"I a.s.sist clients who need help either boosting their image or changing it."

"That must be an interesting job."

"I love my work. To have a positive impact on people's lives is very rewarding."

He grinned. "Good for you."

"And what about your job, Cole?"

"I've played football since I was a kid. To be able to do this for a living? It's a dream come true. I'm very grateful."

He was poised, confident and polite. Why didn't he come across like this in interviews? Why was he portrayed in such a negative light? There was more to Cole Riley than what she'd read about in his file.

"Would you like a drink, Savannah?"

"No, I'm fine with the sparkling water, thank you."

"Okay. You still haven't told me what you're doing at this shindig."

"I'm meeting a new client."

His eyes widened. "Yeah? About to redo someone's image?"

"As a matter of fact, I am."

"Huh. I wonder who screwed up and needs a makeover." He looked around the room, studying all the players in attendance. "Couldn't be our star quarterback. He eats, drinks and p.i.s.ses charm."

She resisted the laugh. It wouldn't be appropriate.

He looked at her, then around the room again, zeroing in on a group of players cl.u.s.tered in the middle of the room. "It's Moose Clements, isn't it? That guy couldn't give a decent interview if you gave him a personality implant. Or maybe Kenny Lawton, the Traders other wide receiver. You want to talk about att.i.tude issues? That guy has serious problems. He's your new client, isn't he?"

She stood, smoothed out her dress. "Unfortunately, it's time for me to go. It was very nice meeting you, Cole."

"You're leaving?"

"I'm afraid so."

He grabbed her hand. "Wait."

She paused.

"I want to see you again."

"Oh, you will." She smiled as she walked out of the room. This was going to be very interesting.

COLE WATCHED SAVANNAH WALK AWAY, STRUCK BY HER elegant beauty. Definitely no stick up her a.s.s. She walked with a slight sway to her hips-nothing obvious or attention grabbing about her, but she was all woman.

And dammit, he'd just stood there like a tongue-tied teenager and let her get away.

He should have gotten her number, or asked her out. Instead, he'd acted brain dead.

That wasn't his style. He moved to go after her, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to see his agent, Elizabeth Darnell, looking up at him.

He frowned. "Liz. What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk."

He frowned and looked at the door. "Not now."

"Definitely now. Did you forget the meeting we agreed to?"

He might have forgotten, or maybe ignored Liz's edict that they had some important business to talk about tonight. Since he'd signed with her a few months ago, there'd been a lot of orders. He didn't like being given orders.

"Come on, Liz. We're at a party."

"You have plenty of time to party. And we had an agreement when I signed you," she said, giving him that steely eyed gaze. "Remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. I remember."

"Good. Then let's go."

"We're leaving?"

"Just across the hall. It's too noisy in here. When we're finished you can get back to the party."

Hopefully it wouldn't take long. Maybe Savannah was still around somewhere and he could hook up with her again.

Elizabeth led him to a room across the hall. It was a small meeting room with rows of tables.

"Have a seat."

"I'd rather stand."

She gave him the look, the one that meant she was going to argue until she won. He was just as stubborn, but time was important right now, so he grabbed a chair, spun it around and straddled it.

"What did I do now?"

"Tonight? Nothing so far. But I want to talk about your att.i.tude."

He rolled his eyes. "That's what you wanted to meet about tonight? We've already had this discussion."

"I know. And we're going to talk about it again. The hometown crowd likes a winner. They also like someone who isn't constantly in the tabloids for an overindulgence of partying, for treading on his fellow players like they're the s.h.i.t beneath his Nikes, for running up more speeding tickets than the national debt and for throwing very expensive paparazzi cameras into a fountain. And if that wasn't bad enough, you followed it up with a punch to the guy's jaw."

"Hey, he shoved the f.u.c.king camera in my face. Not just close to my face, but in my face. What was I supposed to do-say 'Cheese' and smile for him?"

"Yes. That's exactly what you were supposed to do. Or turn around and walk away. You need to learn to control your temper and be taught how to behave in public. You need some lessons on how to interact with the media."

Cole snorted. "I think I know how to handle myself just fine."

Liz tapped her foot, though how she managed to stay upright on those five-inch heels was beyond him.

"And if you recall, when I agreed to take you on as a client-mainly because no other agent wanted to be within five miles of you-and I managed to somehow get you signed with St. Louis, you agreed to do anything I asked of you."

He thought that meant the slightly painful salary cut he had to take. At least Liz was savvy enough to put performance bonuses in the contract. He'd show them he wasn't washed up. He was still an a.s.s kicker and this season would prove it. "I did what you asked, didn't I?"

"Oh, the salary cut was just the beginning, Cole. Your image is toast. You know it, I know it, and Coach Tallarino knows it. If the coach wasn't such a good friend of your cousin Mick-and if he didn't owe me a few dozen favors, I guarantee you wouldn't have this job."

Cole wasn't buying it. He'd been signed because he had talent and plenty of it. Agents liked to make threats to keep their players in line. He knew how this game was played.

"The clock is ticking. It's only a matter of time before no one will touch you, no matter how good you are on the field. You're a PR nightmare."

He stood and faced Liz, doing exactly what she said he wasn't capable of. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his temper under control. "I'm a d.a.m.n good wide receiver."

"That might be true, but until you stop the nonsense off the field and prove to the coach, your team, the media, and the general public that you've grown up and your bad-boy days are over, it doesn't matter if you score ten touchdowns a game. Reputation is everything in football."

He blew out a sigh. Why couldn't his stats be enough? What difference did it make what he did during his off hours? So he liked to party a little. So what? His bad rep was the media's fault anyway. He was thirty years old and still at the top of his game. After six years in the NFL, he'd d.a.m.n well earned the right to relax and enjoy life.

But yeah. PR. He understood. And if he had to toe the line for a while until he got in the good graces of the fans and the coach, that's what he'd do.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I'm bringing in someone to help you."

He frowned "Who?"

The door opened and Savannah walked in. Relieved to see her, Cole grinned, glad he hadn't lost the opportunity to spend more time with her.

"Hey. I was wondering where you'd wandered off to," he said.

"You two know each other?" Liz asked.

"Yeah. We met earlier." Cole turned to Liz and frowned. "You know Savannah?"

Liz's lips lifted. "As a matter of fact I do. And you're going to get to know her a lot better. Savannah is your new image consultant."

He pivoted and looked at Savannah, who gave him a serene smile.

"My image consultant? What the f.u.c.k?"

KEEP READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM THE NEXT PLAY-BY-PLAY NOVEL BY JACI BURTON.

end.