Stealing Sawyer Read online

  I swat his hand away. “Hey, you had your chance four years ago. And it’s not like he was serious about the half-million.”

  He shovels more food into his mouth. “You never know,” he says with a mouthful. “There are some rich douchebags in this city. Maybe he’s an investment banker or something. Hell, maybe you should have heard the guy out. There are worse things you could do for five hundred K.”

  I roll my eyes. “Are you trying to pimp me out, Bass?”

  He laughs. “No, not trying to pimp you out. Just trying to figure out how to get you to stay in the city. Think about it for a minute. You’re going to give up your graduate degree to move back home and work three jobs just so you can pay off Denver’s bad debts. But what will you get out of it?”

  “You mean other than my brother not going to jail?”

  “Of course you don’t want him going to jail, Aspen. But you have to look out for your future. Do you really want to teach piano to little kids for the rest of your life? Because you know as well as I do that is all you’ll be doing with a pile of shit BM.”

  I cringe knowing he’s speaking the truth. Juilliard or not, it’s a joke among music students that a BM, or bachelor of music, isn’t good for much. The first week there, we learned the age-old joke, ‘What’s the shittiest degree you can get? – A BM.’

  Everyone knows going into it that you have to continue on to get your MM – master of music, or even your PhD if you want to do anything more than teach kids. Teaching is what I want to do, but not the kind of teaching where you go to rich people’s homes and try to teach spoiled, un-teachable kids how to play chopsticks.

  My dream is to teach at the collegiate level. Teach students who love the piano so much, they play it in their sleep like I do. Students who would rather stroke the black and white keys until 2:00 AM than party with their friends. People who might even settle for teaching snotty-nosed kids, because even doing that is better than sitting at a desk typing on a computer all day long.

  “I’ve already looked into the University of Missouri – they have an MM degree there.”

  Bass tilts his head and studies me. “That’s bullshit, Penny. You know an MM is a full-time program. There is no way you could help Denver pay off his debts and afford to pay for grad school. And while I’m sure Missouri is a fine school, nothing compares to Juilliard. They only accept one hundred and fifty people into the master’s program. That’s one damn exclusive club you could belong to.”

  “What about ‘my brother has to pay four hundred thousand dollars in restitution’ do you not understand? I can’t go to Juilliard, Bass. It’s not going to happen.”

  “I’m just saying it could if you took the guy up on his offer.”

  “Ten minutes ago he was an asshole and now he’s my savior?” I get up and put my plate in the sink. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Why can’t he be both?” he asks. “Why can’t he be an asshole and your savior?”

  “I’m not sleeping with anyone for money, Bass. Not even that much money.”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t have to. You said he needed a girlfriend for appearances. Maybe he can get his rocks off somewhere else and just use you for the eye candy.”

  “First off, I was too busy kicking his ass out of our apartment to get all the details. And second, even if I wanted to consider it, I have no idea who he is or where to find him.” I clear his plate off the table. “And third … just … gross.”

  Bass walks over and kisses my forehead. “That’s my roommate, squeaky clean Snow White.”

  I slap him playfully and look at the clock. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

  He backs away and heads for his room. “Last shift,” he says. “I’m so fucking stoked to start fire school next week.”

  “Don’t you ever miss it?” I ask, nodding to his collection of guitars in the corner.

  “I play every damn day, Penny. You of all people should know that. It’ll always be my passion, just not how I pay the bills. Helping people gives me so much more gratification than entertaining them.”

  He shuts his bedroom door to change his clothes. Then two minutes later, he emerges looking quite attractive in his paramedic uniform. Some girl is going to be lucky to land him someday.

  He puts his arm around my shoulder. “Everything’s going to work out, Penny. One way or another.”

  I nod my head, holding in the tears as he walks out our front door.

  I stare at his guitars. Sebastian was the first person I met at Juilliard during freshman orientation. We hit it off instantly, almost like Sawyer and I did last night. We tried dating, but realized we were better as friends. We’ve been joined at the hip ever since, even after he quit school to pursue becoming a firefighter/paramedic. After freshman year, we got an apartment together. He’s as close to me as anyone ever has been with the exception of Denver.

  I walk over to the window and look down on the streets of the city I’ve tried so hard to love. Why did Denver have to blow our inheritance? Why did he have to get caught up in all that crooked shit? He was a cop for crying out loud.

  My tears finally fall when I think about his trial last month. While I was there, he pleaded with me to believe him. He said he had no idea the investments weren’t legitimate. He genuinely thought he was going to make money for us and all those other people. He was used by some higher-ups in the police department who threw him under the bus when things went south. What they did was untraceable, but my brother left a money trail that lead right back to him. And now he’s not allowed to leave Missouri, and according to his sentencing that was just handed down yesterday, if he doesn’t make regular restitution payments he’ll be put in jail. And not just jail. Prison.

  A cop in prison is a death sentence. Even if I thought he had known he was scamming all those people, I still would never wish jail on him. He’s my brother. My other half. The only person in the world I would do anything for.

