Page 35 of More Than Pen Pals

“Wow is right, Lady Leslie. I wanted to banish my wife back to the Dominican Republic, but the State Department did not approve my plan.” He laughs, but I can’t tell if he’s serious or not.

“And Houston had no problems with trading you?”

“Oh, they had problems. But I handled them.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“You’re not going to tell me how?”

“Not unless you need to know. And I don’t think you need to know yet. If you do, I will tell you.”

“Okay. And you’re already in Chicago?”

“Yes. They struck the deal during last night’s game when the Cubs were in Houston. I left the stadium immediately and caught the next flight here. I’m the starting pitcher tomorrow against St. Louis.”

“Oh,” I say before realizing it’s not the best response.

“Why ‘oh’?”

“No reason.”

“There is a reason. Tell me. If we’re going to be best buddies, you must tell me things. I need to know all about Lady Leslie. This is give and take. I tell you my secrets. You tell me yours.”

Sharing my secrets with clients is not in my job description, but I decide to roll with it for now. “I’m a Cardinals fan.”

“Say it’s not so.” He says it teasingly, so I can tell he doesn’t care.

“It ismuyso.”

“Are you going to betray me to the enemy, Lady Leslie? Tell me now, so I’ll know who to blame when I go down in flames.”

I think I’m going to like this man. “You’re safe with me, Diego.”

“Yes! I knew it. You will come to tomorrow’s game, and you will not cheer for your Cardinals. Can you do that?”

I decide to be honest. “I don’t know.”

“I am grateful for your honesty, but you will try—for me, your new bestamigoDiego. But I won’t require you to cheer for the Cubs. I don’t want you to betray your own people. That is treason.”

I chuckle. “I appreciate that.”

“Now, I’m staying at the Drake. You know it?”

“Yes, I know it.” Or at least I know of it. I’ve never been there.

“You will meet me here for lunch. No excuses.”

Thank goodness Ash changed our plans. “I’ll be there.”

eighteen

“Ashley,” Mom says as I lean down to kiss her cheek, “you look different. Did you get a haircut?”

Randall snorts. “He looks different because he …” He trails off when he catches my look.

“Because he what?” Mom demands. Her gaze snaps back and forth between us as we take our seats.

I don’t know if I should wait and see how my brother is going to dig himself out of this hole or if I need to use my own shovel before he buries me along with him.

He says, “This morning he learned Carter-Jenkins’ newest client is one of his favorite baseball players.”

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