Page 45 of Crazy Thing

Parker sighs in defeat. “Fine, I made that up. I’m off to find some moisturizer. I’ll be right back."

Once we’re alone, Raines is grinning at me, his hand resting on the counter, palm facing up. “So, canIget a palm reading?”

“Sure.” Darius is still glaring at me through the glass door, so I shine my brightest smile in Raines’s direction, giving him all my attention. I cradle his big hand in mysmall one, leaning closer to inspect the network of lines in his palm. “What would you like to know?”

The flirty hockey player leans in, too, his forehead almost brushing mine. “What do I want to know? Is there any chance I can convince the cute tarot reader to go grab a drink with me later on tonight?”

Wait—did this totally gorgeous, totally charming hockey player just ask me on a date? No freaking way.It doesn’t mean anything, Ziggy. You should know that by now.

He’s interested in sex. Only sex. That’s the way men operate when it comes to me.

Before I can open my mouth to spew out a playful comeback, a massive paw clamps down on Raines’s shoulder from behind, jerking him upright.

Darius boldly looms over the hockey player and me. “Go find yourself another booty call, Raines.” His fiery irises zero in on me. “Ziggy is mine for the rest of the night.”

19

DARIUS

Smirking with satisfaction, I watch as the anxious hockey player skitters away. Easton Raines is an idiot.

Thankfully, he’sjustsmart enough to realize that getting on my bad side could mean risking his golden meal ticket. I do co-own the hockey team he plays for, after all.

Glad he made the right choice today.

Ziggy won’t let me off the hook as easily, though. The minute Raines disappears, she turns her fiery attention on me. “Excuse me. I was in the middle of a conversation.” She plants her fists on her hips.

I shoot her an unbothered glance. “That guy was trying to get in your pants.”

She snakes her neck, giving me all kinds of attitude. “Lucky for me, I’m wearing a skirt today.”

I pull out my phone and scroll over the screen like I’m bored. “Stay away from the hockey players. They’re up to no good.”

“Which is none of your business,” she retorts.

Returning my phone to my pocket, I make eye contactwith her. "You’re my assistant. He’s my hockey player. It’s my business.”

When I walk off, she abandons her cocktail pitcher on the counter and hustles after me, needing to have the last word.

“Abuse of power, much?!” she hisses. “Newsflash—I’m off the clock right now. So is there a reason why you’re in my personal bubble, ruining my Saturday evening?”

I shoulder my way through the crowd, up to the driveway where I’m parked. Ziggy stomps after me, so invested in this argument that she doesn’t even seem to realize that we’re leaving the party behind. “Something came up with one of my businesses,” I tell her.

“Yeah? Well, again—it’s Saturday evening.”

“And you’re on call,” I state plainly.

“On call?” she spits out.

“Yes. On call,” I repeat. “It was one of the conditions of your employment agreement.”

The sudden realization on her face letsmeknow thatsheknows I’m right. And she hates it.

To hide my smugness, I yank open the passenger side door of my car. She stubbornly folds her arms around her middle. We stare each other down.

“Get in the car, Ziggy.”

“You can go fuc—”

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