Page 25 of Skate the Line

Something crosses his face that I can’t decipher. “I’m sorry, what?”

I glance away because it makes me more uneasy to look at him while explaining. “If you act in an unlawful manner toward me…” Embarrassment stains every free inch of my skin. “Do you accept my termination without a proper advanced notice?”

Heavy silence flows through the room like a wave. I finally gain the nerve to glance at Rhodes. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips are parted slightly. Our eyes snag, and I hate that I can’t read him.

“I…” He clears his throat. “Yes. It goes both ways.”

I inhale shallow breaths until my reservations lessen, and the familiar dark eyes fade from my memory. “Could you add that to the contract?” I ask quietly.

He nods, and I’m thankful he doesn’t question it.

I take the pen and quickly initial the rest of the contract before sliding it across the table and into his possession.

His large hand clasps my sealed fate.

“Now that the contract is signed, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Oh my god, is this an interview?

“Okay.” I take a sip of my water because I suddenly feel parched.

“I saw that you took an Uber last night.”

I nod.

“I’ve hired a driver for you and Ellie. That way, she will always have a way to and from places when I am not able to take her. Are you okay with that?”

My nerves instantly lessen. “Yes, of course. I do have my license, but I was afraid my car wouldn’t make it here from Washington.”

Rhodes studies me. “Washington? That’s where you’re from?”

“Yes.”

He places his elbows on the table and seems more at ease. “Why are you in Chicago?”

I pause.

Lying seems wrong.

There’s a weird tug on my morals that begs for me to tell the truth. I don’t know if it’s my integrity or if it’s the way he’s looking at me from across the table that has me lingering between a lie and the truth.

The media has labeled Rhodes Volkova as stoic, intimidating, impassive, private, and one of the prickliest hockey players in the league. But there is something about him that appeals to me. Sitting across the table from him, I have my reservations, and it’s clear he has his own too. However, I feel like I know him, and I can’t even begin to describe that.

“You know what—” Rhodes knuckle raps against the table. He stands a moment later, and I’m suddenly reminded why the media calls him intimidating. “It’s none of my business.”

I agree. It isn’t his business.

But tell me why I felt the littlest push to tell him anyway?

His cologne engulfs me as he walks past. I follow after him like it’s some sort of spell.

“Can you start tomorrow?” he asks.

“I'll be here at eight on the dot.” I walk past him, desperate to feel the cool windy-city air against my flushed cheeks.

“Marco will take you home.” Rhodes flicks his chin toward the sidewalk.

Marco?

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