“So?” Hannah leaned enough away from him so he could see her face, turning her head forward and back to shake the perfect braid.
He crinkled that brow, but this time it was all for show. It was insane how quickly the man could run hot and cold.
“What?” He asked as he scanned her face and body. “Did you grow an inch during practice?”
She rolled her eyes and laughed. “No, silly.”
He pursed his lips, and I swallowed hard.
Damn, those were some excellent lips.
Lips I was sure could find every single spot a girl possessed and draw flames from it.
I blinked hard, shaking my head.
Down girl.
It had been way too long.
Like, since Europe long.
Maybe not sleeping with Crosby had been stupid. At least if I’d slept with him, I wouldn’t be so desperate that I’d be imagining Connor shoving me against a wall and making me moan with nothing but those lips.
Good God, I need a grip.
“Ivy did it!” Hannah was pointing at me, and I snapped out of my purely lust-filled haze.
“Hmm?”
Connor cocked a brow at me. “Of course, she did.” It looked like an effort not to roll his eyes. “And is that a new shirt?” He eyed me.
I shrugged, the picture of innocence.
Normally that look worked, but he was having none of it.
I huffed. “She said Ariel was her favorite princess,” I said like that explained everything.
And the last one she wore had a hole in it.
I kept the thought to myself and tried like hell to keep the sadness from my eyes, too.
But something shifted in Connor’s—like he’d caught my train of thought despite my best efforts not to let it show, and it softened those hard edges around him.
“Do I need to take you shopping?” He asked Hannah, but his eyes were on me, almost a plea.
Poor guy. He probably hadn’t even noticed the state of her clothes. Why would he? It wasn’t like he had Hannah twenty-four-seven—until recently. Maybe before he could’ve assumed it was simply a well-loved shirt. It would take a woman to notice the difference, and obviously her mother didn’t.
I scolded myself internally—I didn’t personally know Connor’s sister, and it wasn’t my place to judge. I just had a hard as hell time figuring out how anyone could know Hannah and not want to hang out with her. Let alone leave her.
I bit back the acid roiling in my chest and took a deep breath.
“Maybe I could take her?” The words were out of my mouth before I could think to stop them. I’d been a strictly game and practice only babysitter. I highly doubted Connor wanted to stomach me for any more time than that.
“Oh yes!” Hannah said. “Please, Uncle Connor? Can I?”
“I don’t know.”
“I have seventeen dollars saved in my piggy bank,” she said and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “You know, the one I keep at your house so Mom—”
Connor cleared his throat, shifting her to the other side of him. No doubt to stop her, and not because his muscles were cramping. With guns like that the man could likely hold me against a wall for hours and not cramp.
My eyes bulged at my own devious train of thought.
“I’ll talk him into it,” I said, tugging on Hannah’s braid.
That earned me another look from Connor.
“What makes you think you can talk me into anything?”
“I have my ways,” I said, flashing him a smirk that would’ve earned me a free drink with anyone else.
“Maybe with someone who doesn’t know you,” he snapped, and I flinched, the sting so intense I took two steps away from Hannah.
Damn. What was I doing?
All I wanted was to buy the girl a few outfits and take her out for a proper girl’s day where maybe for just a couple of hours she could pretend like she didn’t have to hide money to save it or that it had been a week since her mom left with no intention of coming back.
She was five.
But he was treating me like I was trying to get into his pants.
“Ivy—”
I gasped, cutting off whatever Connor had been about to say.
Because Crosby had just sauntered out of the locker room, and I had managed to avoid any awkward run-ins since he’d been accepted back on the team.
Until now.
His eyes locked with mine, and I felt frozen.
The promises. The compliments. The fake dreams he’d shared with me.
All of it was nothing.
Meant nothing.
Nothing compared to his team.
My eyes flashed from his to Connor’s and back again.
One man crushed me.
One wanted to destroy me.
Brilliant.
