“Looks like they’re finished,” the dad noted. He rose from the folding chair to watch his daughter step into the tunnel. “Have a good night.” He smiled and jogged up the stairs to the concourse.
I couldn’t leave Phoebe to proactively exit the rink without some prodding. That dad’s daughter might head to the tunnel on her own, but not my daughter. She’d stay on the ice until the entire arena was cast in darkness, maybe even then she’d keep skating.
I leaned against the railing to get her attention.
“Phoebe, up here!” I shouted. She skated closer, fidgeting with the tape on her stick.
“Hi, Mommy.”
“I’ve got to talk to someone in the camp office and then I’ll meet you just like yesterday outside the locker room.” I wanted to take care of the payment as soon as possible.
“Okay. I remember.”
“Stay right there if it takes me a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere,” I instructed.
“Why don’t I keep skating until you’re done and then I’ll go change?” she suggested. I knew it. She’d weasel her way on the ice anyway she could.
“Phoebe, I don’t have time. We need to go. I have to work tonight.”
She looked up at me when a massive figure skated up behind her. I knew who he was, or at least I thought I did. It was the new player. The one recovering from the broken leg.
Although, nothing about this man looked cracked or broken. He had dark brown hair in a close cut. A chiseled jaw and dark eyes that were noticeable even from a few rows up. My wrist tracker vibrated against my skin. Shit. My heart rate had increased the second I laid eyes on his gorgeous face. I blushed as I tried to keep my focus on Phoebe.
“That’s my mom,” I heard her say to the player.
“Does your mom have a name?” he asked, but he was staring at me, not Phoebe.
Shit. Shit. Shit. This wasn’t good. I’d noticed him. He’d noticed me. I’d sworn off athletes, especially hockey players.
“Ask her.” Phoebe giggled.
By now, most of the kids had cleared the area. I was the last parent in the stands. It looked like the gates were opening for the Zamboni machine to make a lap around the ice.
“Should I call you Phoebe’s mom?” he teased. He was standing just below the railing.
I bit my lip. “It’s Noelle.”
“I’m Jack.”
“Hi, Jack.” My fingertips waved toward him. We both stood there for a moment. “Nice to meet you.” I was jerked back to reality when the Zamboni slid out behind the double doors. The driver seemed impatient to start sweeping.
“Phoebe, I’ll see you downstairs.” I eyed her and her shoulders slumped.
I turned for the steps that would take me to the camp office. I jogged quickly, trying not to linger over the quick meeting with Jack Novak. He was truly edible. Hot. Sweaty. Chiseled. A certain recipe for disaster.
* * *
I clocked into Millers five minutes early. I knew it wouldn’t stop Mr. Harrel from looking down his long nose at me. After day two of hockey camp, Phoebe seemed more exhausted than the first day. She didn’t argue once with Lucy about taking her bath. It was easy to leave the house tonight.
“Ms. Basham, you did an exceptional job last night,” Mr. Harrel addressed me with praise, something he never did.
I spun on my heels. “Thank you?” I looked at him cautiously as if he was setting a trap for me.
“You set a new record for individual sales.”
“I did?” A combination of embarrassment and surprise coursed through me.
He tipped his chin up and down. “Mr. Babcock suggested we bring you on full time with a commission option.”
“What? He did what?” The surprise transformed into irritation. He had no right to meddle in my work life.
“It’s something we’re considering. You have been through extensive training. You have a nice client list. I think it’s an option.”
I almost choked. “Mr. Harrel, I’m really flattered, but you realize this is my second job, right? I’m the director of public outreach at the museum.” The title sounded much more impressive than the pay was.
“It’s at Mr. Babcock’s insistence.”
My eyes narrowed. “It’s not really his decision, is it?”
“He brings in a substantial amount of sales every quarter. This is his company’s designated store.” I was aware that Charlie wanted all his male executives fitted for suits. There were no other high-end stores in the Richmond area like Millers. Washington D.C. was the next closest location for this level of quality.
I huffed. I didn’t want to lose my job over not wanting more from this job, but I wasn’t going to give up my position at the museum. It wasn’t up for discussion. I didn’t care what Richmond’s billionaire wanted.
“You haven’t been given a formal offer.” Mr. Harrel’s lips pressed together. There it was. I knew he would find a way to admonish me. He placed the leather folder in my hands. “Your client is here.”
After last night, I was ready for a break from Charlie and his innuendo. I hoped I would style a father of the bride, or a rich kid who needed advice for a debutante ball tux. I opened the cover and felt the way my stomach tightened. Damn it.
“Is this an old form?” I stopped Harrel before he exited the lounge.
“No. There are no ‘old’ forms. It was printed ten minutes ago. Is there a problem?”
“It says Charlie Babcock.” I stared at it in disbelief. What in the hell was happening?
“It does. And I trust you can give him what he needs tonight.”
My mouth dropped. I glared at Harrel. “Are you implying something?”
He refolded the silk handkerchief and stuffed it in his front pocket. “I am not.”
