We don’t talk anymore after that.
I have a meeting with Mr. Petrovich and Dave first thing this morning, and I’m rushing down the hall when Adrienne waylays me.
“Where are you in such a hurry to?” she asks, as she leans against the doorway of the staff room.
We sort of have an unspoken agreement I won’t mention the project I now have that she lost, so I gesture wildly toward the elevators. “I just have to deliver something upstairs.”
Her eyes narrow and her lips flatline. “Well, you might want to wear a longer skirt next time…” She pauses. Yeah, I’m waiting for it. “Or maybe that’s the point, hmm?” Then she shoves off the doorway, gives me the nastiest smile known to man and stalks off down the hall.
I sigh as I continue my trip to the elevators. I’ve worked hard not to piss her off. I always do what she asks, no matter how menial the task, and if it means I can’t get to my actual work I just stay longer. This week alone I’ve put in sixty-five hours already and it’s only Thursday morning. The upside to that is I’ve had no time to see Mick. Between his coaching and rehab and my job, we’ve just texted since I left late Sunday night.
I don’t know what I’m going to do about our situation. We haven’t had a “what are we doing” talk, but he’s made it clear he likes me and wants to see me more. I want that too—so much—but I know the longer it goes on, the deeper in I get, the worse the lies become.
The fact is I’m already in over my head. With him. With the job. With the lies. I know there’s no good way out of any of it. I’ll either lose him or the job, and I hate either option.
I step off the elevators and make my way past reception to the executive office wing.
There’s construction noise as I make my way down the corridor and a few doors before I reach the conference room where we’ll be meeting I glance in the open door of a huge office where workmen are busy doing all sorts of things, including painting and installing some shelves.
“It’s for my son,” Mr. Petrovich says behind me. I startle a bit, then turn toward him.
He smiles warmly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you.”
“It’s fine,” I say, smiling back tightly. “Did you say your son?”
“Yes. Mikhail is joining the company now that he’s retired from hockey.” I can hear the pride in his voice, and my stomach sinks. There are so many bad things swirling in my gut right now I’m not sure which is the most powerful.
Sadness for Mr. Petrovich, who obviously loves both Mick and his company so much and either doesn’t know or doesn’t want to admit that one thing he loves hates the other thing he loves.
Or is it worry for Mick, because he doesn’t want to work here but I’m not sure if he’s going to have much of a choice if he wants to continue to have a father.
Or maybe it’s the sheer fear that rocks me every time I think about Mick finding out I work here. I swallow down the lump in my throat and give Mr. Petrovich my best employee smile.
“When will he be starting?” I ask as we move away from the open office and toward the conference room. He holds open the door for me and we take seats at the table.
“The office will be done in ten days. He is finishing with his main rehabilitation program and getting his leg brace off this week.”
I nod, acting as though I know nothing more than the average member of the public who’s been privy to his son’s life-altering injury.
“So, I’m hoping that I can convince him to start in two weeks.”
My heart nearly stops right there at the conference table. Two weeks? Oh my God. What if Mick agrees to it? What if he starts working here? Suddenly I’m dizzy and nauseous all at once.
“Since Dave’s not here yet, do you mind if I grab something to drink before we start?”
“No, of course not,” he waves me off. “I’m going to make a call while we wait.”
I practically run from the room. Once I reach the executive lounge I lean against a wall in the corner, grateful that no one else is using the space. Two weeks. My heart pounds it out like an evil chant. Two weeks. There’s no way around it, I have to fix this, and fast. Because one way or another my time is running out and while it should be simple and the job should win out, I find myself tearing up at the idea of saying goodbye to Mick. It’s ridiculous, we hardly know each other. But he’s so much more than the image—the athlete, the billionaire, the son of fortune.
Mick is talented and cocky at the same time he’s self-effacing and tender. He’s fun and considerate, but also alpha and sometimes entitled. Yet, I don’t even mind his less desirable traits. Everything about him is so appealing and engaging I find it hard to be anything but charmed by him.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Dammit. Why did this have to happen? Why did I let it? If I’d just told him the first time we met, he would have never pursued me and then I wouldn’t be faced with this. But I quickly realize that I’ve just answered my own question. I didn’t tell him the first time because he wouldn’t have pursued me, and while I wanted to act like I found him offensive, the fact is I was as attracted to him as he was to me. I wanted him, plain and simple. I let that keep me from being honest, and now I’ll pay the price. My heart will pay the price. And what a high price it will be.
21
Mick
“Amanda!” I holler from the edge of the rink. “If you want to keep ahold of that puck you’re going to need to cut that angle.”
My star forward rolls her eyes at me—and no, I can’t see it through her helmet and faceguard, but I know that’s what she’s doing.
“And stop rolling your eyes at me, kid!” I shout as she skids past me struggling to keep the puck away from her drill partner because she won’t cut the fucking angle.
“Why the hell will she not listen to me?” I growl at Deke when he skates over.
“Because she’s thirteen and her boyfriend broke up with her at lunch yesterday,” he answers with a shrug.
