Page 6

Chapter 6

Define sports

Cooper

Callie was one of those people I just didn’t understand. It wasn’t that hard to use clothing to enhance your looks and positively affect how people interacted with you. Sure, my career in hockey was about a million miles from Callie and her law firm. But I grew up with lawyers. My family was as obsessed with their appearance as anyone. Presentation was important in court or a law office. Especially if you were hoping to make partner.

Watching her stalk down the hallway ahead of me proved my point. In these clothes, she carried herself like someone successful. I’d been right that she had a good figure under that fucking ugly dress. She wouldn’t want the girls spilling out at work, but at parties like we’d been at the other night? That was a time to put on a show.

Not what I needed to focus on now. These clothes looked good on her and would fit right in at the club. Except for the shoes, but I had some pairs in the car for her.

She didn’t say anything as the elevator took us down to the lobby. I let her walk out first and followed her through the doors. She stopped, her head turning as she checked out the cars parked in front of her building. I led the way to my Bentley, chirping the lock and opening the passenger door for her.

That little frown was between her brows again.

“Not what you were expecting?”

She moved her gaze to me. “Not exactly.”

I smirked, probably annoying her, but it was fun, upending her expectations. “Disappointed it’s not a Ferrari?”

She shrugged. “Just surprised.”

She slid inside and I moved around the car to the driver’s side. I wasn’t telling her, but I had exactly the car she’d expected, and it was in the other parking stall at my condo. I’d put two sets of clubs in the trunk of this one, and that wasn’t something I could do with the Ferrari. Plus, driving it to the country club was an asshole move. I didn’t need to impress anyone or compensate for my cock size. I had the Ferrari because it was a blast to drive.

And yeah, it was part of the image.

I turned on the car and checked the mirrors before pulling out. “I wasn’t sure what your shoe size was.”

She shot me a glance. I jerked my head at the back seat before changing lanes.

Her head whipped around. I had a few pairs of shoes there, in different sizes. Again, something the sponsor had sent over. She turned her glare on me. “I prefer to get my own things.”

I checked her from the corner of my eye, and then turned my attention back to my driving. What was her issue? I hadn’t paid for these, and even if I had, it wasn’t like I couldn’t afford it. Was it a pride thing? Was she afraid I would make assumptions if she took things from me? “No expectations, Calliope.”

She let out a breath and crossed her arms. “I don’t want you to give me things. I’ll get my own.”

Okay, if that was what she wanted. But there was no way I would take her to the country club in what she’d been wearing, or anything like that ugly dress. “Here’s the problem with that.”

She upped the glare with a frown. Someone was used to getting her own way.

“You want to fit in at the club like the members, not have them decide you don’t belong. And so far you’re failing that one big-time.”

I was pretty sure she growled. My eyebrows shot up. I could imagine that sound in another context, and hell if this was the time for those kinds of thoughts.

Her voice was precise and icy. “I focused on important things. I dress appropriately for whatever situation I’m in, but I’m not going to spend all my time and money trying to impress people.”

Sadly, she believed that. “You picked the wrong career, then.”

I caught a glimpse of her as she turned to me. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes lit up. Calliope had passion buried underneath her sensible outer layer, and I liked igniting it.

“Do you really think the Canada Revenue Agency gives a shit what my clothes look like when I’m arguing a filing with them?”

“CRA isn’t a person, Callie.” There was that growly sound again. I held in my grin.

“But I deal with people who work for CRA, and when they’re reading something I wrote, I don’t include a photo of an expensive suit to impress them.”

I understood her point, but she was ignoring that appearances did matter. If she spent her whole life working remotely, then sure, no one would see her or care what she wore. But she worked in an office. She wanted to go to a golf tournament and make partner. That meant people would see her and judge her. She needed to up her game for that. “Why did your asshole buddy at the dinner last weekend think you couldn’t fit in with this golf tournament your firm is hosting?”

There was a pause. No growl. I stole another glance, and her mouth was pressed tight, and she was staring out the window.

Damn. I didn’t want to be like Benson. But she had to admit she needed help before I could do that. “Callie, you might find clothing and shoes and all that shit superficial. You might find it intimidating. But if you’re going to be in court, or your office, or impress other people at events, all that superficial shit matters.”

I took one hand off the wheel to point to myself.

“That’s something I’m good at.” I’d grown up with it. “And I like to make people look good. I work on my teammates all the time. I don’t know if you noticed Hunter the other night, but he desperately needs help or he dresses all wrong. Even that guy, Benson? Wrong shirt color.”