The anger bubbled to the surface, but I needed to get in top of it. There wasn’t anything Charlie needed. His clothes would be delivered in two days and he would be fitted by the tailor during the appointment. There was no reason for him to be back a second night in a row.
“Can you handle the client, Ms. Basham?”
“I can handle the client.” I gritted my teeth together. I wasn’t going to let Charlie shake me. I marched into the private room.
He was waiting for me with a bottle of champagne.
“There she is. My favorite stylist.” His sleeves were rolled up. His monogrammed cufflinks had been deposited on the top of the dresser that housed silk ties.
“Charlie, I’m surprised to see you.” I slid the door in place behind me. “Is there a problem with your order? We can handle any of it over the phone. I hate that you drove to the store.”
His grin was sly. “Is that what you think? There’s a problem? No, far from it. Here take this. Relax, Noelle.”
The glass was cold in my hand. I did not feel like drinking champagne, even if it was worth more than my car.
“Then I’m not sure what our appointment is about.” I placed the champagne on the coffee table.
Charlie looked annoyed that I wouldn’t drink it. He took a large gulp.
“I know you can’t be that naïve.” He took a step closer, but I refused to flinch. If he laid a finger on me, I would leave. I decided right then and there I wasn’t going to be a Millers employee who was paid to be touched by the clients. Something about this return visit had pushed me beyond my comfort level. He was showing me how much control he had over my work environment.
“I don’t consider myself to be naïve at all,” I stated.
“Then it’s time we talk about an arrangement I have in mind.”
My heart pounded with fear. This was not what I wanted. I would walk out and quit. I didn’t like that he tried to force a permanent position on me. I didn’t like his assertion that he was owed time with me. I didn’t like much about the man.
But Charlie’s phone started to beep, followed by a second phone lying next to his cufflinks. He checked the number.
“Damn it. I have to take this. It’s business.”
<
br /> I nodded, understanding. A lot of clients had to stop to take calls. I stayed busy restacking a pile of shirts in a display chest.
“That means get out,” he barked. “Idiot.”
“Excuse me?” My eyes bulged. Charlie had been rude, but he’d never been this much of a dick before.
“I said get the fuck out. I paid for this room.” Ice ran from the base of my neck along my spine.
I walked out of the private room and into the employee lounge. Mr. Harrel was reading a sales report.
“Here.” I shoved my gold key that opened the fitting rooms in front of him. At one time, it had been an honor to be trusted with the keys.
“What’s this?” he asked. It was the only time I’d seen him looked stunned.
“My key. I’m done. I quit.” My voice didn’t shake or crack.
“Why?” The sales report was neatly folded away.
“You pushed that man on me and I’m not doing it. Whatever twisted arrangement he has. Okay? And I’m not going to work somewhere where it’s acceptable to be treated like a man’s tie. Twisted in knots to accommodate. Expected to loosen up when he wants to relax and then thrown on the floor like dirty laundry when he’s had enough. I’m not a tie,” I seethed.
“When have I ever suggested you were a gentleman’s tie?” The sarcasm in his voice caused me to consider slapping him.
“He is not a gentleman. Neither are you for allowing him to treat anyone this way.” I stared, praying I was wrong about Clyde Harrel. “So, I’m done. I’m just done.”
I stormed out of the lounge, slightly surprised Mr. Harrel didn’t try to stop me. Maybe he wasn’t surprised. Maybe he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. There were other ways I could make money for Phoebe. Ways that didn’t involve getting down on my knees for an asshole ever again.
8
Jack
“Damn it,” I cursed when my leg banged into the sharp corner. The kitchen was sleek, industrial, and still unfamiliar.
Someone from the relocation team had given me three apartments to view when I arrived in Richmond. I moved into the last one on the list. I liked the industrial look with exposed beams and brick walls. There was a history behind the building, but I didn’t put a deposit down because of the structure. I liked it. Maybe if I lived in the city long enough it would feel like my place. I threw a few suitcases in the master bedroom and called it home. I was good at picking through the T-shirts and athletic shorts to avoid unpacking.
I rubbed the front of my leg and stared down the island. My leg felt better during practice today. I skated, confident it would hold my weight without causing searing pain later. I credited the soak before I skated. I would try it again in the morning. It might become part of my standard routine. I wondered if this was my life now, not even thirty and having to make special accommodations for my injury.
Tomorrow was the last day of tot camp with the peewee hockey players. A few days later, the All-Stars would return, and I’d be skating with the rest of the team. I would be meeting some of them for the first time like Roman Sorrow, the goalie.
I moved carefully to the couch. Every time my leg flared up, I was reminded how everything could be taken away in a snap. I turned on the TV.
“Hell,” I whispered. There it was. The story about the Milwaukee Ice flashed across the screen. Cisco was right. The dirty details weren’t on the news, but it wouldn’t be long before they were out. Secrets like that didn’t stay hidden. I turned off the TV.
I picked up my phone. There was one voicemail I hadn’t listened to. I’d avoided it all day. I knew the area code was a New York number. It was from the league offices. I pressed play and held the phone to my ear.