“Wait, the one who’s on the tennis team?” I ask. Shit he only asked her to be his girlfriend a week ago.
“Yep. Apparently he texted her instead of doing it when they were at their lockers at passing period. And then he asked out her best friend when the buses were loading up at the end of the day.”
“How the hell did you hear all this?” I ask, incredulous.
He shrugs. “I might have listened in while she was telling Kristen about it before practice.”
“What a little fucker,” I mutter, referring to the boyfriend, of course.
Deke nods. “I’d like to have a word with him in private.” He grins and it’s not friendly.
I run a hand through my hair as I watch the girls do one more round of the drill.
“Okay, girls, let’s bring it in!” I call out. Everyone’s off today, I think we need a mental break more than we need more drills.
Once they reach me I pull out my wallet, hand a twenty to the team captain and point toward the lobby snack bar. “Ice cream for everyone.” I point at them one by one. “But it’s not a reward for good play, it’s a break to reflect on how you can improve the mess that was going on out there. I want everyone to bring your ice cream to the stands, take a seat away from anyone else and contemplate.” The girls snicker, and I struggle not to join them, but I really am serious. They need to get their heads on straight.
“I mean it, and if I see anyone gossiping with anyone else, you get to clean up the locker room after practice.”
They all groan and follow the team captain back across the ice toward the lobby.
“Amanda,” I say before she can escape with the team. “You stay for a minute.”
She hangs her head and skates back to me. “Sorry, coach,” she mutters when she reaches the edge of the ice.
I step down onto the ice so I’m not so far above her.
“What are you sorry for?” I ask, crossing my arms as I look at her.
“For playing bad?” she says, with that question mark at the end that I
notice a lot more girls than boys use.
“Why are you asking instead of telling?” I remind her gently.
She sighs. “Because I’m in trouble, but I’m not sure what for,” she says with more strength.
I nod. “You assumed because I held you back that you’re in trouble?”
“Well, duh,” she says, sounding more like the sassy, alpha forward I know and love.
“You’re wrong, and don’t say duh to me, I’m an adult, not another teenager.”
As much as I want her to always be confident, she also needs to be polite, so I often have to work both ends with this one.
“So why did you hold me back?” she finally asks.
“Because your playing is off, and I think there might be a reason why. Something maybe didn’t go right with you this week? Problems at home? You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to, but if something’s going on that’s impacting your play you need to at least acknowledge it to your coach. Say something like, ‘Hey, coach, I had a rough week, I’m working to get my head in the game though.’”
She nods. “Okay. So, um, coach? I had a bad week. I hate boys, and I wish I could go home.”
“Ah, boy trouble, huh?”
“I hate them.”
“I get it. We can be jerks, for sure.”
Deke, who has been silent through all of this, snickers behind me, but then I hear him add, “Truth.”
“I know a great way to get your head back in the game when it’s a boy who’s messing with it.”
She looks at me distrustfully.
“No, seriously. Go grab me one of those silver sharpies from the front office. I’ll wait.”
She skates off, and Deke watches me with one eyebrow raised. “What are you doing?” he asks as the other girls start coming back in and finding seats in the bleachers. They all look so forlorn, eating their ice cream by themselves in the hard plastic seats.
“You’ll see,” I answer Deke. “Will you keep an eye on them?” I point around the arena. “Especially Carlene and Dinah. They’re too close to each other and too far away from us.”
He’s off like he has new purpose in his life, hopping the wall into the spectator section and making the rounds, stopping to check on each girl and give her a pep talk.
Amanda returns and hands me the silver sharpie I asked for. I pick up a puck from the ledge nearby and draw on it for a moment. When I’m done it has eyes a nose, and a mouth that’s in an ‘o’ like Munch’s The Scream.
“This,” I say, handing it to her, “is the boy who was a jerk to you. You and your teammates are going to take him out on the ice and pound the ever loving you-know-what out of him. Don’t stop until his face is smeared all over the puck. You got it?”
She grins and nods. “Yes, coach.”
“Good.” I smile back at her and pull my wallet out again. “Now go grab your own ice cream, but hurry. We start back up in five minutes.”
She gives me a mock salute and skates away, holding puck face in her hand tightly.
I think I might be good at coaching. And I also think I might like it a whole hell of a lot.
It’s Friday night and I haven’t seen Solana since Sunday. We’ve texted every day, but that job of hers keeps her incredibly long hours. She’s obviously really committed to what she does, which I have to admire, even though I’m jealous of anything or anyone that gets to spend so much time with her, Because my interest in her hasn’t lessened since I spent an entire weekend in bed with her. And it hasn’t lessened since I’ve spent an entire week away from her. In fact, it seems that no matter what else is happening, my desire to be with Solana isn’t impacted. I haven’t felt this drawn to a woman—well, ever, that I can remember. It’s exhilarating and frightening all at once.
When I hear her come home at six thirty, I decide it’s time to take matters in hand. On a Friday night she needs to put work aside and have some fun. I have a game with the girls in the morning, but it doesn’t start until ten, so there’s plenty of time for a late dinner, and a sleepover. Let’s just hope I can convince Solana.
