Nothing about the way he invaded her personal space was professional. It created a serious lump in her throat.
“It’s not my business what you do with him when he’s not playing, but you shouldn’t be traveling with him on road trips.”
She was sure her confusion was written all over her face.
“Rookies don’t need distractions, and I’m sure none of the management would want you becoming one.”
What the hell? She knew how to do her job, and she had never been an issue for any of her subjects. In fact, she was known in the industry for being anything but a distraction because most of the time, no one noticed she was around. That was what she told every single athlete before working with them. As far as they were concerned, she was just the wallpaper. She made it a point to blend in.
“Look, Matthews, I don’t know why you’re suddenly so interested in what I do or don’t do, but before I even thought about touching Tim, I got approval from everyone from the owner down to his batting coach. And Sean approves too, so maybe you could just step back and mind your own business.” She glared at him—his face so close his breath was on her lips. His two-tone eyes sparking angry fire at her before they flashed with something else.
He swallowed and shook his head, but he didn’t step back. “The Diablo thing.”
She cut him off. “I get it; I crossed a line that I didn’t understand at the time with the Clayton stunt. If I’d known how close you were with the Evanses, if I’d known they were family, I’d have never, ever, pretended I’d use you to get to Clayton. But I did. So you got back at me with all that stuff you said on Diablo—feed a reporter fake news.”
She swallowed the hurt and anger the entire thing brought up again.
He blinked and then frowned, but remained silent.
She looked over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact so she could finish. “I don’t like it. In fact, I hate it. But I know why you did it. And clearly you don’t know me well enough to know I’d never write or blog about anything that wasn’t approved by both you and your agent. But. I. Wouldn’t. So it would be nice if you could just stop assuming the worst about me.”
By the time she finished, her voice was hardly a whisper, and her throat was thick. She dropped her head and focused on their shoes.
He didn’t move or answer, so she slipped under his arm and went back to her phone for the simple task of something to ignore him with. She was as tense as nails waiting for him to say or do whatever maddeningly unpredictable thing he’d come up with next, but nothing happened. She let her shoulders sag, wondering if he’d left, when he finally spoke.
“Taran.” He said her name just above a whisper, and the deep tenor of his voice moved across her skin like a caress.
She shivered. Finally, she looked over her shoulder at him. He hadn’t moved—he leaned against the wall on one arm and stared at his hand.
“Corey,” she replied softly.
He sucked in a breath at that. His focus moved to her, and those multicolored eyes of his were liquid. The heat in that simple glance cracked through the hallway around her. She couldn’t move. She was paralyzed by desire for the man who couldn’t even be civil to her.
“Yo Taran,” Tim called out, and Corey’s eyes raised above her head.
It broke the spell she had been under. Taran cleared her throat before she turned to him.
“Did he apologize? Because he owes you one.”
“Sure,” she said, even though nothing about their conversation had been apologetic. But she had to shake it off and do her job. “You ready?” she asked and moved to Tillerson, leaving Corey standing in the hallway. A quick glance over her shoulder told her he was once again pissed off.