She smiled back, giving him her own brand of charm. He might be hot and charismatic and able to bend a woman’s mind like Superman bent steel, but she was unflappable and stubborn to a tee. “Your publicist wants these articles written, and so does my boss, which means we’re stuck with each other. So why don’t we go grab a drink and you play nice and give me what I need in order to do my job?”

He studied her for a beat. “The last reporter really did offer to sleep with me.”

“A fact that makes me shake my head at my entire gender.” Certain portions of her anatomy quivered, making her a liar.

A corner of his mouth quirked as if he knew. “Okay, here’s the thing. I know what Sam wants. I even know what you want. But it’s not going to happen. Nice meeting you—”

“Woo hoo, Pace! Oh, Pace . . .”

At the voice behind them, a look of utter panic crossed his face, which was so odd and misplaced on his six foot two frame that Holly turned to see who’d put it there.

A young woman, barely five feet tall, was running through the hot day toward them, wearing only what appeared to be Pace’s white home-game jersey, which fell nearly to her knees. In her hands was a large notebook covered with baseball cards—all Pace’s—her flip-flops slapping the asphalt, her wild, curly dark hair poking out from beneath a Heat cap.

“Pace!” she called out, waving. “I caught you! I caught you! Ohmigod, luck is finally on my side!”

At that, Pace muttered something beneath his breath, which rhymed with that luck the fan claimed to have, and Holly choked out a short laugh.

Stopping just in front of them, the woman put a hand to her heaving chest and beamed up at Pace. “Are you free for dinner tonight to look over the scrapbook I made for you? I’ve brought all the recent clippings—well, except for that nasty one from Sports Life because they didn’t put you in their fantasy lineup. They think you’re too old to anchor their rotation. So are you?”

He blinked. “Too old?”

“No!” She laughed gaily. “Free for dinner, silly.” Her voice was high and bubbly, sort of like Marilyn Monroe on helium. “Because last night you said no, and the night before you said no, and the night before that, too, so I was hoping—”

“Tia.” Looking torn between running and wishing he could vanish into thin air, Pace took off his sunglasses and scrapped a hand down his face. “You’re not supposed to be here, remember? Your doctor told you that, and so did the police. You promised.”