“And that is my cue,” I said, finally gathering up my big girl panties. I kissed Hannah on the cheek. “I’ll keep you posted on our girl’s day status,” I whispered in her ear, and she nodded eagerly. “Also,” I said, keeping my voice a whisper despite knowing Connor could hear us. With how close the three of us were at that moment, I could smell him—citrus and something smoky and freshly showered man smell.
Jerk.
“Mark the moment,” I finished, ignoring Connor’s confused head tilt.
“I will,” she promised as I turned on my heels and clicked the opposite direction. No way in hell I was taking the closest exit—the one that would lead me into Crosby’s path of bunnies waiting eagerly for his leave.
I kept my head held high, too.
Not that I felt prideful or strong, but because I was Ivy fucking Harris, and anyone who wanted to see the real shit going on underneath the polish would have to work for it.
And it sure as hell wasn’t anyone in that hallway.
“An opening act?” My editor—Shelby Concord—splayed her fingers on the edge of my shared desk, her immaculate red nails stark against the boring gray of the plastic. “You honestly think that will cut it around here, Harris?”
“I—”
“This is the Seattle Chronicle Entertainment section. This is the site that broke the Ben and Jen breakup. The site that was first on scene when Robert and Cynthia went on their first date as an official couple after both their divorce papers had cleared. When celebrities are within a two-hundred-mile radius, we are the first to know. Hell, sometimes we go to them because they want us.” She shook her head, sneering down at me, her perfect lips coated in a pretty shade of lavender, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders in kill-for waves.
Damn, she was good.
Feared. Renowned. Editor.
I wanted to be her someday.
But right now? She was totally riding my ass, and it was a pain.
“I understand,” I dared say.
She took a deep breath, adjusting the frown to more of an annoyed purse of her lips. “Look, Harris,” she said, her hands now on her hips. “I hired you because your portfolio was legit. I know you can write.” She rolled her eyes. “The little piece you turned in was well-done…”
I smiled at the first real compliment she’d ever given me.
“But it was boring,” she continued.
My shoulders dropped.
“No one cares.”
Ouch.
“It was an opening act,” she said again.
“They’re on the brink,” I said as fast as I could before she could cut me off again.
Another eye roll.
Ugh, I invented that too-bored-to-care-look. And now I couldn’t do a thing about it.
“This paper does not care about on the brink. Bring me juicy. Bring me downright devious. Liars, cheaters. Romantics. Stars. Bring me something.”
I nodded, sealing my lips shut.
“You’re on a trial basis.”
As she loved to remind me every single day.
“And the clock is ticking. You’ve got three months, Harris.”
I glanced to my left, where my a
ssigned photographer—Zach Wells—sat like a statue in his seat, his camera frozen in his hands as he’d paused mid-cleaning. His blue eyes wide and panicked. We were roped together on day one as a package deal—either we landed a story that bought us a year’s worth of time, or we were axed.
Course, the real pressure was on me.
Because I not only had to find the story but had to sell it.
His pictures would validate it.
Whatever it may be.
“You know.” Shelby leaned over my desk, her face so close to mine I could smell the mints she popped like Percocet. “If I were a budding journalist, lucky to be working for one of the most popular papers in the state, I’d use whatever connections I had to get ahead.”
I wetted my lips, my mouth suddenly dry.
Ivy Harris.
Daughter to Coach Harris of the Seattle Sharks. One of the most paparazzi-worthy teams in the NHL with players hot and wild enough to merit a story every other week.
This paper had long since had a rocky relationship with the Sharks. The thorn in their side. It was a miracle I’d been allowed back into the arena once I was hired, but Dad had promised to stop trying to control our lives in any way shape or form. Learned that the hard way when he’d almost lost Pepper after he’d tried to force an ultimatum on her.
And my tiny piece last week had been innocent and entirely true—Connor and his trust-fund-model girl leaving a charity event. I’d been desperate, but I didn’t want to rely on the Sharks anymore.
