“Sure.”
“On the day I came for you at your crappy apartment, we went for lunch at Craft Burgers and Brew. You mentioned your family had relocated.”
Suspicious green eyes narrow in on me.
“Yesterday, you said it would’ve been a tragedy had you followed in your parents’ footsteps. Are they dealing with gambling… drugs… or shopping addiction?”
“Um…” She shifts on the bed. “You know…” More shifting. “The perils of having a dysfunctional family.”
“I know a thing or two about that. Do you have any siblings?”
“Um…” She clears her throat. “One sister.”
“I’m sensing you two aren’t close?”
She holds my gaze for several beats. “My sister passed away not long ago.”
Shit.Sensitive subject.“I’m sorry, Harley.”
“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know.” Sadness… or is it anger veils her eyes. Her jaw is locked tight and all lightness has dissipated from her.
Of course she’s mourning her sister. And she’s probably mourning the fact her parents have relocated, leaving her alone in New York.
You’re poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.
I change the subject. “What do you want to do today?”
“You’re not popping by Grazie Mille?”
“For the past week, I’ve lived there. I’m not going in today unless there’s an emergency.”
“Fingers crossed there isn’t one.”
“There better not be.” I rub my stubbled jaw. “I’ll go in next week to meet with prospective buyers on behalf of the owner,but other than that, the interim manager should have everything under control.”
“Good news.”
“Back to my question,” I say. “Today is Sunday, and I’m yours for the day. How do you want to use me?”
Her eyes widen. “That’s a loaded question. Can I use your tongue all day long?”
“You can use my tongue when we get back later today. Come on, Goldilocks, it promises to be a beautiful spring day. What do you want to do?”
She taps a finger against her chin. “Hmm… I don’t know. I’m open.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“What did you have in mind? Should I be worried?”
“No to the latter question. And for the first one, you’re going to learn how to skate.”
She flinches. “Why would I do that?”
“You’re fake dating a former NHL All-Star player and you’re his social media manager slash public relations liaison who’ll take care of his annual hockey charity. You should know what it’s like to feel the ice under your blades.”
She blinks. “That sounds like torture. I’m not all that athletic. Chances are, I’ll injure myself.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” I say. “But before we make a move, I need you to take care of me.”
