Page 23 of 7 Nights of Sin

Chapter 8

Caro

The next morning, it was very apparent that I did, in fact, need to worry.

For multiple reasons, which was even worse than I had imagined. I knew when Kevin put his mind to something, he went through with it, and our conversation from the night before had clearly not been enough to deter him from doing stupid things.

The first thing was an alert on my phone that 'Baseball superstar Kevin Smith is an alcoholic', complete with a grainy phone picture of Kevin at a bar, leaning over it and talking to a pretty blonde woman.

It wasn't anything scandalous, considering he didn't even have a drink in front of him in the picture, but the bartender was smiling in a way that made it clear someone was flirting, and the fact that it was in a bar was damning enough.

Luckily for everyone involved, it was hard to see if it was actually Kevin in the picture. It was taken at an angle where shadow fell over his face, making his skin seem darker than it was, and there wasn't much else to identify him positively.

So it could have been anyone. But I was pretty sure it was him. The idiot.

The second thing was, as soon as I was up and showered, someone was knocking on my door.

I went to answer it, bewildered at the notion that someone would be knocking before eight in the morning, but it was a delivery person.

"For you, ma'am," he said, and handed me a plastic bag before hurrying away.

I stood there for a second, staring after him because what the hell?

When I finally had the presence of mind to close the door and open the bag, I was torn between being touched and immediately annoyed.

Inside was a to go cup of coffee, still hot, and a box of pastries from the upscale bakery on the upper West side that I loved but hardly ever went to because it was expensive.

In the box was an assortment of things, from the bear claws I couldn't get enough of, to a smaller box that held delicate macarons, in a variety of bright colors and flavors.

Pastries were my one weakness, and I usually avoided them because I'd easily gain more weight than I wanted to if I let myself have them every time I craved them, but they smelled so sugary and good, and my stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten yet.

There was no question who had sent them, and I rubbed my forehead.

The smart thing to do would be to throw them in the trash and send Kevin a picture of it, telling him in no uncertain terms that I didn't want his gifts.

But that would be wasteful.

Or something.

I lifted out a bear claw and the delicate box of macarons, saving those for myself. I worked hard, and I deserved treats every now and then. The others I put back in the bag and took them with me to work.

At least my coworkers would be able to enjoy them.

I didn't give Kevin the benefit of a response.

It wasn't exactly the friendliest option, but I didn't trust him. I knew there was something else he wanted or he was just trying to butter me up for further rule breaking.

A few dayslater was the first scheduled interview.

It was with a small morning show, nothing too major, just enough to get the word out that he was addressing the concerns. Conveniently, images of him working at a shelter over the weekend had been 'leaked' the day before, so it would give the hosts something to talk about.

They were two energetic women, both blonde and peppy, and I stood backstage while Kevin was in hair and makeup, going over the notes I'd put together.

We'd barely talked since that night on the phone, and he seemed to be accepting my silence, though he came out of his dressing room, grinning broadly.

"I love being on TV," he said.

"I've noticed," I replied dryly. "You know what you're supposed to say here, right?"

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