Page 9 of Game Changer

“Oh my God,” I say in a panic. “I am so sorry.”

I look up and into the face of what I can only describe as perfection. Some men are good-looking because they have a haircut that is the crowning glory of a semi-handsome face. Others are blessed with exquisite bone structure. The shape of a man’s lips can seal the deal for me on what would otherwise be considered a cute façade, but the drop-dead gorgeous man I just crashed into ticks off every single one of those boxes.

He’s striking to look at, and even the stench of the dip can’t dampen the smell of his cologne. It’s a combination of citrus and spice. It’s intoxicating.

His brown-eyed gaze trails over my face before a smile splits his lips. “Tell me one thing. Is it toxic?”

“Is what toxic?” I ask, even though the sleeve of his suit jacket is still covered in Dicey Dip.

He moves his arm slightly. “This.”

For some reason only known to the furthest recesses of my mind, I reach up and glide my fingers over the green mess to slide it back into the container. “It’s Dicey Dip.”

“It’s edible?” he questions, his dark eyebrows drawing together. “You’re sure about that?”

“Very.” I nod as I tug a tissue from my purse and wipe my fingers clean. I toss the tissue toward a trashcan less than a foot away. Miraculously, it sails right in. “My cousin is a chef. She made it.”

“A chef? You’re using that term loosely, aren’t you?” He smiles again, and the earth moves under my feet. At least it feels like it does.

Common sense would blame that on the sanitation truck pulling up next to the curb a few feet from where we’re standing. The rumbling of its engine sends a vibration through the pavement and onto the sidewalk.

“I’ll pay for dry cleaning,” I offer as I stare at his face. “If you take the suit off now, I can drop it off on my way home.”

The laugh that flows out of him sweeps over me. It’s deep and genuine. People rushing past us turn to look, and every single one has a smile on their face.

“I’m not shy by any means.” He lowers his voice slightly. “But if I strip right here and now, it’ll cause a big stir.”

I bow my head at the mental image of this man taking off his clothes in front of me. Is it my imagination, or did he put extra emphasis on the wordbig?

“I’ll handle the dry cleaning,” he says. “It’s not a problem.”

My gaze pops back up to meet his. “No, I insist. I’ll cover the cost.”

“Buy me a coffee tomorrow, and we’ll call it even.” He extends a hand toward me. “I’m William Knight.”

Even his name exudes strength and character.

I hesitate only briefly before I shove my hand into his. “Opal Waverly. It’s nice to meet you, William.”

5

William

I pridemyself on smelling like every woman’s fantasy and the ideal all men aspire to, but right now, I’m turning heads and noses left and right for all the wrong reasons.

I should walk away from this woman and get myself to a place where I can ditch the suit jacket and whatever the hell this putrid green slime is. Opal Waverly bravely pushed most of it off my sleeve, but the remnants are rapidly seeping into the expensive fabric of this custom-made jacket. I might as well burn it in my fireplace.

“What time do you want to meet for coffee tomorrow?” I’m the one who asks that.

That’s because I’m in some sort of trance. Call it charmed by beauty or mesmerized by a smile, but Opal Waverly is undoubtedly the most captivating woman I’ve ever seen.

“Um,” she says, but her gaze is doing this hopscotch thing all over my face. It’s bouncing from my forehead to my eyes and then my lips before it shoots to my jawline. “I’m not sure.”

Is she trying to get out of our coffee date? Meeting. It’s a meeting, not a date, because Percy Haines hired me to help him grab her interest and her heart.

I look down at the front of the black T-shirt she’s wearing. It’s a great match for her faded, ripped jeans and black boots.

What the fuck am I doing?

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