STAYING ON TOP
By: Lyla Payne
Publication Date: December 10, 2013
STAYING ON TOP Synopsis:
Sam Bradford has it all—he’s the #2 tennis player in the world, plenty of girls want to date him, and he’ll never want for money. At least, that’s what he thought until his accountant stole everything and disappeared. Interpol has no idea where to start, and neither does the American F.B.I., so Sam figures he’ll just have to take care of his body and play a few extra years to make it back.
When Blair Paddington, the accountant’s daughter and a friend of a friend at Whitman, shows up and claims she can help Sam get his money back he’s torn between wanting justice and the very real possibility that Blair is just as big a con man as her father. When she promises not only money, but justice, Sam agrees—but only if he can go along on the search.
The two of them set off on an adventure neither rich kid is prepared for—cheap hostels, the same clothes three days in a row, and nothing but a backpack of possessions—so they can fly under the radar as college lovers on a winter break. In spite of Blair’s shady family, her daring and resourceful personality strike Sam’s interest and he finds himself falling for the one girl he shouldn’t.
When they finally find her father, the truths that come to light not only make Sam question his affection for Blair, but could cost him more than money—if they can’t work together one last time, neither of them may be going home. Ever.
Lyla Payne Bio:
I’ve long had a love of stories. A few years ago decided to put them down on the page, and even though I have a degree in film and television, novels were the creative outlet where I found a home. I’ve published Young Adult under a different name, but when I got the idea for Broken at Love (my first New Adult title), I couldn’t wait to try something new – and I’m hooked. In my spare time I watch a ton of tennis (no surprise, there), play a ton of tennis, and dedicate a good portion of brain power to dreaming up the next fictitious bad boy we’d all love to meet in real life.Read An Excerpt
This morning had disappeared into a haze of burning muscles and sticky buckets of sweat. The five-mile run on the beach, followed by an hour in the weight room, then a two-hour practice had done wonders for my state of mind, but I needed a shower worse than a homeless person.
I let myself into my suite at the Westin, then stopped cold at the sight of Blair Paddington, who didn’t disappear after a hard blink. She sat on the love seat, looking as beautiful as the last time I’d seen her, which I realized in that moment had been far too long ago. Her hands were steady as she poured tea from a silver pot into delicate, rose-painted china, then dumped in a lump of sugar and stirred. The bored gaze that met mine was dark brown, almost black, like an inviting cup of coffee. Matching hair tumbled past her shoulders, begging me to run my fingers through it, to fist my hands in it.
“Are you going to stand there with your mouth hanging open or say hello?”
The indolent tone freed me of the thought that she might be a dream. It dumped me into reality, a place where this girl who lived halfway around the world did not belong. It also reminded me that she’d been pretty rough in her many refusals to my advances, and my dignity replied.
“I don’t typically say hello to people who let themselves into my private space without asking. Or being invited.”
She shrugged, an odd and out-of-place gesture in response to my statement. “Tea?”
“No, thank you.”
“Would you rather have coffee? I ordered both.”
And no doubt charged it to my room. “No. I don’t drink caffeine.”
“Ah, gotcha. I’ll remember next time.”
The shock of seeing her here started to wear off, and suspicion replaced it. It was so unlike me to not take things in stride or assume the best of people, and the subtle change made me hate Neil Saunders even more. In another life—five weeks ago—my assumption would have been that she had finally given in to her unvoiced desires and sought me out.
Sure, I would have wondered how she found me and how she weaseled her way into my room, but remaining friends with Quinn had taught me that the kids at Whitman had the kind of money that fueled the wet dreams of even my fellow tennis pros. Not to mention that Blair’s beauty and charm could probably talk some unsuspecting CIA agent out of a key to the White House.
“What are you doing in Melbourne?”
“I would have assumed your first question would have been about how I managed to get into your room.”
“Or find my hotel, but yes. The answers to all three of those questions are going to be necessary if you don’t want me to call security and have you hauled out of here.”
“I thought you liked me.” She pouted.
The curve of her bottom lip almost distracted me. Almost. “I barely know you. Which I’ve recently come to realize can actually be an issue.”
She sighed and then sipped the steaming cup of what smelled like vanilla chai. I’d spent enough time in Europe to discern my teas. After a few moments of silence she stood and stretched. Blair was all lithe movements and smooth skin, reminding me of a cat as she slipped past me and opened the doors that led out to the balcony.
A whiff of citrusy perfume tickled my nose as I followed her into the balmy late morning. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore dove into my center and soothed the worry tightening my stomach, another reason I’d chosen this particular spot for the remainder of my rehab and downtime. When Blair turned, resting her elbows on the ledge of the wrought-iron balcony, my heart stammered in an attempt to find an even rhythm. Even though the hesitance in her gaze said her appearance had nothing to do with a romantic change of heart, it couldn’t stop the thought of how perfect she looked with the salty breeze toying with her hair.
“I’m not here because I changed my mind about dating you. I’m here because of what recently transpired between you and your accountant, Neil . . . Saunders, is it?” She smirked, but the mirth didn’t reach her dark eyes.
My heart stopped altogether. “How do you know about that? Who have you told?”
“Take it easy. I haven’t told anyone and I’m not going to. I know what happened because Neil Saunders is a pseudonym for big-time con man Neil Paddington.” She paused, watching me closely, then continued when she received silence. “And Neil Paddington just happens to be my father.”
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