Page 9

We both look up at my new assistant, Miranda, striding in, a folder tucked beneath her arm. Her hair is piled high on her head, and she’s wearing a sexy dress.

“Oh, sorry,” she says. “I thought the conference room was empty.”

Chase gives her a short nod of his head. “That’s fine. We were about to finish up anyway.”

She drops an easygoing smile. Her entire posture is nervous, as if it was her first day, even though Miranda has been working for me for three months now. I understand her nervousness, but I also think she has a bit of a crush on me.

I wink at her, which earns me a strange glance from Chase.

“Can I bring you anything?” she asks.

“We’re fine,” Chase says.

“Actually, I’d love some coffee.”

Chase shoots me a warning glance, which I shrug off.

“Coming right up.” Miranda leaves, closing the door behind her.

“Seriously?” Chase mumbles.

“What?”

“You haven’t even started therapy yet.”

“I never said I would.” I shrug my shoulders. “Jesus. It’s just coffee. I wasn’t planning on fucking her while sipping it.”

He shakes his head again then gets up, grabbing his jacket in the progress. He lifts his briefcase, hesitating. “Tomorrow, Kade. You’re taking the private jet tonight.”

With that he storms out, leaving me alone.

I pour myself another glass of whisky, nursing it slowly.

Why can’t the damn therapy start in three days so I get to finish what I’ve been working so hard for a full year?

Would it count if I fucked three ladies today rather than one a day?

I grab my glass and walk over to the window. Below me, people are swarming like ants. I don’t turn around as the door behind me opens, the click clack of high heels following the enticing scent of fresh coffee.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Miranda asks.

I turn around and regard her with the kind of smile I know will melt her panties in a heartbeat. “As a matter of fact, there is.”

3

VICKY

If I amto be honest, I know that sneaking into Bruce’s home was wrong. But in my defense, I had a very good reason. One that comes in the form of a six-foot tall ice hockey player who has a crazy ex and a smile to die for.

When he didn’t reply to my messages, I seriously thought he had gone missing and that I’d be doing him a favor by tracking him down. For all I knew, his ex might have killed him and buried him in her backyard. He had told me on several occasions that she was jealous of him dating me, so much so that she even slashed his tires and set his sports equipment on fire.

The judge showed no understanding for any of my reasons.

Zero. Zip. Nada.

She went completely overboard when she called my behavior sort of stalkish and even had the nerve to tell me that I was addicted. The thought that Bruce has turned into a love obsession was so absurd, I laughed in her face, which did not amuse her.

But can you blame me?