Callie turned to me when she heard that. Her lush lips were no longer pressed tightly together.

“Think of this as another tool you need. I am very good with this tool.”

This time I heard a snort.

Glad she was feeling better and taking me up on that comment. “I get that you want to pay for your own stuff. Fine. I’ll let you do that from now on. But if you really want to be seen as partner material, I can help you choose the right clothing for the job.”

“I get it, Cooper. I just…this isn’t something I’m good at. If you are willing to advise me, I will listen to you. But I buy my own stuff.”

I could live with that. But another question nagged at me. Callie was smart. Probably brilliant, if she was doing the kind of law that dealt with the tax department. She would get paid a lot for that. But why was her goal to become a partner when the whole “dealing with people” part that was so essential seemed to be something she hated? “Why do you want to be partner anyway?”

The lawyers I’d known who were partners, or wanted to be, were all ambitious, greedy, competitive. I didn’t really know Callie, but she didn’t throw off that vibe. Ambitious, yeah. But not greedy and competitive, not that I’d seen.

She was looking out the window again. “I deserve it. I’ve earned it.”

Ah. Something was behind it that she didn’t want to share. And since I wasn’t an asshole, I didn’t ask her any more. Instead, I turned on some music and changed the topic.

“So, Callie, why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself.” Damn it, I sounded like I was starting a job interview.

She turned to me, eyebrows raised.

I shrugged. “I don’t know anything about you. Probably should.”

“I don’t know anything about you. Well, except that you play hockey and have strong opinions on clothes.”

I held in my grin, but I preferred her sassing back rather than making me feel like a shit. “I know you’re a lawyer and have terrible taste in clothes. I think it might be good to be a little more familiar with each other before we meet other people.”

A frown. “Why?”

“Because we should at least look like we’re friends. I mean, I’ve invited you to Briarwood. No one needs to know that I’m giving you golf lessons to impress Benson or the partners you work for. So, for example, are you married?”

“No. Never married, never want to be. You?”

I grinned at her. “Never have been, never plan to be. Who’s Darcy?”

“My roommate. We’re friends.”

I hadn’t thought they were anything else. Unless I was very wrong, Darcy was gay. “Okay, I don’t have a roommate.”

“I would have guessed you didn’t.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. But I didn’t want to know why, so I moved on. “Where are you from?”

“Toronto. Grew up here, never went anywhere.”

I wanted to ask why. But I didn’t want her to give me grief over my privileged upbringing or current circumstances. I knew, based on the clothes, the lack of golf experience, and her attitude, that she hadn’t grown up with money. I had, and I had it now, and I didn’t need to justify it.

She was waiting for me to respond. I’d let her ask.

She huffed. “Okay, where are you from?”

“Family’s in Connecticut. Went to university in Burlington, drafted by the Toronto Blaze, been here ever since.” I didn’t say I’d never been anywhere, because I’d been a lot of places.

“Did you want to come to the Toronto area?”

She was curious. Good . “No.”

“Afraid of the weather?” She had that patronizing attitude that people who lived with “real winters” could get about anyone they thought enjoyed a soft life in the warm.

“Don’t you know your geography? Vermont is farther north than Toronto and gets hella worse winters.”

Her mouth made an O. “Oh, Burlington, Vermont. You’re right. That would be pretty wintery.”

It wasn’t like even Connecticut was the balmy tropics. “My turn. Do you play any sports?”

“Define sports.”

I checked that she was serious. She was. God help me, she was one of those. “Do you do anything that makes you sweat?”

“Interesting definition. I run, but it’s not a team thing.”

Yeah, she wasn’t a team person. She wouldn’t be doing any March Madness brackets with her coworkers. “How much do you run?” It would be nice to have some idea of her fitness level. Not that golf was likely to put her in danger of a heart attack, but I didn’t usually bother with a cart.

“Three miles. About half an hour.”

“How often?”

She did that growly thing again. “How long do you run, and how often?”

“You do remember that I’m a professional athlete, right?”

“Are you avoiding the question?”

“I normally run five miles a day, but can do ten or so, if needed. Shall we compare our speed now?” I let my foot off the gas. “Maybe you want to grab a pair of shoes now.”

She gasped. “Is this the place?”

The gates for Briarwood were ahead of us. “Yep, this is the place.”

“Holy fucking shit.”