The Heat broke even in the Arizona series. Better than losing, but still, not a record to be proud of. Not for them.

The Bad News Bears, the news reports mocked. Holly read them all, and by the time the team came home, they had to win their next game or be knocked out of the wild card position for the run at the National League pennant.

She couldn’t imagine the pressure.

But she had her own pressure. Pressure to make a living. While trying to find her next series, she went over the pictures she’d taken all summer, and as she played with the shots, she realized her own next series was right here in front of her—a slice of American life.

While she played with that, Tommy called. “Doll, I’ve got an idea. How about you extend the baseball series, figure out what’s going on with all that bad press the Heat is getting?”

“The series is over.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, seeing as you’ve turned this new leaf and gone all conscientious on me, I might have something interesting for you.”

“What?”

“The bad press isn’t generated by your article, or from the Heat’s play record. Sure, they’ve lost some games, but they’re still at a winning record, and in fact, if they win to day’s home game, they’re a cinch for the wild card position to go into the pennant for National League champions. Not too shabby. Plus, there’s one undeniable fact—other teams have far bigger losing streaks going on.”

“I know. Sam’s been going crazy trying to figure it out.”

“It’s an inside job.”

“No. No one would—”

“Would and did.”

“Who?”

“Buzz is that it’s coming from their own PR department.”

“Samantha? That’s ridiculous,” she said firmly.

“Her brother’s the publicist for the Charleston Bucks.”

“Yes, Jeremy. So?”

“So the Bucks have a bigger losing streak than the Heat’s. In fact, they’ve been big losers all season. They have a shallow bullpen and no solid hitters.”

“Are you suggesting that Sam’s creating bad press for the Heat to deflect from the Buck’s losing streak?”

“Among other things, like causing the loss of advertising dollars and game-day revenues, yeah.”

“Tommy, come on. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Actually, it does. We’re talking millions and millions of dollars, and you know the saying: blood is thicker than a paycheck.”

“How do you know this?”

“I know all.”

“Not good enough.”

“I was contacted by someone who wanted to sell me proof.”

“Oh God,” she breathed. “How much is that worth?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t take it. I have some scruples.”

Whether or not that was true, Holly’s head was spinning. Tommy was a greedy, sneaky, manipulative bastard, but the bitch of it was, he was always right. “You’re sure?”