“Not long.” No way was he going to admit to anyone that he had left a woman he’d known four hours in his house alone.
“How long?”
“Four hours.” Unless he was asked directly by someone he respected—and it was impossible not to respect a man who got tears in his eyes over a good win or a bad loss, and out-and-out cried without shame over a great win.
“Uh huh.” Packi could confer more with an “uh huh” and head shake than most people could with entire French and English vocabularies.
“You’re probably wondering why I know she wouldn’t steal from me.”
“I wasn’t wondering. But why don’t you tell me?”
“I am pretty sure she had some money. She said she’d sold her business and signed a non-compete contract.”
“People don’t usually sell their businesses without collecting money. What was her business?”
“She didn’t say. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters. Could have been a computer software company. Could have been a tattoo parlor or food truck.”
“Do tattoo parlor and food truck owners sign non-competes?”
“Seems less likely than if she had a software company."
“I have considered getting a tattoo to match my helmet and mask.”
“And your car. Don’t forget that. And don’t forget to add the trophies.”
“If she’s a tattoo artist, she could do the job.”
“If you want to take your clothes off in front of her, just do it. From what I hear, you usually find a way.”
“I wouldn’t say usually. Only sometimes.” And it seemed only with women who were interested in Goaltender Emile, but not the Emile who caught colds and wanted a Christmas tree. He had struck out completely with two women whom he could have imagined having Christmas Eve with him and Gabriella—Abby Whitman, who was a real hockey fan from the cradle, and Hélène-Louise Soileau, who could speak fluent French. They were both classy, sophisticated, smart, and educated. “Anyway, I don’t want to take my clothes off for Amy.”
“Amy? That’s her name? You were telling me how you know she won’t steal the silver?”
“Apart from the fact that I own no silver?”
“It’s a figure of speech. Symbolic for your belongings.”
“Right. I know because she found it so hard to accept that Cameron Snow stole from her. Only someone who would not steal wouldn’t see it right away.”
“Would you steal?”
“No. Why would I? I have plenty.” He made eight million dollars a year, plus bonuses and endorsements. Right now, he had all that he and Gabriella would ever need—and he had a few more years ahead of him. There would be more hockey seasons and more underwear, wine, and chocolate commercials.
“Refusing to steal has more to do with the character of a man than what he’s got. But regardless, you wouldn’t steal, and you saw it,” Packi pointed out.
“Not the same thing. I am an outsider. Uninvolved.”
“Uninvolved? Uh huh.” Emile didn’t like it when Packi wouldn’t look up from what he was doing when he said uh huh—like now, when he just kept wiping skates like a victory over the Blackhawks next week depended on it.
“That’s right. But now that the shock is over and she’s had some time alone to think, I am sure she knows. She will go to south Georgia to her family. They will set things right for her. That’s what family does.” Or what they should do.
Though, Emile had to admit he was getting pretty curious about the whole thing. Maybe he’d find out what happened. Emile didn’t have the inclination or skill to find Cameron, but he knew someone who did—at least the skill. And the fee he would be willing to pay Miles would provide the inclination.
Packi set the newly laced skates on the shelf. “Are you going to stretch or are you going to stand there all day in your underwear thinking about this woman who isn’t impacting you?”
Chapter Eight
There was only one thing worse than waking and being unsure of where you were—waking in an unknown location and finding huge brown eyes staring at you.
Amy sat up abruptly. She’d slept hard without dreaming. Too bad she couldn’t have carried on that way for a few days. Emile sat on the coffee table holding her bullet journal. He’d shoved aside a stack of books, a tray of candles, and a brass dog to make room for himself, and he didn’t even try to hide that he’d been looking at her journal. In fact, he held it up.
“I like your little book. Is very beautiful—all the little pictures you have drawn of the stores in Beauford.”
She reached for the journal. He didn’t give any indication that he noticed she wanted him to hand it over. He closed it, laid it on his knee, but held on to it. His hand covered the entire book.
“You are very beautiful.”
Surprise shot through her. It seemed an eternity since anyone had told her she was beautiful. When was the last time? Maybe back before she had moved in with Cameron, when he was still trying. She hadn’t realized it had been so long, because being told she was beautiful wasn’t something that she needed, that mattered to her very much. Still, it was nice to hear, so it must have mattered some.
She didn’t acknowledge the compliment. If he could pretend he didn’t know she wanted her journal, she could pretend he hadn’t said she was beautiful.
“Do you always shove things to the side that are in your way?” she asked.
He frowned. “I don’t know what you mean. My friends and my sister are important to me. I would never disregard them, even when they are sometimes not convenient. I try to remember that I am not always convenient.”
Oh, good cow. A deep thinker. Just what she needed today—a philosophical discussion with a hockey player.
Amy shook her head. “I was referring to the things on the coffee table that you shoved to the side so you could sit down. And the scarecrow on the hay bale earlier.”
