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TWENTY

Jolie

W hen I first walked into the arena this morning and entered the elevator that took me to my new office, one that had a window overlooking the ice and the team practicing on it, I had to force myself not to dry-heave.

Since the beginning of my father’s endless phone calls and emails, letting me know that today was the day of the takeover, the only thing I’d been able to get down was coffee.

It was currently burning the back of my throat, and I was doing everything in my power not to throw up.

My anxiety was rearing its wicked head.

It was causing my entire body to shake.

It was making the guilt peak to a point that was impossible to come down from.

Or maybe it was Beck who was doing that to me.

As I stood in the center of the locker room, he was sitting at just about ten o’clock, wearing only a pair of spandex shorts, a hand towel hanging across his shoulders.

His face was a tiny bit hairier than when I had left him Saturday morning in bed, his hair messy from his helmet, his skin glistening with sweat.

Oh God.

He looked beyond handsome.

But … what was running through his head?

How was he processing this?

Was he putting two and two together?

None of that mattered at the moment.

First, I needed to find my voice.

I needed to get myself under control and my thoughts together.

Everyone was staring at me, waiting for me to speak. I only had one shot to impress the team, and this was it.

“Thank you for the introduction.” I demanded my lips to smile, doing everything I could to keep the quiver out of my voice.

“I’m Jolene Jameson, your new head of marketing.

My office is upstairs”—I pointed up even though my statement was more than enough and the gesture wasn’t needed—“so if there’s ever anything you need, don’t hesitate to come see me.

I won’t be working alone. I’ll have two assistants, both arriving within the next few days from Boston, and the three of us will be managing the entire department. ”

I refused to look in Beck’s direction, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to get through this, so I aimed my focus at his other half-naked teammates.

“To give you just a little background, I’m also from Boston, and I’ve been an avid hockey fan for as long as I can remember.

I might not be able to call plays”—I grinned at the head coach—“but I have a deep understanding of the sport, and it’s only on a rare occasion that I miss a home game. ”

“Boston!” someone shouted. “You’d better not be rooting for them now!”

I laughed. “There’s no need to worry. There’s only one team I’m rooting for, and that’s the Whales.

Admittedly”—I could feel my face reddening—“I’ve been following your team for the last couple of seasons, so I’m well aware of what you guys can do and the strength and power and talent this team possesses.

” I shifted positions, feeling the weight of Beck’s stare on my body.

“Mark briefly mentioned that marketing will be different now that it’s under my control.

One reason for that is because I’ll be traveling with you.

I know in the past, there was a never-ending carousel of marketing reps, a slew of unfamiliar faces, nonstop cameras pointed at you during times that felt inappropriate—that won’t ever be the case with me.

I will be your contact. It’s my face you’ll see—on the plane, at games, at practices—everywhere and anywhere.

” I used my fingers to list each point and paused to let the news set in for them.

But for me, I halted because the thought of spending that much time with Beck—in this arena, on the team’s plane, during one-on-ones—was what had made these last few days torturous.

“My team and I are here to make sure you’re comfortable, and the best way to do that is by getting to know you guys. I’d also like to sit down with each of you to discuss our strategies and plans and make sure they align with yours.” I attempted to find my breath. “Do you have any questions?”

I still couldn’t look at Beck’s side of the locker room.

I didn’t trust myself if our eyes became glued again.

There was absolutely no telling what type of expression would come over my face or how my body would react. If his gaze would make the acid lift straight from my stomach and make me want to bolt from this room or make me break out in tears.

“Jameson,” someone said. “Is it a coincidence you both have the same last name? Are you … married ?”

“No,” I replied, my head shaking.

“Jolene isn’t my wife …” my father said, his voice carrying across the room.

But as his voice trailed off, I found my eyes moving. My brain was telling my body to stand still, but something wasn’t allowing it to. Slowly, I shifted past twelve o’clock, nearing eleven, and stopping at ten.

Those hazel eyes weren’t inviting. They weren’t devouring. They weren’t comforting.

My chest rose.

My stomach churned.

There was a pain so deep inside me as I saw exactly what I feared.

“She’s my daughter,” my father continued.

Beck’s eyelids closed. His head tilted back. And I swore I heard him groan out in anger.