  A knock on the door startles me. I look through the peephole, not sure I’m seeing correctly. Because I think I’m seeing the asshole. I back away and wipe my tears, checking my appearance in the nearby mirror as my brain tries to tell me it’s not the asshole, it’s my savior.

  I pull my hair free of the messy bun it was in and give it a fluff. Then I scold my reflection before I open the door.

  Sawyer takes a few steps back like he thinks I’ll lunge at him and put my fist through his chest. Not that I could. I felt his abs in the alley when we kissed. They’re practically made of steel.

  I raise my eyebrows at him.

  “Give me five minutes to explain. That’s all I’m asking. Please, Aspen?”

  I look him up and down. He’s not particularly tall. I’d be surprised if he’s six feet. But he’s pure muscle. I contemplate my choices here, thinking if he wanted to chop me up into little pieces and hide me under the floorboards, he already had a chance to do it.

  I step back and walk into the living room, leaving the door open for him to follow. I sit down on my couch. “Don’t expect me to offer you a drink.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, walking around the coffee table to sit in the chair opposite me.

  He looks around my place. “Is your roommate here?”

  “No, but he could be back any second,” I lie.

  Sawyer smirks like he knows I’m full of shit. “Let me cut to the chase,” he says. “I believe we are both in need of something we don’t have. I need to look like I have a steady girlfriend. And you need money. I can help you go to Juilliard and you can help save my career. This arrangement would be mutually beneficial.”

  I cross my arms over my chest defensively. “How do I know you even have the money to pay me?”

  I cringe after the words come out of my mouth, hating myself for a second that I’m even considering considering it. But then I think of Denver, and know I at least need to hear this guy out.

  He laughs an arrogant laugh. “I have it.” He fishes a business card out of his po
cket and hands it to me. “This is my lawyer. If you can meet me at her office for lunch tomorrow, we can go over everything.”

  I examine the card and then look up at him in surprise. “You want to make this a legal agreement?”

  “Yes. Wouldn’t that make you more comfortable?”

  I shrug. “I guess so. But I have class until one o’clock. I couldn’t meet you until then.”

  “And I have to be at … somewhere – by two. That gives us an hour to go over everything.”

  Somewhere?

  I wonder why he’s being so secretive. And so totally different from the guy he was last night.

  He gets up from his chair and comes over to offer me his hand. I shake it, my insides melting from his touch. Flashbacks of last night’s kiss race through my head as he holds onto my hand far longer than customary. His electrified touch has me thinking of doing a lot more than kissing him, as thoughts of having him in my bed attack my sex-deprived brain. Then I chide myself for even going there. This guy is an arrogant prick who thinks he can buy me.

  I want to pull away. I should pull away. But I can’t. Even though he’s probably not on the level – hell, for all I know, he could be a criminal, my body reacts to him in a way I can’t even explain.

  “I look forward to it, Aspen.”

  “I’m not promising anything, you know. I’m only willing to hear you out.”

  He nods. “That’s more than I expected considering how you kicked me out of here this morning.” He looks over at Bass’s room. “Did you tell your roommate about me?”

  “I tell my roommate everything,” I say.

  “What did he say?”

  “What do you think he said? That you’re an asshole, of course.”

  He laughs. “Yeah. That sounds about right. I’d appreciate it if he’d accompany you to the meeting. Do you think he could swing it?”

  “He works nights, so yeah.”

  “Good.”

  He finally lets go of my hand and walks towards the door.

  I stand up. “Sawyer?”

  He turns around. “Yeah?”

  “What kind of job do you have that allows you to pay someone a half-million dollars to pretend to be your girlfriend?”

  “It’s a fair enough question, but one I’d like to answer tomorrow if it’s all the same to you.”

  “So you’ll tell me then?”

  He nods. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, Aspen.”

  He walks out the door and I’m left standing here wondering if this really just happened. Then I look in the mirror, wondering just how far this good little Catholic girl will go to save her brother.

  Chapter Five

  Sawyer

  My phone vibrates in my pocket as I step off the elevator onto the tenth floor of my lawyer’s office building. I check it and see it’s the only person I never let roll to voicemail if I can help it.

  I swipe my finger across the screen. “Hey, buddy, what’s up?”

  “Are you gonna come over today?” Danny asks.

  “Not today. I have a game. But soon.”

  “Can’t you come after? I wanna play baseball.”

  “No, I can’t come after. It takes me a long time to get there, remember? But I promise I’ll come next week after I get back from Atlanta.”

  I can tell he’s disappointed. He might even be crying. “I have an idea. Why don’t you watch the game tonight and I’ll give you a special sign?”

  “What’s it gonna say?” he asks.

  “Not that kind of sign. I’ll signal you with my hand when I think the cameras are on me. Maybe when I’m in the dugout, okay? How about I give you a thumb’s up?”

  “Yes! Yes!” he squeals.

  “Great. Now I have to go, but can you put your mom on the phone for a second?”

  “Mommy!” he screams into the phone.

  I hear Lucy’s voice in the background, saying something to Danny before she gets on the line. “Sawyer?”

  “Yeah. I was wondering if I could drive out Sunday night after I get back from Atlanta.”

  “I’m sure Daniel would like that.”

