Page 7

CHAPTER 7

EMILY

M y phone shudders on my desk for the third time in five minutes. It’s face down so I can’t see the screen, but I know exactly who it is. He’s been relentless the last few days. Relentless despite my silence. In fact, it’s almost as if he’s been relentless in spite of my silence.

Glancing over my shoulder, Andy’s office door remains closed and I can still hear a distinct murmur of him yelling on the other side—he’s been at it for the last ten or so minutes—so I know he’s occupied. For now.

I pause what I’m doing and pick up my phone, unable to hide my traitorous smile the moment I see three new messages waiting for me.

DO NOT ENGAGE: When I was 7, my best friend was a cow named Donut. But one day, Donut disappeared. When I asked where she went, my dad sat me down and explained to me what he does. Spoiler alert… he’s a rancher. Anyway, I packed my Spiderman backpack and moved into the fort in the big tree we had in our front yard because I refused to live in a house of cow killers. I didn’t even last an hour when I found out Mom made meatloaf for dinner .

I stifle a giggle. His onslaught of messages have varied from little snippets of his life, like this, to his favorite things and his least favorite things, to secret confessions. Do I feel bad for not responding? Yes. Is he getting harder to ignore? Yes. But I know it’s for the best. Surely he’s bound to give up sooner than later, right?

DO NOT ENGAGE: When I was a senior in high school, one of my buddies wanted to take my sister out on a date. She’s three years younger than me, and I’ve always been really protective of her. So, I started a rumor at school and for a whole year my sister was known as the girl who collects her ear wax in a jar.

As I slap a hand over my mouth to laugh, I don’t notice Fran walk into my office until she’s suddenly inches from ear, whispering, “Whatcha laughing at?”

Fumbling my phone, I almost drop it, saving it at the last second and clutching it to my chest. I look up at her to find a telling look in her eyes, a knowing smile curling her lips. I lock the device and place it face down again, focusing on the presentation Andy needs for his three o’clock meeting.

“Dog videos on TikTok,” I lie

She hums in response, obviously not believing me.

“Can I help you with something?” I change the subject, offering her a sweet smile.

She glances at Andy’s closed door, sipping from the straw of her giant water bottle. “I’m having some girlfriends over tonight,” she says. “Just take out, wine, gossip, the usual.” She smiles. “You free?”

Of course I’m free. I grew apart from most of my Staten Island friends when I went off to college. When I moved back to the city, I was already with Luke and, stupidly, I allowed him to become my one and only focus, so I lost touch with most of my college friends. The friends I made when I was with Luke were mostly girlfriends and wives of his friends, so naturally they sided with their partners when Luke and I split. Now, aside from Tess and my parents, I have no one. No social life whatsoever. I know Fran is a lot younger than me, and I assume her girlfriends are too, but a night with women who aren’t Tess and Bron sounds divine.

“Yeah,” I say with a genuine smile, trying to sound casual. “What should I bring?”

Fran holds a hand in the air. “Nothing at all.”

I know it’s so pathetic, but honestly, I could cry. I can’t remember the last time I was invited for a girls’ night. I’m actually so excited I should be embarrassed.

Andy’s office door swings open with gusto, and he storms out, muttering a few unintelligible words. He looks less than happy after his shouty phone call, his curly brown hair sticking up on one side like he’s been yanking at it, and I instinctively sit up a little straighter, squaring my shoulders, ready for what, I have no idea.

“Oh, hey, Fran.” He stops in his tracks, looking from Fran to me and back again. “Are you… here to see me?”

“No,” Fran says simply, sipping her water.

Andy rolls his eyes, biting back a smile. “You know, as CEO of this company, I have the power to tell you to get back to work, right?”

Despite his smile, and the lighthearted nature in his tone, I can’t help but cower beneath his warning.

But Fran just takes another sip, staring right back at him. “I dare you.”

With a scoff, Andy shakes his head and starts rifling through the stack of printed contracts I have waiting for him on my desk as he says, “You’re lucky you’re good at your job.”

Ignoring him, Fran grins at me. “I’ll send you the details for tonight.” And, with a wave, she spins on her bright red heels and struts out of my office like a whirlwind of fun and chaos mixed into one petite package.

Andy continues standing right there, going through the contracts, and I clear my throat, standing from my chair in an attempt to look like I’m not just sitting around on my ass doing nothing but gossiping with Fran.

In the short time I’ve been working at HMC, I like to think that I’ve hit the ground running. Being an assistant isn’t an overly difficult job, but I’ve been doing as much as I can, learning as much as I can about the sports management industry, while also cleaning up a lot of Paris’s mess. Andy is an incredible boss, and he knows his stuff. I’m lucky to be working for such a successful businessman, but it’s also imperative that I prove myself to him.

“Can I help you find something?” I ask.

“Can you print me a copy of the Holmes contract?” Andy asks, not looking up from the papers he’s flicking through. “I think I misplaced it.”

“Sure, of course.” I move my mouse cursor around my computer screen, opening the required files to print.

“How’s everything coming along for Saturday?”