“Ahh!” He threw back his head and laughed, displaying the whitest, most perfect teeth she’d ever seen. But wait. Not completely perfect. One of his bicuspids was the tiniest bit crooked. “Oui. In that way, maybe I do. They can be set right again.” He glanced at the journal. “Though all things cannot be set right. You should draw your beautiful self.”
“I can’t draw people.” If she could, she’d draw his mouth. “Only whimsical little doodles.” There was nothing whimsical about that mouth.
“You drew Eat Cake. That is where my sister is an apprentice baker. She makes very fine cakes. Cookies, too.”
Amy nodded. “I intended to go there.” She had thought it would be a fun stop for a midafternoon snack for Cameron and her. Cameron liked a midafternoon sweet snack—maybe a little too much.
“But you didn’t go to Gabriella’s shop?”
“No. Piece by Piece was as far as I got. And we both know how well that went.” She neatly folded the throw she had covered herself with and set it to the side.
He leaned forward, rested his forearms on his thighs, and let the journal dangle between his knees. When she reached out and captured the book, he didn’t try to stop her or even take notice that she had taken it from him.
“I am very sorry this happened to you.”
“I appreciate that, and I appreciate how much you have helped me.”
“I haven’t helped you.” No one can help you, hung in the air. He might as well have said it, but Amy didn’t believe that.
“Not true.” She tried to sound breezy. “I might still be sitting on that hay bale.”
He shook his head. “You would have found your way off that hay bale. So, no. I haven’t really helped you. But I’m willing to.”
“Thank you. I suppose you read my list of how to fix this mess.”
He half closed his eyes and bounced his shoulders and head back and forth a bit. “Was hard not to read, especially the part about me.”
“You?” What was he talking about?
“The one that said, ‘Invite Emile out to dinner to t
hank him for being so nice, but make sure he knows it’s not a date.’”
“Oh, right.” She had written that down. “I do have another favor to ask.”
“Yes?”
“Will you take me out by the interstate? I need to get a room for the night.” If she was going to ask for favors, might as well go big. “And if it isn’t too much trouble, maybe pick me up in the morning and drop me off at the bank?”
He frowned and bit his bottom lip. “I thought maybe you’d like me to take you to the airport so you can go to your family in south Georgia.” He pronounced south Georgia very deliberately, enunciating each syllable.
Every muscle in her body tightened. “No. I can’t do that.”
“You do not get along with your family?”
“It’s not that. I just can’t go there.” And God help her, she could not. They would welcome her, of course. But they’d never trusted Cameron, and they’d been right. They would have to know eventually that she and Cameron had broken up. She could take that. People broke up all the time. But her family didn’t have to know that Cameron had abandoned her in a quilt store and sold her car, or that she had temporarily misplaced her belongings and her assets. That would be too much to endure. They wouldn’t say they’d told her so. In fact, they hadn’t told her so—not in so many words. But there would be no hiding that they weren’t surprised.
He looked at her for a long time with a look that told her his mind was busy processing and trying to analyze the situation. Apparently that’s what deep-thinking, philosophical goalies did.
He took her hand. “Ma belle, there is no need for embarrassment. There is no embarrassment with family. If this happened to my sister Gabriella, I would want her to come to me. I would comfort her and take care of her.”
“Really? And if this happened to you? Would you want to go to her? Or the rest of your family?”
His expression froze. “It would not—” He stopped short but not short enough.
“To you? Are you sure?”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Certainly you did. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t leave town until I get my money back. Going to the bank is my first priority.”
“Not first. Your first priority is to get a place to stay tonight. I read the list.”
“I’m aware.”
He took a breath. “You can stay here tonight.”
“No.” Her answer was fast and firm. She’d never been surer of anything.
“Why not? I have seven bedrooms. You can choose the one you like. I am not asking you to my bed.” He spread that mouth into a droll little grin. “I am not a killer. I am a famous goaltender with two Stanley Cup rings. I have never been caught breaking the law.” His dark eyes flashed, all flirty-like. How did he even do that? “Look me up on the Internet. You’ll see that I’ve never been arrested.”
She let out a long breath. “I don’t have access to the Internet. Remember? No phone service. No computer. No tablet.” Two more things she needed to add to her list. “Besides don’t think I didn’t catch that you said you’d never been caught. You didn’t say you hadn’t broken the law.
“Come now. Surely you go faster than the speed limit from time to time.”
“No. I can’t walk that fast and I don’t have a car.”
He tossed his head and gave her a sympathetic look. “Still, I might have jumped into a snowbank naked during my rookie year as a junior, but I am not a serial killer. You’re safe here with me. You can sleep in Gabriella’s room. There are some clothes in there. She is taller than you and not as—” He cupped his hands in front of his chest to indicate breasts. “But still. You could find something. She would not mind.”
The thought of clean clothes was so appealing. It wasn’t that she felt particularly dirty despite the amount of time she’d spent hanging out on a hay bale this morning. But it was as though all the bad of the day had seeped into the fabric of her clothes, and if she could cast them off, things would seem better. She would have burned them if they weren’t her only worldly possessions.
