Something to Prove. Cathryn Parry

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СКАЧАТЬ “Are you sure you can’t postpone the interview until tonight? Because then you could meet Marco in person.”

       Amanda glanced at her younger sister’s pleading eyes. The younger sister who only wanted her to share some of the happiness and peace she’d finally found. Then she glanced at the hunky photo of the cute, nonthreatening Italian.

       “I’m sorry, but I can’t right now. Chelsea made an appointment with the agent. I have twenty minutes for the interview, then I’ll need an hour or two to write up something quick. It won’t take me long, I swear.”

       Jeannie’s head tilted. She would never understand Amanda’s drive—not completely. But how could she be expected to understand when she hadn’t been home when Mom was in hospice? When she hadn’t been there when Amanda couldn’t get their father to cover one godforsaken doctor’s bill?

       Because in his world, their mother was a nobody. Just like Amanda was a nobody. Jeannie would never know that feeling, because Jeannie was a somebody.

       “I need to secure my job, Jeannie.” Being an investigative reporter at Paradigm magazine was power. It was status. It was the ultimate trump card against people like her father. “Marco is a big shot like you and Massimo. I’m still on my way up in the world.”

       “Amanda,” Jeannie said softly. “The right man will love you for who you are inside.”

       Easy for her to say. “Sure he will,” Amanda said cheerfully. “Right after I nail this five-hundred-word profile. Now, will you help me prepare my interview questions? Because I have no clue who this guy is.”

       “I’ll bet I know,” Jeannie said, the smile in her eyes again. “If they want to profile a skier in a glossy American magazine, there’s only one person.”

       Massimo nodded. “Brody Jones. There is no other American skier.”

       Amanda had never heard of Brody Jones before today. But that wasn’t saying much. When skiing came on television or showed up in the newspaper, then Amanda Jensen, daughter of the famous alpine ski coach, MacArthur Jensen, tuned out and turned the page.

       Jeannie studied her nails. “Brody won’t be happy when you tell him who your father is.”

       “No problems there,” Amanda said dryly. “Because I’m telling Brody Jones nothing.”

       “And I wouldn’t expect him to give you any quotes.”

       Amanda just stared. Her sister knew as much about being a reporter as Amanda knew about ski racing. “That’s what interviews are for, giving quotes. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. I give you print space to please your sponsors and attract fans, and in return, your exposure gives me readers and advertising. It’s an age-old deal.”

       “She really doesn’t know Brody,” Jeannie murmured to Massimo.

       “Doesn’t matter,” Amanda said. “He signed up for this interview, so he should know he’s expected to give quotes in return.”

       Massimo laughed. Rather loudly, Amanda thought. Which was strange, considering she could see Massimo encouraging any media attention sent his way. As all the top-ranked skiers she’d known from childhood would have done.

       Massimo turned to Jeannie and smiled gently. “Do you want to tell your sister about the American skier, or should I?”

       BRODY PAUSED AFTER HIS THIRD set of single-leg squats and poured the last of the water in his bottle down his throat. The tiny resort gym was like a sauna inside.

       “Um, are you Brody Jones?”

       He glanced down to see a gangly American teen, his ski-team vest too big for his frame, standing beside the bench gawking at him as though he was his everlasting hero.

       Brody shriveled inside. He wasn’t anybody’s hero. But he smiled at the kid anyway. Why disillusion youth? They grow up soon enough. “Yeah, I’m Brody. What’s your name, kid?”

       “Aiden.” The teen shifted. “I, uh, want to be a great ski racer too.”

       “Do you like to work hard?” At the kid’s awkward nod, Brody figured he’d spare him the lecture and just sign the autograph pad the kid was shoving in his face. Brody made a scrawl approximating his signature. Depending on his next race, the thing might end up on eBay.

       Or not. Depending on his next race.

       He smiled at the kid and handed it back. He really didn’t care where the autograph ended up. That was the beauty of it.

       “You gonna win next week, Brody?” the kid asked.

       “Of course. Are you gonna win your next race, Aiden?”

       Aiden blinked at him. “Yes?”

       “Say it proud, brother.”

       “Yes!”

       Brody high-fived him and the kid laughed, which made him laugh too. The world thought Brody was washed up, but he wasn’t. He had just one more race he needed to compete in, but that was nobody else’s business but his own.

       “Can I take a photo of you, Brody?” The kid held up his phone.

       “Sure.” He looked like crap, but he obliged Aiden with the photo op. Even smiled for the camera.

       A throat cleared behind him. “We need to talk strategy.”

       Brody turned from the kid to his longtime agent, Harrison Rice, hopping from one foot to the other, looking as if he was being raked over the coals, which he usually was.

       “Yeah?” Brody picked up his dumbbells and decided to let Harrison say whatever he needed to say. Brody didn’t need to talk anything with him. He had his own strategy. Always had had.

       He lifted the weights and blew out the tension. One more set. He knew the routine cold, and nothing and no one could snap him out of it.

       Harrison sat on the bench beside him and wiped his brow with his handkerchief. It was hot in here, but Harrison was the only guy Brody knew who actually carried a handkerchief in his pocket.

       “Here’s the deal, Brody—you can’t say anything this afternoon. If the reporter starts digging too much about your last season with MacArthur, or about your injury, then we’re screwed.”

       Brody paused in his reps. “Exactly why did you agree to this interview, Harrison?”

       “Because the Xerxes people wanted it.”

       Right. Brody rolled his eyes. “You don’t see the irony of my sponsoring an energy drink?”

       “It’s an excellent deal they’re offering.” Harrison spread his hands. “What am I supposed to do? If you want a comeback, you need training money. If you need training money, you need sponsors.”

       True. Though Brody didn’t want a comeback, not a full-fledged one, anyway. Harrison knew that. Of everyone on his business team, Harrison was the one guy who’d been with him since the beginning when Brody had СКАЧАТЬ