Finally, Julie found a smile. "Good. And thank you."

Amy fiddled with her wedding ring for a few seconds, and Julie knew what she wanted to ask.

"Since I know you're wondering," she told her friend, "it was great." Amy laughed, helping Julie finally break out of her self-pity. "Thank you for telling me. I've been married for so long, I need to live vicariously through you."

The rest of the day, as Julie threw herself into her work, she waited for relief to wash over her. Ty was Amy's problem now. They'd conduct all of their meetings outside the office; Amy would accompany him to charity events; she'd be the one teaching him how to give his fans a chaste peck on the cheek in 11 out of the cameras, or better yet, a handshake.

But relief never came. Instead, during her South Beach Diet meal for one that evening, she found herself worrying about Ty's effect on her best friend. Could any woman really withstand that charm, the sensual power he wielded? What if Amy fell for him? Ty was the ultimate woman magnet—even an intelligent, married woman like Amy wouldn't be able to help herself. What if Ty came between Amy and her husband, Jon? Julie would never forgive herself for pawning him off on her friend if that happened. If she'd had a male employee, she would have passed Ty off to him in an instant. Julie hated how inadequate everything about her life and her business seemed a mere twelve hours after Ty had swaggered back into her life. She'd been happy, damn it. She'd enjoyed quiet nights at home, pleasant dates, occasional affairs that quickly fizzled out. How boring it now seemed in comparison to him. His house was an all-day party, and even his private underground room outdid her sleek, unfussy home across from Golden Gate Park.

Unable to sleep that night, she didn't know why she'd even bothered going to bed. She tried to convince herself that her excess energy was nothing more than anger at the way Ty had manipulated her into being with him again, but every cell in her body called her a liar.

She had taken the job, gone to his house, let him take her clothes off all because she wanted to be with him again. She'd been so desperate for more sex with him that she'd been perfectly willing to give up all of the principles by which she lived her life. Just like the first time. How was it that five seconds with Ty made her lose hold of everything she was? Everything she'd worked so hard to build?

And worse, why did she want nothing more than to have him here with her, in her bed, making her call out his name? Especially when she'd vowed never to be in the same room with him ever again?

Ty was bored. Strip clubs had been a lot of fun when he was twenty-one, but as the years went by, he felt more and more like a dirty old man watching young dancers shimmy in their G-strings and tassels. He'd had more than his fair share of groupies, stuffed twenties into countless G-strings. The women's faces all started to blur together after a while.

Still, he tried to look like he was having a good time. After all, that was the whole point of tonight. He'd called his friends and told them to meet him at the Hustler Club. It was imperative that he be surrounded by a party and plenty of naked women, that people got drunk enough to whip out their cell phones and take pictures of him.

Somebody would try to make some money off the shot, and then he'd have Julie right where he wanted her.

Until then, he supposed he'd have to keep stuffing dollar bills into the dancers' G-strings, maybe even get a lap dance or two, make some personal sacrifices just to keep up the ruse. He grinned, already looking forward to seeing her bright and early tomorrow morning in Bobby's office.

The phone rang at 7:00 A.M., waking Julie out of a deep sleep. Saturday was the only day she allowed herself to sleep later than sunrise. But since she hadn't actually fallen asleep until what felt like a few minutes ago, she was completely disoriented when she picked up the phone. A southern drawl was the last thing she expected. "Ms. Spencer?" She quickly sat up in bed, pushed her hair back from her face. No way could the new owner of the Outlaws calling her bright and early on a Saturday morning be a good thing. She swallowed past the sawdust in her mouth.

"Speaking."

"I believe I hired you to reform the finest player on my team?" What had Ty done? Because whatever it was, she had to hand it to him: He'd gotten the big guns to come out shooting.

Right at her chest.

"Yes, sir," she said. "Mr. Calhoun and I met briefly yesterday to go over our preliminary plan."

"Did your plan include late-night visits to strip clubs, my dear?" Strip clubs? Oh, God! Shock and hurt hit her square across the chest. He'd gone from her nearly naked body straight to a stranger's naked body.

She knew she didn't mean anything to him, but it hurt to have it slap her in the face. Before she managed to get her brain around a reply, he said, "We're in my office waiting for you. Aren't we, Mr. Calhoun?"

From a distance, she heard Ty call out, "Hey, Julie. You missed a real fun time last night." His nerve was almost as enormous as his ego.

"I'm on my way," she bit out, but the phone was already dead in her hands. While she set a speed record for showering, getting dressed, and putting on makeup, Julie imagined all the different ways she could murder Ty. But nothing she could think of was either gory enough or involved enough prolonged torture to suit her.

She wanted blood and by God, she was going to get it.

CHAPTER NINE

Good morning, sunshine."

The smile that Julie pinned on her face nearly disintegrated in the face of Ty's cheerful, too-gorgeous-for-his-own-good-and-hers-too greeting.

After a night of carousing, it just wasn't fair that he should look so good. He was still an irresistible bundle of muscles and heat, his long tanned fingers stroking the arm of his chair, as if he wished he was caressing skin rather than cold leather.

At least she presented a pretty picture in front of her nemesis and the very powerful, rather unattractive man who'd hired her to perform a miracle. She'd known plenty of men like Bobby Wilson—men who prided themselves on wielding power in the most distressing way possible. Without fail, the women who bested these men were not simply beautiful to a fault, they were feminine and ever-gracious as well. Her blouse was appealing without being overtly sexy, and if ever there was a time for the little pink skirt that swished around her knees and the shoes with the cute bows on the back of the heel, this meeting was it.

"I sure hope I didn't disturb your beauty sleep, Ms. Spencer," Bobby said. Julie didn't believe him for one second. He would love to know that he'd wrecked her entire life with his phone call.

"It was a pleasure to hear from you," she said, letting her hand be enveloped by his damp one. Bobby's handshake was limp, like a dead fish. Lovely.

She turned her smile up brighter, confident in her ability to charm the team's owner. Ty wasn't the only one with charisma in his corner. The difference was, she carefully chose who to dole it out to.

"Please, have a seat," Bobby said, gesturing to an upholstered seat that was far too close to Ty for Julie's liking. But then, the same state was too close for comfort where he was concerned. She sat down and crossed her legs, far more pleased at the blatant appreciation in Ty's eyes than she should have been. Although she'd dressed to impress Bobby, she wasn't averse to Ty drooling over her—and all the things he was never going to get to touch and kiss again—as well. Bobby looked between Julie and Ty. "Well, if the two of you aren't the prettiest pair outside of a Miss America contest."