No, that’s not true, she admonished herself. She had things; she just didn’t have them now.
Maybe she should stay here tonight. She wasn’t sure her $84.38 would buy her a room, even at a Comfort Inn. Even if it would, it was certain that no Comfort Inn was going to provide her with clothes, though they could probably be counted on for a toothbrush.
He must have read her mind about the toothbrush. “In Gabriella’s bathroom, there will be all the things you need for your bath and such.”
He had a point. She had nothing to fear from him, and someone with only $84.38 and a cell phone/paperweight between her and the rest of the world couldn’t afford pride.
“And if I am in your sister’s room, where would she sleep?”
“She does not live here. She has an apartment above the pastry shop in Beauford. But she stays here on occasion—sometimes after a game if it’s late.”
“Well, if I stayed here, I wouldn’t have to bother you to take me to the bank tomorrow.” It was only a few blocks away. “And soon as I get a new credit card and access to my accounts, I can be out of your hair. I’ll go first thing.”
Emile dropped his eyelids to half-mast. “Amy, are you certain that going to the bank will benefit you? Do you think you will be able to get a new card and access to your money?”
Amy had always been taught that it was tacky to talk about money, but she had to make Emile understand that she was not without resources.
“Emile. I had a personal organizing business called Apple Pie Order. I started small but I did well. Last year, I sold it to a large organizing company. I don’t pretend that I made as much as a professional athlete would make, but it was very lucrative.”
“How lucrative?”
“Five million. Since then, there have been investments. It has grown.”
Emile looked surprised but remained silent.
“I am not without resources. I have checking, savings, and investment accounts. I just can’t access them right now.”
“And you think going to the bank will solve this?”
“Of course.” Why wouldn’t it? “I just need to talk to someone face-to-face and explain it all.”
“You must consider that Cameron may have stolen all your money—as he stole your car.”
She wasn’t ready to consider that, though not because she didn’t think he was capable. He’d proven all too well what he was capable of. It was just unthinkable.
Emile ran his hand across his forehead, through his hair, and down the back of his neck. “D’accord. I must meet my friends Bryant and Jarrett at the gym later. But for now I am famished.” He stood and held out his hand to her. “Please. Let’s go down and get a bit of food at Eat In.” He named one of the restaurants on the building’s ground floor.
She knew from experience that a “bit of food” was going to cost more than her $84.38, but she’d return the favor and take him out soon.
When he paused to put the objects on the coffee table back in order, it struck her that she liked Emile. Maybe they would be friends.
Chapter Nine
Emile followed Amy out of the bank. He did not take her arm to steady her until they were on the street. Considering what she’d just been through, she would not have wanted to look weak in front of the bank employees.
It had been as bad as Emile had feared. That’s why he had insisted on going with her—and insisted he had. She hadn’t wanted it. He probably shouldn’t have, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
They were at the other end of the block before she spoke. “I suppose you’re wondering how someone as stupid as I am could have earned five million dollars in the first place.”
He steered to a stop in front of the Starbucks. “I wasn’t wondering that.”
“How could you not?” Even in Gabriella’s ill-fitting clothes, Amy was beautiful. Her thick, shiny dark hair hugged her head like a sleek little cap, and those p
urple eyes were real. He knew because he’d asked her last night before bed if she’d needed contact solution. “I am stupid.”
“Non. Cameron Snow was very crafty.”
She shook her head. “You heard it all. All the accounts were joint and I signed a financial power of attorney.”
It was true. As far as getting access to the accounts, there were no accounts to access. He’d closed them all.
Maybe she had legal recourse, but it didn’t sound like it. Emile felt helpless, more helpless than he’d felt when he’d been a youth hockey Bantam and hadn’t been able to stop anything in that final playoff game—the one that would have gotten them a championship if he’d been able to do what was expected of him. He’d known he’d have the worst beating of his life coming when he got off the ice, and he’d been right.
Amy turned her head and gazed inside the Starbucks.
“Would you like a coffee? Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory says one should offer a hot beverage in times of distress.”
She closed her eyes and let out a sound that was half sigh and half laugh. “Wouldn’t you know it? I don’t even drink coffee. I drink tea.” She gazed back inside. “Which sounds good, but I don’t want to go in there.”
Neither did Emile. There was standing room only. Then he got an idea. He couldn’t solve her financial/breakup woes, but he could get her some tea. Breakfast, too. She’d barely eaten last night and not at all this morning, though he’d offered her chocolate milk and a granola bar.
“Come with me.” He took her arm again and guided her across the street. “This way.”
“Where are we going?”
“The Big Skate. It’s—”
“I know. The sports bar where the Sound hangs out. Remember, I live in Sound Town, too. Or I did. And I also know they don’t open until eleven.”
It was barely ten. They had arrived at the bank as soon as it’d opened, but it hadn’t taken long for Amy to face the music.
At that moment, they arrived at the heavy dark wood, brass, and glass door of the Big Skate.
Face Off: Emile (Nashville Sound Book 1) Page 6