Page 97 of Brooklynaire
“Please let her try her card? Or radio inside,” I say coolly. “I’m the assistant to Hugh Major, the General Manager, and he’s expecting us. I can show you my BruisersID…”
He holds up a hand. “Listen, girls. This might work for you sometimes, but not on my watch. I know it’s fun to stalk the players,but…”
“Are youkiddingme?” I sputter. “We’re not…stalking the team. Weworkfor the team. It’s different!” I feel myself becoming a little unhinged. This shit happens frequently enough, but today I just can’t takeit.
“No girlfriends neither,” the guyadds.
I’m about to leap on his giant body and choke him when Heidi Jo sort of nudges me gently aside with one of her slim little hips. “How ‘bout I call the G.M. out here to vouch for us? He’srullybusy but he’s likely getting impatient without us so I’m sure he’d be willing to answer your questions.” She smiles innocently up at the Neanderthal who’s giving ustrouble.
The giant man blinks. She’s calling his bluff, and he’s having a moment of doubt. Getting reamed by the G.M. of an NHL team probably isn’t on his to-do list fortoday.
“Lemme see your ID again,miss?”
She hands it over quickly and Mr. Refrigerator squints atit.
If this works, I’m going to owe Heidi Jo. But it’ll be worthit.
My ankle throbs while I wait to hear the verdict. He must be a really slowreader.
“Imma think about it a minute,” he saysslowly.
“You do that,” I can’t resistsaying.
Heidi Jo makes a warning face and pulls me aside, to give the big man his space. “Easy,” she whispers. “I’ve gotthis.”
I take a deep breath in through my nose. “You’re right,” I say, even though it hurts me. “You’re sugar-on-top routine is working better than mysass.”
The compliment thrills her, and I get a big puppy-like smile. “I saw you do the same thing just last week. Learning from the master.” She pulls out her phone in a showy display of urgency. She dials up her Southern accent, too. “I’m fixing to call in the big guns before an entire hockey team misses lunch. They’ll berullyupset.”
That’s when a shiny limousine pulls up where the bus was a few minutes ago. We all turn to see the chauffeur step out of the driver’s side, cross the car, and open the door for none other than NateKattenberger.
How many times have I seen Nate get out of a car? Hundreds? Thousands? This time my belly flips over. His sleek body unfolds, revealing his trademark hoodie, the sleeves tugged up to reveal strong forearms. He’s wearing hipster jeans and black suede kicks with a retrosole.
I spent years trying not to notice how attractive he is. But now a switch has been flipped and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unseeit.
He grabs a leather duffel out of the car and hoists it onto a shoulder. Then he struts over to us with a serious frown, looking like a runway model as the breeze tosses hishair.
Even Mr. Refrigerator looks a little turned on. Or maybe I’m justprojecting.
“Miss Rowley,” Nate purrs. He doesn’t make eye contact but his voice lingers on my name in a way that makes me shiver. “Miss Pepper. What are we doing standing around the back entrance?” He gives Mr. Refrigerator a piercing look, and of course the guy sweeps the door open with his own security card and ushers all of usinside.
Of course hedoes.
“Don’t you clobber the guy, Becca,” my intern warns. “Just keep itmovin.’”
Nate chuckles, and the sound vibrates inside my chest. It’s almost enough to distract me from the lingering pain in my ankle. “Having a little trouble withsecurity?”
“Just the usual sexist crap.Mr. Kattenberger,” I add to be apill.
“We were just about to outsmart ‘im,” Heidi Joadds.
“I’m sure you were,” he says. And then his gaze does a sweep of me from head to toe. It’s entirely gratuitous. I’m half annoyed at his lack of subtlety, and half pleased by hisinterest.
Heidi Jo gives us a funny little smile. “I just remembered a little errand I have to run,” she says. “If you’ll both excuse me.” Then she darts away, her heels clicking along the concrete hallway. Then she turns a corner anddisappears.
Uh-oh. The morning after the previous incident—when she walked in on Nate and me standing way too close together—she’d asked me point-blank if Nate was my boyfriend. I’d denied it because he wasn’t. But now he is. More orless…
This thought is interrupted by a certain billionaire who steps into my personal space, leans me against the wall, and kisses myneck.
