miss hearing him arriving as it would just protract this whole situation.

The squeak of the gate notified me of his impending arrival. Maybe I shouldn’t o fix it. It’s a pretty good security system. Moments later, there was a knock on the door, and I had to take a deep breath to steady my heart rate. I guess it was showtime.

I opened the door, and there stood Marcus Wright, looking just as gorgeous as he did the night before and wearing another expensive suit. But no matter how good looking he was, I wouldn’t forget why he was here. “Mr Wright, thank you for coming back. Please come in.”

“It’s not a problem.” He replied, walking past me and into the living room, “and please call me Marcus.”

“I think we should keep this professional, Mr Wright,” I advised, closing the door and turning around just in time to see him pick up one of my sketches.

“You have a talent, Miss Marshall.” He observed as he studied my designs. “Are you a designer?”

I rushed over, taking the sheet of paper out of his hand and quickly collecting the rest of the paper off the table and stuffing it down onto one of the chairs. “I help make dresses for the local community centre. Would you like to take a seat? I was hoping we could come to an arrangement about a p*****t schedule for the funds Dale owes your client.”

He sighed, pulling out a pile of paperwork, “From what I have been able to determine, your Mr Marshall has incurred debt against this property already, which you are already paying back by working three jobs around the clock. I doubt you would be able to return my client’s money in a timely manner.”

My jaw dropped. How in the hell had he found that out? “What? How could you possibly know that?”

“I have my sources.” He answered, pulling out a napkin with writing on it and what looked like Dale’s signature. “I have verified your father’s ownership of the property, so the contract he made with my client is valid, but if you want, we could take this matter before a judge.”

I rolled my eyes at him and examined the napkin, “It’s not a contract. It’s a napkin. How is this even legal? And you know I don’t have the money to fight this. How do you sleep at night?”

A frown formed on his face, “this is not personal, Miss Marshall. It’s business.”

“Well, it’s personal to me.” I snapped, starting to get angry, “This is my grandmother’s home that you want to sell, so that makes it personal. Please, is there some way that you can work with me, don’t punish her for her son’s mistakes?”

I watched him in complete silence as he looked over the paperwork and then back up at me, “What would you say if I could get my client to relinquish his claim against this house?”

I looked at him suspiciously, “I would say, what’s the catch?”

“My client is trying to secure a new contract, but the press at the moment are making him out to be a bit of a problem, so his bosses are dragging their feet. From what I found out about you last night, Miss Marshall, you are a hard worker, are active in the community, have no criminal record or skeletons to find, and if I’m being honest, you’re easy on the eyes. If we could give the illusion that the two of you are in a committed relationship, it may make his bosses into seeing him in a new light and hopefully ease their worries about him.”

“You want me to date him?” I exclaimed, shocked at this guy’s nerve. There was no way I was ever going to date some random guy.

“No.” He answered, allowing me to breathe a sigh of relief, “I want you to pretend to date him. You have a good image.”

“That’s blackmail.” I warned him, “As a lawyer, you would think you would be more careful with your words.”

He threw his head back, laughing. I wanted to punch his smug face, “I may have a law degree, but I am not practicing as one. I’m a sports agent doing a favor for my client.”

That piqued my interest, “Who is your client?”

“Look, take the rest of the day to think about it.” He responded, ducking my question and sliding over a piece of paper and a business card, “If you decide to accept the offer, sign the Non-disclosure agreement and come to the address on the back of my business card tomorrow at ten.”

I saw him out and spent the rest of the day staring at the car and paperwork. Was it really as easy as this? Pretend to date some random guy, and it all goes away? Pretend to like whoever this guy was, and Grams got to keep her house? Could I really do that? Did I have a choice? I didn’t have the money to dispute this in court, nor did I want to put my grandmother through the stress of not knowing if her house would be sold out from under her.

When the motel called me later that night to let me know I wasn’t needed the next day as there weren’t enough checkouts to warrant all the staff, I took that as a sign from above and signed the NDA.

Which is why the next morning, I drove through Malibu on my way to a random house to get some more information on this supposed deal before I made my final decision. I mean, I didn’t even know who this guy was that I was supposed to be ‘dating’. What if I met him, and there was no way I could even pretend to date him? When I pulled up to the large metal gate at the entrance of the address I was given, I was starting to have second thoughts. This place looked like a compound. Who the hell was this guy?

Mr Wright’s voice came over the speaker box, and seconds later, I was buzzed in and making my way up a very long driveway until I reached a large house, no scratch that, this place was a bloody mansion. I was starting to regret my choice of outfit this morning. I don’t think a simple pair of jean shorts, a tank top and flip flops was appropriate for a place like this. I didn’t even have any make-up in my bag or a hairbrush, so I couldn’t even make myself look more presentable. This was turning into a very bad idea.

I saw Mr Wright waiting at the front door, making me forget about my appearance and rush out of the car, so I didn’t keep him waiting.

He smiled at me as I approached him, “Right on time, I like punctuality.”

I glared at him, “let’s just get this over with, shall we.”

Mr Wright escorted me through the house, and if I thought the outside was impressive, the inside was even more so. I had never been to such a beautiful house. When we reached our destination, I noticed that the office was covered in LA Lakers memorabilia. Whoever it was, was either a Laker’s fan, or that’s who his client was. I was racking my brain to try and remember if I had seen anything in the media about one of their players being in hot water but working seven days a week and making my dresses didn’t leave much time for the news or tabloid magazines. If I was being honest, I was a Clippers fan, so I wasn’t familiar with a lot of their players.

He gestured at the seats before sitting himself behind a very large desk. I eyed him suspiciously but took it anyway.

“You’ll have to forgive me, but my client is out for a run and isn’t back yet.” He advised me.

I snorted at his comment, “I thought you were a fan of punctuality.”

He just threw me a smirk I was getting very familiar with, “He shouldn’t be too long. Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?”

“I’ll take some tequila if you have it.” I joked.

Before he could respond, the door swung open, and an out of breath, masculine voice interrupted us, “What was with all the texts, Marc? You’ve been blowing up my phone for half an hour, and who the hell owns that piece of crap station wagon parked in my driveway? It belongs on a scrap heap.”

I turned around to tell off for talking like that about my grandmother’s care and was immediately face to face with a very muscular and sweaty chest. He had the most defined abs I had ever seen. He even had the side abs that most men dreamed of. My eyes travelled down to where his basketball shorts hung dangerous low on his hips, showing off that v shape that I just wanted to run my tongue along. It was making me forget about everything I wanted to say to him.

My eyes when right back up his body towards his face, and when they connected with his ocean blue ones, I felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over my head because I knew this guy, Ryder Masters. In my first year at UCLA, he was a senior and the big man on campus. Everybody treated him like a god. All the guys wanted to be his friend, and all the girls were constantly throwing themselves at him. He was egotistical, full of himself, a womanizing asshole and just an all-around jerk. Quite a few of my college friends fell victim to his good looks and empty promises.

Could I make people believe I was in love with this guy when all I wanted to do was slap him and knee him in the family jewels? Oh, hell no, this was never going to work!