Saturday night is Andy’s fourth annual Christmas charity event. Each year he’s held it, it’s been a huge success, raising money for families having it tough this time of year and providing ongoing financial support throughout the year. A bunch of HMC athletes, celebrities, and major brands offer up donations that VIP guests have the opportunity to bid on. It’s a great cause, and I’ve loved being involved.

“I made a trip down to the venue this morning and met with Gayle to do a final check. Everything has been confirmed: caterers, wait staff, the band.” I reach for my planner, opening to today’s page. “The only thing she’s yet to confirm is the seating arrangement. I sent her the final list of guests when I got back here. There’s a wedding being held there tomorrow, but Gayle assured me everything will be cleared out first thing Saturday, ready to start preparing for the event. I’m going to pop in some time after lunchtime on the day just to make sure everything is running smoothly. ”

“Great work.” Andy looks up at me with an impressed smile. “What time are you planning on arriving to the event?”

My brows knit together. “Me?”

“Uh, yeah…” He offers a confused chuckle, making a point of looking around like there might possibly be someone else in the room with us.

“Oh… I-I didn’t realize you needed me to work it,” I say. “But it’s totally fine. I have nothing going on.”

A slow smile tugs at Andy’s lips. “Emily, I don’t need you to work the event. I just assumed you’d be attending. All HMC staff are invited. It’s a fun night.”

“Oh.” My shoulders sag on an exhale. “Well, yeah.” I can’t fight the smile claiming me. “I mean, if it’s okay, I’d love to come. I’ll just need to call Gayle to squeeze me onto a table somewhere. We’ve left some wiggle room for late RSVPs, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Andy waves a hand. “Just join my table next to Jenn. She loves you.”

Act cool, Emily . I’ve met Andy’s wife, Jenn, a few times so far, whenever she’s stopped by the office to try to tear her husband away for lunch. She’s super nice, super glamorous, and a typical New Yorker. She also manages to put Andy in his place, which, from what I’ve witnessed in the office, isn’t an easy feat. I really like Jenn, and the fact that Andy says she loves me is more than a little flattering.

“I guess now I get to shop for a dress,” I say with a pathetic giggle because it’s been a long time since I’ve had a reason to dress up.

Andy chuckles, but the conversation is interrupted by the printer whirring, and I turn to grab the Holmes contract for him.

“Here you go,” I say, handing it over.

He accepts it with a smile, but when I meet his eyes, there’s something there, something more. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not inappropriate or anything like that. Andy is definitely not a creeper. There’s just something there in his gaze, something unexpected. But before I can try to decipher it, it’s gone. Maybe I was imagining it.

“Thanks, Emily.” Andy turns for the exit, taking the Holmes contract with him. “Just email me over a copy of the presentation deck once you’re done with it. I’ll be out for the rest of the afternoon,” he says before disappearing.

I take a seat behind my desk to hurry and get the presentation done so I can start looking online for a dress for Saturday night. It’s not a lot of time, but I’m sure I can find something acceptable. But before I can get too deep into my work, my phone vibrates loudly on my desk, and I startle. Picking it up, I sigh when I see another new message from Dallas.

DO NOT ENGAGE: For the record, I’m not gonna give up, Goldie. And soon enough you’re not going to be able to resist me. And when you finally do give in, I promise, it’ll be game over, baby.

Staring at the message, which is borderline threatening, I should be appalled. I should block him… hell, I should’ve blocked him when the texting began. I should report him. Save my own ass with Andy before it’s too late. But the more I read Dallas’s words, the more something long-forgotten stirs in the depths of my belly. I know I need to continue ignoring him. I can’t engage. There is too much at stake. But I can’t deny the temptation is there, and with every cute message, every laugh out loud confession, every glimpse into the man behind the facade that is the NHL’s most notorious playboy, I can’t deny the temptation is getting harder to resist.

I know Fran said not to bring anything, but I was raised never to show up to someone’s house empty handed. So, after trying on six different outfits and hating every single one, I ended up grabbing a big bunch of slightly wilted flowers from a bodega on route from the subway station to Fran’s apartment building. And as I stand in the otherwise silent elevator, staring at my reflection in the mirrored doors, I still hate my outfit, but at least I come bearing gifts.

The elevator chimes, and I step off into a corridor with only two doors. Fran gave me the details, but even if she hadn’t, from the loud shrieking laughter set to the tune of what sounds like Taylor Swift’s “Cruel Summer” coming from the door on the left, I immediately know which one is hers.

With one last fluff of my unruly hair, I continue to the door and knock loud enough to be heard over the commotion inside, offering my most well-versed smile when I hear footsteps approach from the other side. But when the door is pulled open and the quiet corridor is flooded with Taylor Swift, laughter, and a low-hanging scent that makes my stomach growl, my smile and my shoulders fall.

You have got to be kidding me.

“You’re not Fran…” Are the only words I can find, my gaze flitting from the apartment number on the wall and back to the big green eyes staring down at me from the open doorway.

Leaning against the door jamb, Dallas folds his arms across his broad chest, a dimpled grin slowly claiming his face as he says, “What’s up, Goldie…”