There was the fierce competitor I’d read up on, and without thinking, I blurted out, “You look perfectly fit to me.”
A dark brow rose, and he flashed me his trademark cocky grin. “Thanks for noticing. Just gonna go for a quick run, now that I finished my lifting.”
Dammit. Why did my blush meter work overdrive whenever I was close to this man? I needed to work on that.
“Anyway…” My cooldown complete, I hopped off the treadmill. “I’m gonna hit the shower and go home. I’ll be at your hotel by eight thirty, after breakfast.”
“No, don’t do that.” He frowned, and I squinted at him in confusion.
“Don’t do what? Shower or eat?” I sniffed myself. “Trust me, you do not want me sitting next to you and your eggs smelling like this.”
“Ha-ha. Look, I’ll be here for about another half hour. Come to the suite, and we’ll have breakfast. We can go over the day’s schedule. I have to be at training camp by ten.” Those turquoise eyes twinkled at me. “Looks like you’ll be furniture shopping on your own after all.”
I wanted to be annoyed but couldn’t. More often than not, I’d shared breakfast with Dev and Brody, which I was sure Patrick Sloane knew. As a matter of fact, I was sure he knew everything about how I worked with Dev. No way I could refuse in good faith. Besides, I kind of didn’t want to. Much as I hated to admit it, I had no complaints so far. I’d made something out of nothing, arising from my past with him and what I’d read on social media. I should’ve known better. Everything I’d anticipated was in my head. He didn’t know who I was. Patrick had been nothing but professional, and my decision to go to Intensity had stemmed from my own curiosity to see him. He was a free man and could do whatever he wanted with whomever.
“I think I have an idea of what you’ll like, and I promise I won’t get you anything you’ll hate.”
Serious now, Patrick nodded. “I trust you. Don’t forget to stop at the front desk and get your key card.” He turned on the machine and started to run in earnest. “See you later.”
Leaving him, I walked home. I felt…good. Almost happy. It took me a while to recognize the emotion, as I tended to shoulder other people’s emotions to the extent of ignoring my own.
I showered and put on work clothes—a button-down shirt and slacks—then checked Patrick’s emails. It was the usual requests for interviews, gushing fan mail, and junk. Realizing I was going to be late, I grabbed my iPad, phone, keys, and wallet and took a car uptown.
I stopped at the front desk, and the clerk smiled and handed me an envelope with a key card. “Mr. Sloane asked us to make sure you have this.”
“Thanks.”
I took the elevator up to the suite and entered, but he wasn’t in the living room.
“Patrick? It’s Fallon. I’m here.”
“Be right out.”
I set up my iPad and read through Patrick’s social media, checking first to see if there was any negative press that would require him to make a statement. While technically my job was personal assistant, it tended to merge with the role of public relations, and I would refer any media stories to the Kings organization for them to handle.
“Hey, sorry. I was on the phone.” When Patrick entered the room, I’d have sworn it was as if a switch was flipped, and the energy soared. He wore a pair of sweats and a Brooklyn Kings T-shirt. His thick biceps bulged, and I had to bite down on my tongue.
“No worries. I was just checking your socials.”
He grinned. “What trouble am I getting into today?”
I laughed, sharing his good mood. “Surprisingly, nothing.”
“Well, the day is young.” He stretched, and I had to look away from the enticing peek of tanned, ripped abs as his shirt hiked up, revealing a dark treasure trail.
God, the things I could do with that…to that…
“Fallon?”
I blinked away from my fantasy of licking a wet path past the waistband and dipping my tongue into his navel.
“Sorry. What is it?”
Amused, he handed me the room-service menu. “I asked what you wanted for breakfast.”
Face hot, I studied the booklet. “Uh, the American is fine. Eggs scrambled and whole-wheat toast.”
“Okay.”
