Page 3

CHAPTER 3

EMILY

I feel sick. Like, really sick. As I stare at Andy’s calendar, specifically the details of his lunch meeting today at Smith I really don’t need that kind of humiliation hanging over my head

“Okay, I give up,” Tess says.

“I just had to deliver something to my boss at his lunch meeting at Smith I can hardly breathe right now .

“When did it happen?” Fran asks, eyes comically wide. “Where?” She’s actually beside herself. “How did?—”

“Stop!” I hold a hand up.

I barely even know this woman. In the few weeks that I’ve been working here, we’ve crossed paths in the hallway, the bathroom, the third-floor cafeteria. And sure, she seems nice enough, but she’s a relative stranger. A stranger who now knows too much.

Fran giggles. Giggles. I’m on the precipice of a literal panic attack, and she’s giggling.

“Fran, please don’t say anything,” I beg. “It was one drunken night of—” I stop myself before I say too much. “It was before I started working here. I had no idea who he was… I don’t even know why I went home with him. I?—”

“Wait a second!” Fran rears back, a confused look on her face. “You went home with him? With Dallas? To his apartment?”

I nod slowly.

“In Brooklyn?”

I nod again.

She seems to consider that. “And we’re definitely talking about the same Dallas Shaw?”

“Oh my God, keep your voice down!” I throw my hands in the air, taking a breath in an attempt to calm my racing heart. Imploring her with a serious look, I continue, “If anyone finds out about this, I could lose my job.”

“Oh, pfff!” She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “No one’s losing their job.”

“The woman before me did.” I wave a hand at my desk, as if the ghost of Paris is sitting right there with an I-told-you-so look on her face.

“Yeah, but she was terrible ,” Fran quips.

I don’t know much about my predecessor, but I’ve heard the stories. Apparently, she’d been trying to hook up with different HMC clients during her employment, as if her sole purpose for working here was to nab herself a professional athlete. I suppose that’s why Andy has such a strict code of conduct.

“I’m not going to say anything,” Fran says after a moment. “But honestly, when it comes to Dallas, Andy needs to realize the odds of hiring a woman in this city who hasn’t had sex with him are slim to none.”

I deadpan. “Okay, so that doesn’t actually make me feel any better. You have to know that, right?”

She at least has the decency to look contrite.

“Oh, God, what am I going to do?” I groan, smoothing my hair back from my face. “I need this job.”

“Stop worrying.” Fran squeezes my shoulder. “I’m not going to say anything. I promise.”

“Yeah, but what about Dallas?” I throw my hands in the air. “For all I know, the moment I left, he told Andy everything. God, I’ll probably be unemployed before the day is over.”

“Okay, seriously, calm down.” Fran grabs me with both hands again, rubbing up and down my arms. “I know Dallas. Trust me. He’s not going to tell Andy.”

“How do you kn—” I blanch as a thought crosses my mind. “Oh, God. You haven’t had sex with him too, have you?”

“No!” She huffs an exasperated laugh. “I’m dating his best friend, Robbie.”

My brows draw together. “Robbie? As in Mason ?” Robbie is one of Andy’s clients too.

“Yeah. And I’m not fired, am I?” She smiles smugly, and a big part of me relaxes. That is until she adds quickly, “I mean, technically we were together before I started working here, but that’s totally beside the point.”

“Oh my God, Fran! That’s totally the point.” I throw my hands up again. “My employment contract specifically states I will not whore around with HMC athletes!”

“It does not say that.” She balks

“Well, it says something like that. I don’t know. I didn’t really read it. But there’s a definite non-fraternization clause, that I know.”

“Breathe, Emily.” Fran cocks her head to the side, a knowing smile playing on her lips that should anger me but actually helps to ease my worry. “Also, you weren’t technically employed at the time… so?”

We’re interrupted by a knock on the door, and when I glance over to find the very last person I want to see standing there, I swear I almost die. When I don’t die, I briefly consider taking a running jump through the plate glass window because plummeting twenty-two stories to my death would be a lot less painful than this.

Fran takes a step back, forcing a casual smile as she turns to the door. “Oh, hey, Dallas.”

“Hey, Franny.” Dallas’s grin is tentative as he invites himself in.

“What brings you into the office this afternoon?” Fran asks, her voice far too high-pitched and sweet to be considered natural.

“Oh, I was… um—” His piercing gaze flits to me before landing back on Fran as he tugs on the back of his neck. “I was just looking for Andy.”

I roll my eyes because that’s a flat-out lie considering Dallas was right there when Andy told me he was flying up to Boston.

“Andy isn’t here,” I murmur, turning and taking a seat at my desk so I can pretend to be extremely busy in the hope that they both take the hint and get the hell out of my office.

“Oh…” Dallas sighs heavily and, from my periphery, I see him linger as an awkward silence settles in the air.

“Oh, no!” Fran shrieks dramatically.

I snap my head up, but the moment I do, I see the telling smile hinting at her lips as she stares down at her phone. “I’m late for a client meeting uptown.” Her gaze darts to me, and she has the audacity to wink .

I swear, it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to throw my mouse at her head.

“I’ll call Andy later about… this,” Fran says, holding up the file she walked in with before turning and scurrying out with a quick, “Bye, Dallas.”

With Fran gone, I stare at my computer screen, fully aware that Dallas is still standing there. The tension in the air is almost too much. Stifling to the point where it’s hard to catch a breath. The only sound is my thumping heart, which I’m sure he can hear, and the distant honking of Midtown gridlock coming from outside. I start typing into a blank Word document—literal gibberish—just to fill the void.

“So…”

My fingers pause, shoulders sagging in resignation when, from the corner of my eye, I catch him approaching my desk. But I refuse to look at him, hoping he might give up and go away if I pretend like he’s not here. Of course, no such luck.

