"Last night was wonderful," she said honestly. "You're a marvelous lover, Dominic."
Dominic leaned against the black granite counter, only a twitching muscle in his temple betraying his discomfort. "I should never have—"
"I'm glad you did." She didn't want any regrets to spoil the magical night they'd shared. "I'm glad we did." She put down her coffee mug. "It's late. I should be heading into the office."
She walked into the living room to get her clothes. She needed to get out of here before she could give in to the hurt.
But Dominic wasn't making it easy on her. He followed her, a big dark presence in the doorway as she dressed.
"I'll make it up to you, Melissa. Just tell me how."
"Stop, please," she said. "We're two adults who wanted to have sex. Let's leave it at that."
But the weight of his remorse hung heavily in the room. "You want to be an agent. I'll be your first client."
His words cut into the armor she'd erected around her heart. He thought he was offering her what she wanted—her first superstar client. Yet she would have given that up a hundred times over if it meant being loved by Dominic every day and every night.
Anger finally burst to the surface. "I don't need any favors. I'm doing fine on my own," she lied.
"Your father won't promote you, will he?"
His question blindsided her. Her fingers stilled on her zipper.
"That's what last night at Barnum's was about," Dominic prodded. "That's why you got drunk. And came home with me." Mild disgust crossed his face. "I know how your father thinks, how he runs his business. He's honest and he's a hell of a negotiator. But he'll never hire a female agent." He paused. "Not even his own daughter."
Melissa swallowed hard. She hated that he'd already figured everything out. Didn't he see how unfair it was to dangle the ultimate carrot over her head, that even one client of Dominic's stature could set her up to attract other big clients and show her father that he was dead wrong about her being a cream puff?
She shook her head, willing the speeding train in her brain to stop before it crashed into a brick wall. She couldn't accept his offer, couldn't serve her pride up on a plate like that.
"You don't owe me anything," she said again. "We had a night of fun. So what? We've both had one-night stands," she lied.
"You haven't."
She stood her ground. "I have." "I'll kill him."
She almost smiled at his surprisingly jealous reaction, but she didn't have a smile in her. Not yet.
"You and I had a great night together. No ties, no promises. Stop worrying," she said, putting a hand on his arm to reassure him. But touching him was a big mistake. She rubbed her hand on her hip to stop the tingling. "I'm fine." She would be. One day.
"I'll have my lawyer draw up a contract this after noon for your review."
She stared at him in disbelief, unable to continue this discussion with him any longer. He was acting like a dictator, yet she was still aroused by him. Every time he moved his arms and his biceps flexed, every time she watched his hands move and thought about what he'd done to her with those long fingers, she started losing the tenuous hold she had over her dignity.
Head held high, she retrieved her bag and walked out the door in her bare feet and down to the elevator. She felt his eyes on her as she pressed the red button and waited for the elevator.
The bell dinged, the stainless steel doors slid open, and she stepped inside. She had to be strong, couldn't let Dominic see how deep his arrows had gone, so she made herself face his stony features as the doors slid closed.
Chapter Eight
Melissa walked into the office after a long, scalding shower and ages in front of her mirror, working on hair and makeup and clothes. Her brain was at war with her body—her body still in a state of bliss, her mind reeling at being kicked to the curb—but she refused to lie down and play dead.
She wore a snug purple V-neck cashmere sweater she'd stashed at the bottom of a drawer. If ever there was a day for a jolt of confidence, this was it, so she added a wholly unnecessary push-up bra. Paired with perfectly tailored black slacks, she hoped she looked like a million bucks, even if she felt like the ninety-nine-cent special.
For the second day in a row, Angie waylaid her. "Your father has been trying to get a hold of you for hours," she said, her tone both accusing and questioning.
Melissa shrugged. She had more important things to think about than her father's endless laundry list of tasks. Like getting a new job at a new agency, for instance. Or, even better, starting her own. "You can tell him I'm here now."
She went to her cubicle, sat down at her desk, and logged on to her computer. By the time she left work today, she'd have a list of strong contacts at the top five other agencies in the football business. Scratch that; she wasn't going to limit her search to football. She'd always liked baseball and hockey. Hell, she could learn to like boxing or golf if she had to.
Her phone rang and, foolishly, her first thought was, Dominic. But when she looked at the caller ID, it was just Angie calling to say that her father was eagerly awaiting her presence.
Melissa closed her eyes. She couldn't get her hopes up every time the phone rang, couldn't waste her life daydreaming that Dominic was going to fall in love with her.
Pushing back her chair, she slipped on a pair of red-rimmed no-prescription glasses she'd bought for the express purpose of looking tougher, more sharply angled. Her father's door was wide open and she sat on his couch, unwilling to subject herself to the seat of torture in front of his desk. Surprisingly, he got up to join her.
He laid a thick file down on the coffee table. "I've given more thought to yesterday's discussion."
He looked intensely uncomfortable, and her first instinct was to say something to put him at ease, to let him think she hadn't been hurt by the way he'd shut down her dreams. But her self-respect rose up and she settled for crossing her legs and waiting for him to continue.
"I've decided to give you full representation of a new client."
Nothing could have shocked her more. "Seriously?"
He rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking his age. "Your mother read me the riot act. Said I wasn't giving you a fair chance."