Page 33 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
A billionaire who wants to take our town away from us.
This news is going to spread like wildfire,I think as I see several gossipy Maple Falls residents in attendance,but we need the whole town to help us find a way to stop it.
I’ve already heard most of what Ashlyn shares, but the details still land like a punch to the gut. Victor MacDonald’s heir has appeared out of the woodwork and wants the land back. It seems he has rights to part of the arena land and a stretch of Main Street too.
There’s a loud bang as one council member slams a fist on the table. Others erupt into overlapping questions. I do what I always do when things feel like they’re spinning—I start calculating. Options. Costs. Time.
Then Ashlyn gestures to three men standing nearby, including Troy Hart. But what she says doesn’t connect for me.
“We have representatives here from the Ice Breakers who are going to start us off by hosting a bachelor auction.”
Bachelor auction?
Across the table, Mrs. Fishman lets out a gasp so delighted that I expect her to start fanning herself with the town charter. “We’re going to sell men?”
My brain does not stall. It crashes. Full system failure.
“Auction?” I mouth, eyes wide.
“Of men,” someone confirms, far too cheerfully.
“Not just any men,” someone nearby says with a giggle. “TheIce Breakers men.”
A cough escapes me—an ungodly sound that’s part gag, part what-have-we-come-to wheeze. I clutch my notepad like it might save me from whatever reality we’re now living in.
“You okay?” The woman beside me leans in.
No, I am not okay. Because unless there are other eligible bachelors hiding in the bakery basement, I know exactly who’s going to be center stage for this. Tall. French. Muscles for days. Motorcycle. Smiles like romance on a stick.
Clément.
Sweet heavens above, we’re going to put Clément Rivière on a platform and ask people to bid for him like he’s a vintage wine. And the worst part? He’ll probably love it. Flash that smirk. Speak in French and melt the front row.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I can already hear it.Bonjour, ladies. Who wants a night with Maple Falls’ finest import?
Someone will have an attack of the vapors. Someone will faint.
And someone—not me, obviously—will place an outrageous bid and walk away with my… my…
Not my anything. We are not a thing. I don’t even want a thing.
And yet the thought of someone else winning that date sends a zip of possessiveness through me so strong I nearly drop my pen.
Now I have to sit through the rest of this meeting pretending I’m not planning how to sabotage a fictional woman who doesn’t even exist yet.
CHAPTER 12
CLÉMENT
The beret itches.
It’s not even mine—it’s a prop our social media manager, Clara, found in a box and thrust at me like I was supposed to feel emotionally connected to it. It smells old. I tug it down over my ears, hoping it hides the fact that my soul is slowly leaving my body. I adjust myself on the ice, feeling exposed without all my goalie pads. I don’t mind showing off my goalie tricks, like the fancy one I dubbed “The French Kiss,” or even reciting poetry.
But when it’s just me… it feels strange.
I bet no one here would ever believe it. That’s the problem with having a reputation and a persona to uphold.
Behind the phone camera, Clara flaps her hand. “Perfect, Clément! Now give us one of those smoldering looks! The fanslovethat.”
