Rules of the Game by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online Page B

off the top. “What was with her today?” she demanded. “She can be a problem, but I’ve never had to drag one line out of her like that before.”
    â€œBroke up with her man last week,” E.J. informed Brooke before he took a greedy swallow of grape soda.
    Grinning, Brooke sat on the tailgate. “Anything you don’t know, E.J.?”
    â€œNot a thing.” He propped himself beside her, one of the few on the Thorton staff who wasn’t leery of the Tiger-lady, as Brooke had been dubbed. “You’re going to that fancy de Marco party tonight.”
    â€œYeah.” Brooke gave a slow, narrow-eyed smile that had nothing to do with the brilliance of the sun. The party would be her chance to cut Parks Jones down a few pegs. She could still remember how she had stood shaking on her porch in the moonlight after the echo of his engine had died away.
    â€œIt’s going to be a kick working with Parks Jones.” E.J. downed the rest of his soda in one swallow. “The man’s got the best glove in the league and a bat that won’t quit smoking. Knocked in two more RBIs last night.”
    Brooke leaned against the door frame and scowled. “Good for him.”
    â€œDon’t you like baseball?” E.J. grinned, tossing his empty bottle into the back of the wagon.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOught to have some team spirit,” he mused and gave her knee a friendly squeeze. “The better he does, the more punch the campaign’ll have. And if he gets into the series—”
    â€œIf he gets into the series,” Brooke interrupted, “we have to wait until the end of October before we can start shooting.”
    â€œWell.” E.J. stroked his chin. “That’s show biz.”
    Brooke tried to glare, then chuckled. “Let’s get back. I’ve got a shoot in the studio this afternoon. Want me to drive?”
    â€œNaw.” E.J. slammed the tailgate then headed for the driver’s seat. “I like living.”
    â€œYou’re such a wimp, E.J.”
    â€œI know,” he agreed cheerfully. “I’ve got this thing about traveling at the speed of light.” After adjusting mirror-lensed sunglasses on his face he coaxed the station wagon’s engine into life. It sputtered and groaned temperamentally while he crooned to it.
    â€œWhy don’t you buy a new car?” Brooke demanded. “You get paid enough.”
    He patted the wagon’s dash when the engine caught. “Loyalty. I’ve been cruising in this little darling for seven years. She’ll be around when that flashy machine of yours is nuts and bolts.”
    Brooke shrugged, then tilted back her head to drain the bottle. E.J. was the only one who worked under her who dared any intimacy, which was probably the reason she not only allowed it but liked him for it. She also considered him one of the best men with a camera on the West Coast. He came from San Francisco where his father was a high school principal and his mother owned and operated a popular beauty salon. She had met them once and wondered how two such meticulous people could have produced a freewheeling, loose-living man with a penchant for voluptuous women and B movies.
    But then, Brooke mused, she’d never been able to understand families. Always she viewed them with perplexity and longing, as only one on the outside could fully understand. Settling back on the carefully patched seat, she began to plot out her strategy for her afternoon session.
    â€œHeard you took in a Kings game the other night.” E.J. caught her swift, piercing look and began to whistle tunelessly.
    â€œSo?”
    â€œI saw Brighton Boyd at a party a couple of nights ago. Worked with him on a TV special last year. Nice guy.”
    Brooke remembered seeing the actor in the box next to hers and Claire’s. She dropped her empty bottle on the already littered floor. “So?” she repeated