“I can’t—”
Shelby tsked loud enough to stop me. “Then what the hell are you here for?”
My lips popped open, nothing but a pathetic squeak escaping.
“Tick-tock.” She shrugged. “Show me,” she said as she turned her back on me, totally dis and dismissing me before I could draw a steady breath.
I gaped at the space she’d vacated for longer than I’d like to admit.
Normally, I’d have a witty retort or at least a funny joke to take the heat off of me. A confident roll of words or a sweet gesture that could talk me out of any sort of trouble.
But not here.
Not with my editor who held my future in her hands.
The only thing I’d ever been any good at was finding hidden truths and weaving words around those discoveries.
Pepper was the brains, born for the hockey lifestyle.
I was the life of the party, the wild twin who had eyes like a hawk and ears like a dog. I read between the lines and could practically smell a good story when it was near…
But I couldn’t use the Sharks.
They were my unofficial family, and in some cases, my actual family.
“Maybe we see if one of the players wants to give you something,” Zach’s voice snapped me from my stare-fest.
“What?” I locked eyes with him.
His shoulders hunched a bit.
“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. His job was on the line, too, and it wasn’t his fault he was paired with me. But, I was shocked she hadn’t liked the band piece. She’d be kicking herself when they won a Grammy next year. “The Sharks are off-limits,” I finally said.
“You heard her,” he said, a whine in his tone.
“Yes.” I sighed but straightened in my seat. “I heard her.” I chewed on the corner of my lip, not caring for a second that it damaged my red lipstick. The stakes were high, my adrenaline was pumping, and I wasn’t going to lose my shot at scoring my dream job. The gears churned in my mind, the promise of a story on the horizon. “She told me to show her,” I said, eyeing Zach. “And I will.”
And I sure as hell wouldn’t have to use the Sharks to do it.
“She wanted you to use the Sharks?” Pepper asked, refilling my wine glass.
Emptying our second bottle was more accurate.
“Yes,” I said, rolling my eyes as I sat next to her on my couch, in what used to be our apartment before she went off and found her hero. “Like it would be so easy.”
“So do it,” Pepper snapped, her words slightly slurred. “Who cares?”
I giggled. “Okay, you’re officially cut off.” Our sleepover had quickly turned into wine-vent-fest after the day I’d had at work.
“You’re cut off,” she said, taking a pointed gulp from her wine glass. “This is girl’s night. No rules, remember?”
“When did we make that rule?” I asked, my head fuzzy.
“I don’t remember.”
For some reason, that was incredibly funny.
“I’d never do that,” I said after we’d caught our breath.
“Do what?”
“Use the Sharks,” I said, finishing my glass and opening another bottle.
“Tons have before.”
“True,” I said. “But no. I can do this without them.” I uncorked the bottle and refilled my and her glasses.
“You could write about Crosby,” Pepper said before clamping her hand over her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled behind her hand. “I only meant, he’s a jerk, and people like to do stories on jerks…ugh.” She set down her wine. “Yeah, I’m cut off.”
“Don’t worry, sis,” I said. “I’m so over it.”
And that was mostly true.
Except for the fact that I couldn’t stand to see him because it reminded me how ridiculously stupid I’d been to believe his bull shit.
That, or Connor. He liked to remind me every day—through fights or a disappointed tone—that I was a hot mess.
“Crosby isn’t worth my time,” I said, the anger working up in me from my earlier run-in with Connor when he’d chided me for being late like he was my fucking boss or something. “But Connor, on the other hand,” I said, setting down my wine. “He’s been riding me super hard lately.”
Pepper’s lips popped into the shape of an O, her cheeks flushing red.
I stared at her confused for a few seconds before I shook my head. “Oh, God, Pepper!”
“What?”
“I meant, he’s giving me hell. Like he has been for weeks. Ever since I screwed things up for you and Eric—”
Pepper held up her left-hand ring finger, exposing the nice rock Eric had branded her with.
