24 HOURS earlier
KRISTA, my boss, sat in a chair in her office, while her stylist worked on pinning up her hair. I sat cross-legged on her couch with my iPad, taking notes for her. Krista ran the most illustrious PR sports agency in the country and she never stopped working.
Her eyes remained shut as she asked, “Is Jenny skating in Tokyo next week?”
I checked her file. “Doctors said she can skate, but we are waiting on her coach to decide.”
“Stay on top of that and let me know if she competes. If she does, I want us to send her flowers, and I’d like to call her.”
“Noted.”
“Where are we with Mike’s endorsement deal for that sports drink?”
“Still haven’t heard from the lawyers on the other side.”
“Give me a reminder tomorrow to call our legal team.”
“Okay.”
“Do I have tickets for the Wolves game tomorrow night?”
“I talked to the head office. They want to know if you want ice-level seats or if you want to be in the family box.”
Krista’s eyes opened and narrowed on my face. “Family box. Do you want to attend with me?”
I gritted my teeth. Out of all the sports I hated, hockey was the worst. There was nothing redeeming about the game, and Krista knew how I felt. “I have to work a shift at the bar.”
It was part of my job to attend a certain number of sporting events with Krista. She knew how much I hated hockey, and so far, in two years, I had only attended one game. I was hoping to keep that lucky streak going.
She looked at her watch. “Isn’t Mica supposed to be here by now?”
I worked to not react to the mention of his name. I prided myself on the fact that I never fell prey to the charms of the athletes that paraded through this office. I had no issue showing complete indifference to the mostly male clientele that came through our doors, except for one.
Mica Petrov.
The guy got under my skin. He was charming as hell. Stupidly good looking with his blue eyes and dark hair. When it came to wild antics, he was the biggest offender of them all. That I found him attractive was a mortifying secret I worked to hide. Usually, I covered up my feelings with borderline hostility.
I checked my watch. “Five minutes ago.”
Krista’s phone rang. She answered, leaving her phone on speaker.
“Mica, where are you?”
“Krista.” He rolled her name with his Russian accent. “I’ve hit a snag.”
“You know I hate snags. You’re supposed to be on stage with Mark Ashford in less than an hour, while he accepts an award for the Wolves.”
“Why do people plan galas for Wednesday night? It’s stupid.”
“Where are you?”
There was a pregnant pause and then he gave a half-laugh. “Don’t ask.”
“Mica Petrov,” she scolded.
Another pause from him and then, “Can you send someone to grab my tux? From my house? I can make it to the gala if someone meets me at the hotel with my tux.”
Krista looked pointedly at me. “I’ll send Charlie. How is she supposed to get in?”
I stood up and scrambled to put on my boots.
“Tell her to call me when she gets there. I’ll give her the code to my home and my alarm system.”
Krista leaned forward and hissed into the phone. “You better have a damn good reason for being late, Petrov.”
She hung up and looked at me. “Can you do this for me?”
It was my one precious night off from my second job working as a waitress, but I would do anything for Krista. “It’s fine.”
She blew me a kiss. “I won’t forget how you always step up, Charlie.”
I DROVE my geriatric car across the Burrard Street Bridge, before turning into the illustrious neighborhood of Point Grey. I rolled my eyes as I slowly drove past houses I knew started in the millions. At his address, I pulled into a curved driveway and stared at the big house before getting out and walking to the front door.
Taking a deep breath, I dialed his number.
“Mica speaking.” His deep voice rumbled in my ear.
I cleared my throat. “This is Charlie. I’m at your house.”
“My front door code is four-five-eight-nine-three.”
I punched it in and heard the lock click. I pushed open the door, stepping into an expansive foyer. Immediately, an alarm started to beep in warning.
“What is your alarm code?”
“One-three-nine-seven pound.”
I punched that in and the beeping stopped. I turned, momentarily stunned at the interior of his home. For lack of a better word, it was magnificent. Directly past the foyer was a state-of-the-art kitchen that hosted an island so big, you could hold a dance party on it. On the other side of the island, there was an old, farmhouse style kitchen table that could easily seat twenty people. The eating area looked over one of the greatest great rooms I’d ever seen. The ceiling had to be at least two stories high. A massive stone fireplace went up the length of one wall. The furniture was strong, masculine and inviting, but the most incredible part of the room was the back wall built entirely with panes of glass. Rolling tracks showed that it was a retractable wall that opened onto a huge deck. And the entire place sported one of the most stunning views of English Bay I’d ever seen. What shocked me was how immaculate the place was. It looked like a show home.
