Page 1 of Whiskey Wednesdays

Chapter 1

I’d never met my dad’s employer before. But the tall, overpowering man standing in front of me firing off instructions matched his description.

Connor McCoy was more intimidating and arresting in person than in his online photos. He had a broken nose and a scar across his sharp cheekbone, and his dark hair and eyes enhanced his harsh magnetism.

I stood in my bare feet, watering my dad’s flowerpots when he spotted me from his oversized garage and strode up. My dad lived in the caretaker cottage on Connor’s estate, and worked as his landscaper and property manager. I was here visiting him for the weekend.

Connor stared down at his phone while he talked to me. “There’s a to-do list hanging on the fridge in the main house. When I get back from the arena, we can exchange contact information. Sherrill, my admin in Canada, will go over your responsibilities.”

I held up my free hand. “My name is–”

“I prefer texting. Have her send me your contact information.”

He obviously thought I was one of his new employees. “I’m not–”

He cut me off again. “We’ll talk later, but make sure you get my daughter’s birthday presents sent out. She’s turning five and likes anything girlish and pink.”

I paused at that. My dad hadn’t mentioned Mr. McCoy had a child.

“I don’t want your daughter to be disappointed. Listen–”

He talked over me for thethird time.

“She won’t be. Just pick out a few nice things and get them sent today.” He paused for a split second to look me up and down, then went back to his phone.

I tried again. “Sir, my name is Isabella Cruz. My father works for you, but I–”

“Good to know. I need to take off, but we’ll talk later.” He turned and started walking away.

“Hey, you!” I dropped the watering can and let out a shrill whistle in case yelling didn’t get his attention. So much for keeping my temper in check.

He stopped dead and turned around slowly. His eyebrow winged up and his mouth tightened. But he wasn’t talking over me.

I put my hands on my hips. “First, please stop interrupting. It’s rude and annoying. Second, I’mnotthe person you think I am. Javier Cruz is my father, and I’m here visiting him.”

Dad mentioned he’d only talked to his employer twice since he started working for him almost two years ago. I doubted this guy even knew my dad’s name.

It was obvious from the immaculate estate and lush desert landscaping that Dad worked hard and knew what he was doing. Even if this jerk didn’t appreciate it. I was already annoyed at theman for making my dad feel inconsequential, and his dismissive manner didn’t help.

Connor McCoy was a retired professional hockey player, also known as The Hammer. He had hot, rich, entitled asshole written all over him.

I held up my hand, trying to waylay more instructions. “Mr. McCoy, I don’t work for you.”

Connor studied my small but curvy frame. I’d been doing schoolwork all afternoon, my hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I had on an old black tank top and white board shorts. It was still hot during the day here in October.

“Then who the hell are you?”

Geez, really? I was standing in front of my dad’s little caretaker house watering his plants. And I’d justtoldhim who I was.

“Not your assistant. Obviously.”

He stepped toward me. “How’d you get on the property?”

My temper flared and I leaned into him. “My dad picked me up from the airport this morning. He’s your on-site property manager and landscaper here. In case you didn’t know.”

“Huh.” His eyes swept me again.

“I’m visiting him this weekend over my fall break.” I worked to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. And failed. “Like I just told you.”

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