Hot Property by Carly Phillips Page A

with Roper. The man was a media magnet.
    Not that Micki knew the extent of their relationship. Roper hadn’t mentioned that Amy had spent the night at his place New Year’s Eve, but Micki understood why. Roper was nothing if not a gentleman.
    She turned to her uncle. “Roper never mentioned the papers when he stopped by early this morning, so I’m sure he hasn’t seen the articles yet.” Because he’d been solely focused on Amy, Micki thought.
    “He probably figured a bigger story would hit and make him old news before the photos were ever published,” Yank said.
    “Probably.” Micki stood and paced the office, taking in the awards on the walls and photographs of her uncle and famous athletes he’d represented over the years—including one of Roper the day he’d signed his multimillion-dollar contract with the Renegades. “I feel bad that Amy’s upset, but you have to admit that the media talking about Roper’s love life and not his career is exactly what he needs right now.”
    Yank snickered. “The boy needs more than that. But you’re right.
    It’s a good start. I knew you’d come around to my way of thinkin’.”
    Her uncle was referring to his notion of setting up Roper and Amy.

    After he’d decided on that course, he’d gone to Micki for help. But having been on the receiving end of her uncle’s matchmaking schemes, Micki had refused, despite the fact that she believed the two would make a great couple. Micki wanted nothing more than to see her best friend settled and happy just as she was with Damian.
    But she wouldn’t meddle. “I didn’t come around to your way of thinking. I just happen to think assigning Amy to Roper works for the business.” That it would work for them personally, as well, was a bonus. Or so Micki told herself when she’d paired them as a business team—the idea occurring to her just this morning while Roper was questioning her about Amy Stone, his interest clear.
    Her uncle laughed. “Either way, the result’s the same. They’re together. Nature can do the rest.”

    AMY WALKED INTO HER OFFICE only to find it empty. She returned to check back with Kelly, the receptionist she shared with one of the other publicists. “Good morning again,” Amy said.
    Before she could ask, the woman handed her a stack of pink message notes. “These are for you,” Kelly said with a smile.
    Amy narrowed her gaze. “I don’t know many people in town and this is my first day. What gives?”
    “You’re experiencing your fifteen minutes of fame. The papers want to interview you. Mind if I give you a suggestion?” the other woman asked.
    “I’m all ears,” Amy said, wanting any help she could get.
    Kelly leaned closer, her bangs falling over her eyes as she leaned in, and whispered, “Ignore them.”
    Amy blinked. “That’s it? That’s the magic formula?”
    “That and praying for some other athlete to make a scene or screw up so he replaces you and Roper in the headlines.” Kelly nodded sagely.
    “Got it. Speaking of Roper, did he—”

    “Leave a message? Yes, he did. Here.” She handed Amy a white envelope with her name written on the front. “He was waiting patiently until he got an urgent phone call. Then he asked for paper to leave you a note and rushed out.” Apparently her new secretary was the epitome of efficiency.
    Amy was grateful something was going right today. “Thank you, Kelly.”
    “That’s my job. Oh, you have a lunch date at 1:00 p.m. today at Sparks. It’s a steak house on Forty-Sixth between Second and Third.
    Since that’s prime lunch hour and we’re farther uptown, you might want to give yourself some time to get there. Would you prefer cab, car or subway?” Kelly asked, pen in hand, ready to tackle anything.
    Florida girl that she was, Amy wasn’t ready to take on the NYC
    subway system just yet. “I’ll just go down and grab a cab.”
    Kelly rolled her pen between her palms. “No, never mind, that won’t work. You might not get