Page 13 of The Huckleberry Bookshop

Mullens didn’t see Athena as that vindictive and cruel, though. And involving her publishing team in a prank against him was too likely to backfire on her. Plus he had a cell phone, and could call for help, foiling her plan.

He shook off his paranoia and eased through the building’s rear door, allowing his eyes to adjust to the limited light in the windowless space. His agent had been quick, with barely forty-eight hours passing between Mullens’ get-me-in-the-cookbook request and now wondering if he was in the right place to shoot a cooking video.

A cooking video with Athena Gavras. Boy, was that ever a mine field.

He focused on getting his head back in the game. Time to play nice, give her a peace offering, woo the camera and win the day.

Hearing voices, and spotting a shaft of light coming from a room up ahead, he wove through a maze of stacked boxes, wondering if hoarders ever felt claustrophobic.

The well-lit room turned out to be a kitchen.

Athena had her back to him and was wearing a lightweight, hot pink sweater that clung to her generous curves. Her shiny brown locks hung loose over her shoulders. He’d bet she had the softest hair, similar to that model he’d dated on and off during his rookie season.

A bright light and tripoded camera were positioned across the counter from where she was standing, a stove and a doorway to the back storage area at her back. A slender man with a goatee was lecturing her on loosening up and making the camera her friend.

“Hey, am I late?” Mullens asked, shrugging out of his Dragons jacket. As requested by the team’s PR demon-lady he was wearing a Dragons jersey for the video. Nuvella had called him earlier that morning reminding him about wardrobe, as well as the small fact that he’d be representing his team in these videos. In other words, behave.

Athena turned toward him, her jaw tight. “I thought we weren’t doing team paraphernalia.”

He set the gift he’d brought her on the edge of the counter, grabbed the hem of his jersey and began peeling it off.

Nuvella stood up from where she’d been perched on a box in the corner, commanding, “Jersey and hat, Mullens.” Her voice was even firmer as she turned to Athena. “I made it clear.”

“No hats,” said the man by the camera.

Mullens paused, the shirt half off.

“This isn’t a Dragons thing,” Athena argued. “No jersey.”

“Hats cause too many shadows.”

“Jersey on, Mullens.”

He dropped his team colors back over his T-shirt and shot Athena a wry look, but her head was down, her lips pressed in a firm line.

“Let’s have you over here.” The man with the goatee grabbed Mullens’ arm and steered him to the other side of the counter, stopping him beside Athena. “Pretend to cook something and I’ll critique.”

Eggs, mushrooms, spinach, shredded broccoli crowns and cheese—probably low-fat—were measured out in bowls, waiting to be made into what he guessed was Athena’s egg-white omelet recipe. A simple, filling meal from her first cookbook.

“You’re critiquing our pretend cooking?” he asked, wondering how this was supposed to work.

“No, our on-camera chemistry and personality. Our brand.” Athena lifted her hands in exasperation, looking as though she was about to cast a dark spell on the man with the sparse facial hair.

“Hello, Tina. Good to see you.” Mullens gave her a warm smile that went unreturned unless an exasperated sigh counted. He grabbed the small black box from the counter and handed it to her.

“What’s this?” Her eyes narrowed as she stroked the box’s velvet exterior with her thumb.

“A hostess gift.”

“Sorry? A what?”

“Open it.”

She lifted the lid, revealing white-gold hockey stick earrings, each with a puck that held what he figured was her birthstone, an emerald. She looked up at him in confusion.

“It’s hockey themed.”

And, he was realizing, a bit much.

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