Page 25 of The Wildest One

It was no wonder her father wanted her to work for him. You put someone breathtaking and brilliant, like Jolie, in front of a client, and that was the most powerful combination.

Hell, I wanted to hire her for The Weston Group.

“My dad was the same way,” I told her. “He was a chef, and when it came to his first restaurant, he didn’t fuck around. All of us kids were expected to work, and he took no shit from any of us.”

“So, you get it.”

I nodded.

“If I’m being honest, there are times I wish things were different because I swear the man is trying to emotionally break me. There isn’t anyone in this world who can test me like him.” She let out a long breath. “But I also know he’s doing it to teach me, to make me better and stronger, and for that, I’m grateful.” She licked her bare lips. “So, most of the time, I wouldn’t want it any other way.” She winked. “And some nights, I guzzle whiskey sours in my dorm room until I’m drunk enough to stop screaming.”

From the moment I’d met her, Jolie had never come across like a twenty-year-old. Now I knew why. She was mature beyond her age, and a lot of that had to do with how long she’d been involved in her father’s company—a sophistication gained from responsibility and pressure that only working kids could understand—along with the way her parents had raised her.

A childhood that sounded similar to mine.

Some kids were truly kids, and some spent weekends and after-school hours at their family’s business, filling in gaps that the employees couldn’t.

“What’s it like when you’re home?” I asked. “Is he still in boss mode or dad mode?”

“He’s my best friend. We go to hockey games together—I’ve told you that’s our thing. During the season, that could be several times a week. And during offseason, I see my parents at least once a week for dinner and to do a little laundry exchange.” She covered her face, like she was embarrassed they did her laundry—something I would take full advantage of if I were her. “We leave work at work.” Her head tilted. “Because the thing about my dad is that even though he lets me get away with nothing, he allows me to share and express myself. So, I get out everything I need to, and by the time I see him again—whether that’s at home, or at the office, or at a game—I don’t want to strangle him.” She laughed. “Or maybe I still do, but not as badly.”

“He plays fair. I appreciate that.” I flicked my bottom lip with my teeth. “Based on the location of his company, it sounds like Boston is where you’re going to stay.”

She took a drink of her whiskey sour, her smile then reaching as high as her light-blue eyes. Eyes I could stare at forever.

Goddamn it.

“I love it here. I think it’ll forever be my home. Unless I end up not working for Dad, but I don’t see that happening. Being a part of his company is all I’ve ever wanted to do.” She nodded toward me. “The same way I’m sure hockey is for you.”

An answer I could understand. An answer that made perfect sense.

But an answer that hit my stomach, and that was what made no fucking sense.

“I’ll play until my body gives out.” I shook my head, attempting to get my thoughts straight—thoughts that weren’t on hockey at all. “I hope to make the choice before it happens. And hopefully, it won’t happen anytime soon.”

“You’re twenty-seven, right?” She smiled even larger. “I might have googled you while you were at practice this morning.”

I returned the gesture. “I am.”

“You’ve got plenty of years ahead of you.” As she was lifting her drink, she added, “Do you think you’ll stay in LA after you retire?”

“Probably.” I rubbed my hand over the sticky table. “I’ll become more involved with the family business at that point, I’m sure. But at least I’ll have a lot more flexibility with my schedule. Now, hockey runs my life.”

“As it should.”

I drained the rest of my beer and picked up the one the server had recently delivered. “Let’s talk about tomorrow. I know you’re not taking me to Quincy Market since we did that today for lunch. Or to the path by the Charles River since we knocked that out too. And since we’ve also checked off your dive bar, tell me what else you’ve got planned.”

She pushed her drink to the side, making room on the table. “Everyone who comes to Bostonhasto see the North End, where you’re going to have the best cannoli you’ve ever tasted.” She hummed out an exhale. “Then maybe a quick walk through the Public Garden.” She was now hiding her smile. “And then I’ve pulled a few strings to get something arranged for later in the day, but I won’t know if it’s going to happen until tomorrow morning.” She pulled out her phone and looked at the screen, her smile no longer masked. “Scratch that. It’s going to happen.” She put her phone away. “There’s just one problem.”

Jesus Christ, why can’t I get enough of this one?

Why do I want to shove the table away and fuck her right here in the middle of this bar?

I swallowed. “And that is?”

“You’re going to have to let me go back to my dorm, or your assistant is going to have to order clothes that are much warmer than this.” She pulled at the top of her dress. “I’m talking stuff that’sextra, extra layered.”

I slipped my phone out of my pocket and shot off a text to my assistant, letting her know that the both of us needed some heavy clothes delivered to the hotel by morning. “Done.”