“Talk to me, Charlie,” Mica’s voice spoke in my ear.
“The view in your living room momentarily muted me.” I forced myself to not walk further into the inviting living room. “Where’s your tux?”
“Turn down the right hallway. The master bedroom’s on the left.”
I walked down the hallway, pausing in front of the door before pushing it open. The bedroom was vast, with a massive king-sized bed, masculine furniture and balcony doors that offered another stunning view. I stood in the doorway. It felt way too intimate to be in his bedroom.
“Go to the walk-in closet.”
I moved to the double doors and worked to not gasp as I stepped into one of the most luxurious walk-in closets I’d seen in my life. I could faintly smell his cologne. I shut my eyes and breathed in deeply.
“You still there?” His accent rolled in my ear.
“Yes. Where’s your tux?”
“Left-hand side. At the back. Look for the suit bags.”
I walked into the closet. I found three suit bags and frowned. “Why do you have three tuxedos?”
“What do you mean?” He sounded genuinely confused by my question.
“Never mind. Which one do you want?”
“The Bottega Veneta.”
“Got it.” I momentarily paused before his shoe rack, my eyes trying to process the neatly lined up rows of shoes. “How many pairs of shoes do you have?”
“No clue.”
“Which ones do you want?”
“Black ones. Pick a pair.”
I eyeballed at least twelve pairs of black dress shoes, all polished to perfection. I snagged a pair of Dolce & Gabbana patent leather lace-up derbies that looked brand new.
I walked rapidly back to the front of the house, stopping to set the alarm. “Don’t forget to change the codes on your house and alarm system tonight.”
There was a pause and I could hear the smile in his voice. “You going to rob me?”
“No!” I shut the front door behind me and walked towards my car. I balanced my phone against my ear as I opened the back car door and hung up his suit. “Just change the code.”
“I don’t know how.”
I snorted in his ear. “Well, when one of your disgruntled exes breaks into your place, I want to be exonerated from the list of suspects because you didn’t change the code on your front door.”
“You’re the only one.”
I started my car, cursing inwardly as it sputtered before starting. “Only one what?”
“Who knows the code to my house.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“I don’t bring my… friends back to my place.”
I paused, processing that statement. “Please stop telling me this shit.”
He laughed.
I didn’t even say goodbye. I hung up. The guy was constantly messing with me. I couldn’t tell if it was because he was born a flirt or if he had somehow figured out how I felt about him and used that information to get a rise out of me. Either way, I found our conversations incredibly annoying.
In a tempting, can’t-have-it-but-totally-want-it kind of way.
I USED Krista’s corporate credit card to have my car valet parked, figuring that she could put it on Mica’s tab. I stood in the lobby of the Marchione Hotel, watching as the rich and the richer strolled by. I could identify at least half of the people by name and I bet if I spoke to them, my face wouldn’t register with anyone.
I took a few moments to text with my best friend Jasper who lived in San Francisco. He was my childhood friend that I texted with almost daily.
Me: How’s San Fran?
Jasper: Gorgeous as ever. What’s new?
Me: Dropping off a tux at a hotel for a player.
Jasper: Which one?
Me: Mica.
Jasper: The Savage?
He used my pet name for Mica.
Me: The one and only.
Jasper: LOL. You know for someone who professes to despise the guy, you sure do text about him a lot.
Me: Do not.
Jasper. Do too.
Me: He gets on my nerves.
Jasper: So, you keep protesting.
Me: Call me tonight?
Jasper: Yes, you can fill me in on all the juicy gossip.
Me: Miss you.
Jasper: Back at you.
I saw Mica before he saw me. He was a head taller than everyone and I took that quick moment to drink in the sight of his sculpted cheekbones—and that mouth. God, I loved his mouth. The man drove me crazy, but his mouth mesmerized me.
As if he could sense me, he turned and looked directly at me.
I flushed and lifted his tuxedo. He strode towards me. His five o’clock shadow was more of a ten o’clock shadow. He wore dark jeans and an untucked, navy blue button-down shirt. His hair was a mess, and he looked annoyingly hot.
“Rough night?” I worked to fill my voice with cold disdain.