  “Good. And, Lucy, I told him I’d give him a thumb’s up during the game. I’ll try my best, but maybe you could play along and make it seem like I did it even if the cameras don’t show it.”

  She sighs into the phone. “You shouldn’t make him promises like that.”

  “I know. But he was upset. I feel bad that I haven’t seen him in a few weeks.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks. I have to go now. Tell him I’ll see him on Sunday.”

  “Bye, Sawyer. Good luck tonight.”

  I slip my phone back into my pocket and open the door to Sarah’s law firm.

  The receptionist greets me. “Nice to see you, Mr. Mills. Ms. Wilson isn’t quite ready for you yet. They will be just a few more minutes. If you’d like to have a seat on the couch, she’ll buzz me when you can go back.”

  “So, they’re in there? They both showed up?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  I look at my watch. It’s ten after one. Sarah wanted me to arrive late so she could have Aspen and her roommate sign a non-disclosure before our meeting. She thought it best to do it since they don’t know who I am yet. The NDA they are signing right now prohibits them from discussing anything we talk about in the meeting. The NDA they will be asked to sign after the meeting will include my name and will prohibit them from discussing anything about my on-going arrangement with Aspen.

  Assuming she agrees to it, that is.

  I’m still surprised she even showed up today.

  “They’re ready for you now, Mr. Mills. You can go on back.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. The fact that I’m being called to Sarah’s office means they signed the first NDA – one step closer to making this thing happen.

  The receptionist buzzes me through and I walk down the hallway to the large corner office where Sarah is waiting for me at the door. She shakes my hand. “Nice to see you, Sawyer.”

  I lean in and kiss her cheek. Sarah is a long-time friend of mine. We were introduced at a party by one of my veteran teammates when I first came to New York. I slept with her of course. And fortunately, she wasn’t one to hold a grudge, because she’s a damn fine lawyer and someone I want on my side.

  “Everything okay?”

  “So far, so good,” she says.

  I walk into her office to see Aspen and her roommate sitting at the table by the window. They both look at me with very different reactions. Aspen looks hesitant, scared even. But her roommate obviously recognizes me.

  His jaw goes slack as he looks from me back to Aspen. “That’s … that’s—”

  I step over and offer him my hand. “Sawyer Mills, glad to meet you.”

  “Holy shit,” he says, taking my hand and shaking it with his firm grip. “I mean, Sebastian Briggs, nice to meet you.”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he says to Sarah. “I didn’t mean to cuss, but this is … surreal.”

  “It’s okay,” Sarah says. “It’s pretty much the reaction I was expecting.”

  “What’s going on here?” Aspen asks, seeing her friend’s reaction.

  Sebastian shakes his head, laughing. “This is the guy you met at the bar? Damn.”

  “What am I missing?” Aspen asks.

  “He’s a baseball player,” Sebastian says.

  “Baseball?”

  “Yeah, for the New York Nighthawks. He’s their shortstop. The best player if you ask me. He holds the league record for stolen bases two years running.”

  “You’re famous?” Aspen asks me with a furrow of her brow.

  I shrug. “I guess some people know who I am.”

  “Know who you are? Dude, you might just be the most recognizable face in baseball.” He turns to Aspen. “You really didn’t know who he was?”

  She gives her roommate a scolding stare. “When was the last time you saw me watching a sporting
event?”

  “Still.” He shakes his head. Then he turns to me. “And you want Aspen to be your girlfriend?”

  “My pretend girlfriend,” I correct him. Then I formally acknowledge Aspen. “Thanks for coming.” I hold my hand out to her. “I’m sorry about all the secrecy, but in my line of work, you have to be careful.”

  Aspen shakes her head. “I feel so stupid for not recognizing you. I mean, I don’t really follow baseball, but I see the news, and sometimes I read the tabloids.”

  I laugh. “Never read the tabloids, Aspen. Especially if we’re going to do this. You don’t want to see what they’ll print about you.”

  “Me?”

  Sarah steps over to the table with several file folders. “The press will have a field day with you once you go public with your relationship. They may print things about you that show you in a less-than-desirable light. They will print flat-out lies. It’s just one of the things you’ll have to deal with if you sign.”

  With that, Sarah hands everyone a folder. We open them up to pull out a five-page document.

  “You are free to take this with you and have your own lawyer look over it,” she says.

  “What about the NDA?” Aspen asks.

  “There is something called attorney-client privilege. It prevents us from talking about anything we discuss with you. It’s kind of like our own NDA, but without a signed contract.”

  “Oh. I don’t have a lawyer,” Aspen says.

  “You sure as hell will be able to afford one now,” Sebastian says.

  She gives him a dirty look. I can tell she’s not completely on board with this yet.

  “Let me put it in a nutshell for you,” Sarah says. “Mr. Mills will deposit said funds into an escrow account held by my firm. We will, at regular intervals laid out in the contract, disburse such funds to you. You will, for all intents and purposes, pose as Mr. Mills’ girlfriend in public from the moment the contract is signed until the end of the baseball season.”

  “And in private?” Aspen asks.

  I try not to laugh. Because I know exactly what we can do in private. We’ve already done it.