Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Traffic was murder,” he says, pulling a Louis Vuitton duffel from the driver’s-side seat. “Had to take the scenic route. You know how it is coming from Tribeca.”
“Right.”
We walk toward the terminal entrance. The building is soaring glass and polished marble, with modern furniture and artwork. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the tarmac where our chartered 757 sits shining in the afternoon sun.
Inside, our teammates are scattered across leather sectionals. There’s a full bar staffed by an actual bartender, not some airport vendor. Flat-screens show highlights from around the league. Hell, there’s even a massage chair that Deacon’s already claimed.
“Gotta hand it to Langley,” Tanner says, surveying the scene. “Man knows how to spend money.”
“Easy to spend money when you’ve got an endless supply of it,” I say. “Doesn’t mean he knows hockey.”
“Well,” Tanner shoots back, “you ever fly commercial with Minnesota? Bag of peanuts and a prayer. No meal service, cramped seats, delayed flights every other trip. Here? We’ve got a chef on the plane and seats that turn into beds.”
I drop onto one of the couches and stretch out. Tanner’s right. Whatever else you can say about Langley—and there’s plenty—he doesn’t cut corners when it comes to the team’s comfort. The man wants to win, and he’s willing to pay for every advantage he can buy.
Tanner’s attention shifts suddenly, his predator instincts kicking in. “Well, well. Look who’s working today.”
I follow his gaze to where a flight attendant is setting up a coffee machine at the service station. Blond, hot, and a friendly smile that toes all sorts of boundaries.
“That’s Jessica,” Tanner says with a grin. “Remember her from the Boston roadie?”
“Vaguely.”
“Not vaguely enough, apparently.” He leans back, getting comfortable for what I can already tell is going to be a story with suspect facts. “After we landed here from Boston, everyone’s heading home, right? But she mentions she’s got a layover, staying at the Marriott near the airport. Just casual conversation.”
“Sure it was.”
“So I offer to show her around the area. You know, be a good host. We grab dinner at that Italian place in White Plains, the one with that vodka sauce you like, nothing fancy, I’m just being friendly.”
“Friendly.”
“Very friendly. Turns out she’s got a thing for hockey players. Specifically, she’s got a thing for guys who can handle their stick with precision.”
I shake my head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“She said the same thing. Twice.”
The conversation drifts as more guys filter in, and I find myself thinking about my earlier encounter in the gym with my new PR rep. The whole thing still irritates me—not just Daisy’s attitude, but the fact that she didn’t back down when I tried to intimidate her. Most people fold when I push, but she pushed back. Hard to admit, but it kind of revved my engine for a minute. Even in the oversized workout gear, there was no hiding how gorgeous she is and that’s hard to ignore.
“Someone shit in your protein shake?” Tanner says. “What’s eating you?”
“Langley’s new pet project to rein me in.”
“The PR chick? What about her?”
I tell him about the gym confrontation, starting with her ridiculous attempt to lift weights and ending with her parting shot about not knowing the difference between enemies and allies. Tanner listens, asking for details, clarifying the timeline.
“So let me get this straight,” he says when I finish. “She shows up in heels and a blazer. You try to embarrass her with the workout requirement. She leaves, comes back in gear, and matches you exercise for exercise?”
“She didn’t match me. She used baby weights.”
“But she stayed. She worked out. She didn’t back down from the conversation even when you were clearly trying to intimidate her.”
“Your point?”
“My point is most people would have found an excuse to leave. Jesus, most people would’ve bolted for the door as soon as they got that famous McAvoy growl. But she stayed and gave as good as she got.”
I consider this. “She’s stubborn.”
“She’s got backbone. There’s a difference.”
I chew on that distinction longer than I’d like to admit. “There was this one moment, though,” I say, and I’m not sure why I keep talking except that it’s been rattling around in my head since I left the gym.
Tanner’s eyebrows climb. “A moment.”
“When she came back in that borrowed gear.” I shake my head at the memory. “The shirt was hanging past her thighs, the shorts were cinched with safety pins. She looked absolutely ridiculous.”
“Okay…”
“But she walked in like she was wearing a goddamn power suit. Didn’t acknowledge any of it or try to laugh it off. She didn’t try to make it cute either like most girls would. She just marched straight toward the treadmill and started running like it was the most natural thing in the world.” I pause, aware that Tanner is studying me with far too much interest. “I don’t know. Something about that was…”