Triple Play. Leslie KellyЧитать онлайн книгу.

      1

      “RAND MCCONNELL IS coming. Here.”

      Emily Crowder had no reason to doubt that her ears worked. Still, she couldn’t have heard what she thought her boss, Dawn, had just said. It was impossible that the world’s sexiest athlete—the guy who’d graced magazine covers, who’d sold out stadiums, who’d given Emily her first orgasm—was about to descend on the Chicago hotel where she worked. Im-freaking-possible.

      “Did you hear me?” Dawn barked.

      “God, I hope not.”

      Her boss leaned in. “I said Rand McConnell is coming here. Today.”

      Emily was still trying to get her brain to catch up to her ears. “Rand McConnell, the athlete?”

      “Athlete? That’s like calling King Kong a monkey. Rand McConnell is the most famous baseball player in the world!”

      “But...why here? Don’t all the major league teams have contracts with other Chicago hotels?”

      She’d worked at the Black Star Hotel for two months, ever since leaving the resort that had hired her right out of college. It was upscale and would someday be a destination for the rich and shameless. But having opened recently, they hadn’t captured that clientele yet.

      “I just got a call from his assistant. She said he was making a last-minute trip to attend tonight’s animal welfare fund-raiser, and wondered if we could find a room for him. The place where he usually stays is booked because it’s New Year’s.”

      “Who’d want to leave California for Chicago in December?”

      “Guess he’s an animal lover,” Dawn said. Smirking, she added, “And how did you know he lives in California? Sounds like you’re a fan.”

      Not even close. “Hardly.”

      “Whatever the reason, he is coming to Chicago and he’s staying here.” Dawn sounded as excited as a tween at a Bieber concert.

      “Have you forgotten we’re booked solid, too?” Emily asked, her head spinning—though not for the reasons Dawn’s was. No, her feelings about this news couldn’t be called excitement. Nausea? Worry? Humiliation? Hurt? That’d sum it up.

      “I put him in the owner’s suite.”

      That made sense. The owner of the hotel was almost never here, so the penthouse was seldom used. It might be big enough to contain Rand McConnell, his entourage and his ego. Or at least him and his entourage. His ego was another matter entirely.

      “Housekeeping is already there. I want you to supervise.”

      “Why me?” she squeaked.

      “You’re the daytime floor manager, and the best employee I’ve got. If Rand McConnell has fun at this hotel and spreads the word, maybe his team will decide to give us their business.”

      Oh, yay. More sexy athletes to turn young women into fools.

      “Make sure everything is perfect for Mr. McConnell.”

      Emily gritted her teeth, thinking of the other guests whose money should gain them as much attention as a spoiled jock.

      A spoiled jock who was your very first lover.

      Well, almost.

      That memory didn’t set her heart fluttering the way it would Dawn’s, or the way it would the heart of any woman here. Heck, if all the women here knew Emily had come within a hymen’s-width of losing her virginity to Rand, one of People magazine’s Sexiest Men of the Year, their hearts wouldn’t just flutter, they’d spasm into arrhythmia and then explode.

      The thought didn’t give her any kind of cocky pleasure or ego boost, and she certainly didn’t want anyone to know about her history with Rand. Not just because someone would probably try to scratch her eyes out due to sheer penis-envy, but also because she didn’t want to remember the stupid mistakes she’d made because of that penis. And the man attached to it.

      No, Emily’s heart wasn’t fluttering. She no longer had any romantic