“We meet again.”

Forcing myself to look up, I startle at just how close he is. I meet his eyes that are as ridiculous as I remember, a striking green with flecks of silver and the thickest lashes I’ve ever seen on a man. I try so hard to play it cool but I swear, if he comes any closer, I might jump his bones from the scent of his cologne alone, job be damned. Who needs money anyway? My parents said there will always be room for me in their basement.

Dallas scans my desk, dragging a finger along the sleek glass top before coming to stop at the stack of business cards in the metal holder. He picks one up, studying it closely, that same smile lingering when his eyes meet mine.

“Emily Cole,” he says, as if trying to get a feel for the words, and the way my name sounds in that thick Texan accent is doing things to me I can’t even begin to comprehend.

With a huff, I stand again and walk toward the window in an attempt to put some space between us. Looking twenty-two stories down at the street below, I do a cursory check of the window seal. No opening. Dammit. I really am trapped.

I swallow hard, folding my arms across my chest. “Can I help you with something?”

Looking me up and down, the intensity of his stare is almost overwhelming. He snickers quietly to himself and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. But for a long moment, he just stares at me, the hint of a soft smile lingering as something else flickers in his eyes.

“Why’d you leave me?” he finally asks with an unexpected vulnerability I wasn’t prepared for, his gaze unwavering. “Did I do something wrong?”

Shaking my head, I choose, yet again, to play dumb. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dallas’s eyes narrow in a way that tells me he’s not buying my act one bit. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can say anything, he’s interrupted by the loud trilling of my desk phone as it breaks the silence.

Puffing air from my cheeks, I hurry to answer the call, thankful for the reprieve yet fully aware of his dubious gaze burning a hole into me.

“Good afternoon, Andy Hoffman’s office,” I answer as smoothly as I can.

“There’s my girl!” My mother’s high-pitched voice comes through the line.

I almost roll my eyes, but knowing Dallas is standing right there watching me like a hawk, I manage to refrain. Sitting up a little straighter, I force him the hint of a tight smile, knowing this really is my only option.

“Yes, hello… I’m sorry, Andy isn’t available right now… Is there something I can help you with?” I say into the phone, using my most professional tone.

“Emmy?” My mother raises her already shrieking voice. “It’s me. Your mother ,” she adds, enunciating each word.

I almost wince, glancing furtively at Dallas as I say, “Yes, of course. That’s fine. I can answer whatever questions you might have.”

Dallas just watches on, face completely blank.

“Frank!” Mom shouts off into the background. “I think the phone’s on the fritz again. Emmy can’t hear me!” She then proceeds to nearly deafen me with a few loud thuds, and I picture her banging the phone against the kitchen counter as if that’s going to fix anything. But if it takes a little temporary hearing loss to avoid having to deal with Dallas right now, so be it.

I place my hand over the mouthpiece, looking up at the man who continues to linger. Lowering my voice, I say, “Sorry, it’s some hockey coach, wanting to talk about a possible recruit…”

“A recruit, huh?” He arches a brow.

Dallas’s eyes bore into mine, one narrowing. “What college?”

“Ithaca…” I say, shocked by my own ability to lie so quickly.

He glances at the phone in my hand, and I know he can hear the banging. Hell, he can probably hear my father who is now cussing out the phone company as he tries to do God knows what with the thing.

Dallas finally nods, although I can tell by the smirk ghosting his lips that he’s unconvinced. Taking a step backward, he offers me the kind of grin that should be criminal.

I manage a sweet, hopefully innocent smile.

“I’ll be seeing ya.” He winks.

And, with that thinly veiled threat, he turns and walks out of my office, and I release the breath I’ve been holding, finally sagging in my chair. But when I hear the whir of what sounds like a power tool, I quickly snap to, looking at the phone in my hand.

“Mom?” I yell. “Dad??”

“Emmy?” My father hollers. “June, I fixed the phone!”

Resting my elbows on the desk, I bury my head in my hand, listening as the two of them bicker over who gets to talk to me before finally my mother wins the argument .

“Oh Emmy, thank goodness,” Mom says with a relieved huff of breath. “Your father was about two seconds away from putting a hole through the drywall.”

I massage my temples, forcing a smile. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Your sister called,” Mom says, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Said something about you and an athlete!”

“Is it Judge?” I hear Dad whisper yell in the background.

“Oh, my God, what is it with you guys and—” I mutter, rubbing my eyes. “He’s married, for God’s sake!”

Mom gasps. “Emmy! A married man?”

“No, I?—”

“Frank, she’s having an affair with a married man,” Mom whisper yells.

“It takes two to tango, Juney,” Dad tuts, ever the voice of reason.

Before I can even say anything to clear up the situation, my cell phone shudders on my desk, lighting up with a new message from an unknown number. I pick it up and open the message, my eyes bugging.

Unknown: Nice try, darlin’. Ithaca doesn’t have a hockey program.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

While my parents continue to discuss my integrity, I tap out a reply.

Me: How did you get this number??

His response comes through straight away, but it’s a photo—a photo of my goddamn business card.

Me: You stole my business card??

Unknown: I think “stole” is a bit of a stretch. I’m Andy’s client. You’re his assistant. It makes perfect sense that I have your number. You know… in case of an emergency.

Me: What happened between us… you realize this could get me fired.

Unknown: Don’t worry, Goldie. Nobody’s getting fired. That’s a promise.

I have no idea what the whole Goldie reference is all about, but I cannot engage. It’s too risky. Despite my curiosity, I don’t reply and instead switch to Do Not Disturb.

As my parents continue arguing between themselves over the phone like I’m not even here, I toss my cell back onto the desk, burying my head in my hands again, stifling a groan because I am so screwed.