I knock on her door and she answers almost immediately.
“Hi,” I say, giving her my best panty-melting grin.
She has circles under her eyes, and a slump to her shoulders that tells me she’s beyond tired.
“Hi,” she answers.
“Long week?” I ask, pressing forward a touch, hoping she’ll invite me in.
She leans against the doorframe, sighing at the same time. “Yes. So long.”
“Why don’t you let me get you dinner and make it all better.”
She watches me for a moment, and it’s like she’s computing a thousand things in that beautiful head of hers. My heart races, because I can sense her hesitation.
“Mick?” she asks softly. “What are we doing here?”
I stiffen, not sure why this offends me. Maybe because I feel like I’ve been so open and obvious it hurts to think she hasn’t seen it.
“I think they call it dating,” I answer.
One side of her lips curls up. I’m getting to her. At least a little.
I cross my arms and look at her steadily. “What did you think we were doing?”
“I don’t know, I’m too tired to think about anything.”
I chuckle. “Look, we don’t have to label anything, it’s only been a week, but I’d like to see more of you, and it seemed last weekend like you didn’t mind seeing more of me—” I wiggle my eyebrows at her and she finally cracks, giggling in such a sweet way I want to lose myself in all her softness.
“It’s possible that I didn’t mind seeing all of you,” she answers.
I nudge her aside now, moving past her into the apartment. “Good, because I have plans to show you all of me a few times tonight.”
Once I’m inside I set about getting some food delivered while Solana slips into a shower. When she comes out she’s wearing the tiniest sleep shorts I’ve ever seen and a tank top with no bra underneath. My blood nearly boils it turns so hot.
“Uh, the Chinese will be here in a few,” I tell her as she walks through the apartment and my dick tries to follow her.
“Great, thank you. Do you want something to drink?” she asks.
I walk to the kitchen where she’s now bent over digging around in the wine rack for a bottle.
Fuck. The shorts are so small that I’m staring at three fourths of her smooth, bare, utterly biteable ass.
I open my mouth to answer her and nothing happens. Clearing my throat I manage to choke out, “no thanks” before she stands and pours herself a glass of cabernet.
“Cheers,” she says, taking a sip and smiling at me. I blink, trying to clear my head.
“Cheers to you,” I say in a low voice, moving closer, trapping her against the counter. I lean in and breathe deeply at the juncture between her neck and shoulder.
“Did you just sniff me?” she asks, wiggling a bit as my hot breath hits her skin.
I grasp her hips and press closer, running my nose along the shell of her ear.
“You smell delicious,” I say, skating my lips over the skin of her neck now, lilac filling my senses as I breathe in more of her.
“Mmm,” is the only answer she gives as she sets the wine down and melts into me, her curves pressing against my planes.
My cock is at full mast and my hands roam over her hips, down to the hem of the tiny shorts, then under, where they meet with what feels like miles of bare skin.
“How hungry are you?” I whisper, licking up one side of her neck.
She arches into me, her head dropping back as she moans softly.
“Starving—but not for the Chinese,” she corrects.
“Perfect.” I pull away on a sound of protest from her. But when I walk to the intercom system she understands.
“Jordy?” I say to the concierge in the lobby. “We have a food delivery coming, please hold on to that until I send for it.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. P
etrovich,” he answers.
Then I tug Solana by the hand to the living room sofa where I toss her down and strip those damn shorts right off of her.
22
Solana
Mick Petrovich has his mouth wrapped around my clit and I think I might die of pleasure.
“Yesss,” I hiss. “Oh God, right there.”
He chuckles and adds a finger to the mix, stroking in and out, while his tongue continues its leisurely exploration.
Everything inside of me ratchets up tighter and tighter, until I feel like I’m a guitar string pulled too taut, on the verge of snapping.
“God, please, Mick,” I beg.
“Please what, baby?” he asks innocently.
I grab his hair and tug, none too lightly. “Make me come.”
He chuckles as he dips his face back into my core, and before I know it, he’s found my g-spot and is stroking it with such finesse that I come apart in a flood of sensation, my entire body tensing before it ripples all through me. I cry out his name, my fingernails digging into his scsalp as I ride out the most amazing orgasm of my life. It’s been like this since the first night with Mick. Every time seems better than the last. I don’t just like him, it’s also the best sex of my life.
When I finally come down, he licks his way over my torso, pushing my tank top up as he goes.
“You need to get rid of this,” he says when he reaches the straps. I oblige by sitting up slightly so he can tug it off.
“Much better.” He’s on his knees staring down at my breasts as though they hold all the answers to the world’s secrets.
I decide to tease him a little and run my hands over them, pinching my nipples as I do, stroking my tongue across my lips too.
“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Do that again.”
I do, and then he’s up off the bed, pants dropping, shirt flying, and a condom appearing from somewhere.
“Roll over,” he commands. And yes, he’s bossy in bed, and yes, I do love it.
After I’m on my stomach, he reaches under me and pulls my hips until they’re jutting up in the air. I lean on my forearms, letting my head fall between my shoulders.
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