* * *
“Hey, kid.” I smiled when Phoebe Elizabeth Basham skated close by, tearing into the ice with her blade. Little slivers flew off the front of her pink toe and into my path.
“I just learned how to do that.” She grinned. “It looks so cool.” She giggled.
I chuckled. “It does look cool.” I grabbed my stick and moved it toward the puck. “You’ve picked up a lot in three days.”
“I love hockey.” She sighed.
“I do too,” I admitted.
It was an unprompted reaction, but I did a quick scan of the seats around the ice to see if Phoebe’s mom was watching the first half of practice. I didn’t see the gorgeous raven-haired woman anywhere. She was probably married, I reminded myself. Married. Unavailable. Committed to another man’s bed. That was the end of the story. Or was it?
“So, Phoebe, who’s picking you up today?”
“My mom.” She tried to steer past me.
“Does you dad like hockey as much as you do?” I had to test the waters. I’d throw it out there and see what information she tossed back.
“I don’t know.” She stopped skating. “I don’t know him. It’s just Mommy and me.”
Something stirred under my ribs. It was a subtle movement, but it led to a big smile on my face.
“I don’t have a dad either,” I volunteered.
“You don’t?” She seemed surprised. As if she was the only kid in the world who had gone through the experience of growing up wondering who her father was.
“Nah. Never met him.”
“I do have uncles,” she told me proudly. “Two. Uncle Cal and Uncle Daniel.”
“And do they like hockey?”
She nodded, but by now she was done talking about personal insights. She crouched low enough to charge at me with the puck. I tried not to laugh. She was like a mighty snowball headed straight for me. I swerved and she skated past me, directly toward the goal.
The girls around her cheered when the puck landed in the back of the net. “Yes!” She jumped up and down.
I raced over to give Phoebe a high five.
“Do you think the Dires will let me play for them, Jack?” she asked.
I nodded. “There’s always a chance. But if you keep scoring like that, it will make it harder for them to say no.”
She skated away with her friends. It was time for a water break. Bradley joined me.
“Hey, I heard about the shit going down in Milwaukee,” he whispered. “You spent your entire career with Felt, didn’t you?”
I eyed him. “Yeah. I did.”
“Do you know what the real story is?”
I shook my head. “I’m sure it will come out.”
“Shit like that always does.”
“Glad I’m here.” I nodded at him, hoping to shut down the conversation. But he wouldn’t be the last teammate to bring it up.
“I’m sure those guys are going through hell right now.”
If I hadn’t been traded, I’d be going through it with them.
I let all the distractions about Milwaukee fall away when I saw Noelle climb the stairs into the arena. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun. Tendrils framed her face. She wasn’t as dressed up as I had seen her. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt tied at her waist. I wondered if she always looked cute. Three days in a row she was a complete knockout.
I slid close to the wall just below where she was sitting.
“Your daughter really loves hockey.”
“Hmm?” Her eyes were pinned on Phoebe.
Okay, I’d never used a kid in a pickup line before. I could do better. I was going to do better.
“If you want, I could get some skates and bring you out on the ice. Would you like to skate? We’ve got figure skates or hockey skates. Your choice.” I wasn’t familiar with the equipment rooms, but I’d get one of the actual interns to fit her with a pair.
Her crystal blue eyes finally fixed on me. “Oh, I don’t skate.” Her fingers wrapped around the bar so she could lean forward. Her nails were trimmed and painted a light pink.
“Want to learn?” I posed.
“Is this some team gimmick to start a parent camp? Because really, I’m just here for her. She’s the one who loves hockey.”
“Does th
at mean you don’t love hockey?”
“I didn’t say that exactly.”
I chuckled. “Look, I’m asking if you want to come down here. With me.”
She blinked. “Now? Right now?”
“Yeah. Come on. It will be fun.”
Noelle glanced around to see if anyone was listening. Was someone else going to try to crash my invitation? I wasn’t asking all the parents. I was asking her. The beautiful graceful woman that I hadn’t been able to shake for three days.
“Okay.” She smiled. “But no skates.”
“I promise. No skates. I’ll meet you at the end of the tunnel. Do you know the staircase to use to get down here?”
She nodded. “I do.”
There it was again. It hit me subtly and quickly. The rumble in my chest. I stepped onto the platform and into the team tunnel to meet Noelle.
9
Noelle
This was crazy. I was slightly jittery from too many cups of coffee at the museum. I’d spent the day burying myself in work. I wanted to forget that last night at Millers I turned in my gold key and stormed out. I looked for distractions and co-workers to talk to. I returned old emails and cleaned out two drawers in my desk. I had lunch with people I never had lunch with before. I threw myself into any situation that blocked Charlie Babcock from my mind
Is that why I said yes? I was looking for one more diversion. The hot hockey player wanted to see me in the tunnel. What was his name again? Novak something? Shit. What was I doing? It had only taken three sentences from his lips to convince me leave the safety of the parents’ section and wander beneath the arena. I couldn’t help but feel as if I was a cheerleader sneaking under the bleachers at the homecoming game to make out with the quarterback.
Jack Novak. That was it.
Cold As Ice Page 4