“Right,” I said. “I know you two forgave me. He hasn’t. He’s still punishing me for it despite how much I love his niece.”
“What an ass.”
I laughed. “Drunk Pepper is so much fun.”
“Whoohoo!” She whooped, laughing. “Man, screw him,” she said. “I mean, he’s like so sweet and practically Eric’s brother but still…screw him. He needs to cut you some slack. Especially with how awesome you are with Hannah.” She reached for my iPad laying on the table next to the couch. “Here,” she said, her fingers flying over the screen. “I have your article right here,” she said. “Connor Bridgerton, Seattle Shark who sucks.”
I rolled my eyes, snatching the iPad from her fingers, laughing at the look of betrayal on her face.
“That’s no good,” I said. “It’d have to be, Connor Bridgerton, Seattle Shark Leads Double Life.”
She reclaimed her glass and held it toward me. “You always were the best writer,” she said, cheersing the air before taking a drink.
On a roll, I continued to type underneath my fake headline.
“Bridgerton may be one of the Sharks’ most powerful skaters and shooter, but he deceives the public on a daily basis. On the surface, he’s a kind, generous Shark who likes to take his niece to the aquarium on the weekends. In reality? He’s a conceited jerk with a darkness that only seeps out around those closest to him.”
“Amen,” Pepper said, taking another drink.
My head swam as my fingers sung, spilling all the pain Connor had unleashed on me these last few weeks. Sure, I may have earned it, but it hurt, and if my own sister wasn’t torturing me I couldn’t understand what Connor’s problem with me was.
“He pretends to be perfect, but he’s a slave to his addiction,” I read the words out loud
as I typed them.
“And what’s that?” Pepper asked.
My fingers stilled on the screen. “Making my life miserable,” I said, and we both laughed so hard I had to set the iPad down, the faux-article forgotten as we refilled our glasses.
“Eric will kill me,” I said.
“Nah,” Pepper sputtered. “He loves you. He loves Connor, too. But he wouldn’t kill you.”
“Not over that,” I laughed, motioning toward the iPad. “Over how hungover you’re going to be tomorrow.”
“I’m sleeping here all day tomorrow, sister,” she said. “I’ll be right as raindrops when I go home.”
“Rain,” I corrected her. “You’ve been hanging out with Lukas too much,” I continued. “You’re starting to mix up your sayings.” Not that the Scandinavian Shark wasn’t adorable when he missed the mark with his English.
She leaned her head back against the armrest of the couch, nodding and mumbling about how she was turning into a Shark. I sank next to her, curling my legs under hers on the other side, my head suddenly heavy, too, and fell asleep only to be met by torturous dreams.
Dreams of Connor Bridgerton, and all the ways he could make me scream.
Chapter 3
Connor
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as Mr. Barnes, the family lawyer I’d retained, looked over the paperwork Jessica had left me.
Hannah was shopping with Ivy, who was hopefully using her common sense and my black card to outfit my niece with whatever she needed. Hannah had been with me for ten days now, and I was painfully aware of what her wardrobe lacked.
As much as I hated trusting Ivy with Hannah, I knew she had great fashion sense, and would never do anything to hurt Hannah. Besides, it gave me a much-needed few hours to meet with Mr. Barnes and figure out just what the hell I was going to do.
“And you still can’t reach your sister?” Mr. Barnes asked, rubbing his thumb along the smooth, dark skin of his chin. He peered over his glasses at me, raising his eyebrows.
“Her phone is disconnected, her social media is shut down, and she didn’t leave a forwarding address with her landlord. I even broke down and called my mother. No one knows where Jessica is, or even what Joe’s last name is. She may as well be a ghost.” Even the private detective I’d hired had come up short so far. It wasn’t that I wanted Jessica back, even though Hannah had cried the last few nights as reality sank in. What I wanted was to find her so she could sign over legal custody of Hannah to me.
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