Those lips twitched in amusement. “I need to change.”
“My cue to leave.”
His big hand easily wrapped around my wrist. He tugged against my reluctance. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“I need to find a place to change.”
I dragged my feet. “You don’t need me for that.”
He ignored me and started opening doors.
“I don’t think we should do this.” I tried to hand him his tuxedo bag, which he ignored. He stepped into a small private boardroom and tugged me in after him.
“Watch the door.” He took his tuxedo bag from my hands.
I crossed my arms and turned my back on him. A few moments ticked by in silence before he asked, “Do you know how to tie a bowtie?”
I looked over my shoulder to give him a dirty look, but my traitorous eyes could only focus on his bare chest. Sweet baby Jesus. My eyes drank in broad shoulders and a strong chest with mouthwatering pectoral muscles. All of that tapered down to a six-pack that belonged on a billboard. My eyes got drawn back to the beautiful tattoo on the left side of his chest. I forced myself, with mind-blowing willpower, to lift my eyes to his face. For the life of me, I had no idea what he had asked me.
“What did you say?”
He winked at me. Carelessly flirting with my heart.
I turned around and stared at the door. “You can tie your own damn bowtie.”
“There’s no mirror in here.”
I willed myself to harden against his charm.
He’s a hockey player. I hate hockey players.
“You can turn around now.”
“Are you decent?”
I heard laughter in his voice. “Yes.”
With reluctance, I turned around. His black jacket was on but unbuttoned, and his bowtie hung around his neck.
He flipped up the collar of his shirt. “Help me tie this.”
With dread in each step, I stepped up to him, standing closer than I ever had before. Reaching up, I grabbed the bowtie and concentrated on the task at hand. I could feel his eyes on my face as I worked. It felt too intimate, standing so close to him. His warm masculine scent tickled my senses. I refrained from breathing in deep, but I wanted to.
I growled, “Stop looking at me.”
“You have freckles on your nose.”
It alarmed me that he was studying me.
I threw him another dirty look before finishing up. I stepped back, feeling light-headed. “You’re done.”
He reached up and tugged at it. “Thanks.”
I turned away from him, feeling the need to escape. He had neatly hung his clothes in the bag and zipped it shut. “I’ll bring this bag to the office tomorrow.”
“How do I look?”
I gave him a cursory glance. His tuxedo looked tailored for his body. It probably had been. The contrast with his messy hair and dark stubble added to his devil-may-care attitude, which made his whole look even more intoxicating. I avoided looking at his mouth.
You look like a million bucks. “You’re fine.”
“You’re not coming to the gala?”
“At five hundred dollars a plate, it’s above my pay grade.” I lifted the clothing bag and folded it over my arm. “I’ll be invoicing you for the gas it took to drive over to your place.”
I sounded petty and churlish, but I didn’t care. I needed to create some distance from the intimacy we had shared, and nothing created a barrier faster than reminding someone you worked for them.
A smile tugged at his face. No matter how much spite I threw at the guy, he seemed to find it amusing. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
“You should get in there.”
“I will.” But he didn’t move. Instead, he stood there, looking at me. “You don’t like me.”
“Don’t take it personally.”
“Why not?”
“Why shouldn’t you take it personally?”
“Yeah.”
“Because you’re you and I’m me.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Well, that’s the answer you’re getting.”
“You’re like a baby Krista, all teeth and claws.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
Laughter punched out of him, changing his entire face to something close to perfection. I dropped my gaze from his face because sometimes he was so beautiful that it hurt to look at him.
I added, “You need to get in there. You have an award to receive.”
“Mark Ashford is receiving the award. I only have to stand beside him.”
Mark Ashford was the GM of the Vancouver Wolves. He was also a hard-ass who demanded perfection. “This is your opportunity to show Ashford you are a responsible member of his team.”
“I am responsible.”
“You also have a reputation that precedes you. Krista worked hard to get you this gig. Don’t blow it.”
His eyes never left my face. “You liked the view?”
I opened the door and gestured for him to move. “Yes, your million-dollar view is almost as nice as the one I have from my shitty apartment.”
He moved to the door but paused in front of me. I tilted my head back to look up at him.
“Thanks for your help.”
I swallowed. “Just doing my job.”
Only when he moved past me could I bring air into my lungs. Without speaking further, I took off in the opposite direction from him, needing to put as much distance between us as possible.
