Prologue
3 years ago
I’ll kill that stupidly handsome idiot if I ever see him again. But that’s an issue for later.
For now, I wipe my clammy hands on my work skirt, glad the table conceals my bouncing leg as I sit across from the Boston Bandits’ Digital Content Director, John Mullens, and Social Media Manager, Stacy Caldwell.
Mr. Mullens’s eyes flick to the soccer ball-sized coffee stain on my white blouse again, which I’d hoped would be covered under my suit. He shakes his head, disapproval flashing across his wrinkling face.
My shoulders deflate at the realization that this internship is as good as lost after his more than clear reaction to my ruined shirt. But Stacy, who tried to make me feel more at ease throughout the entire interview, takes a softer approach and still gives me a wink, hoping to soften the blow from her superior and hype me up. I give her a forced smile, which I’m sure looks more like a grimace.
But I couldn’t help it. The stain that is. It’s not my fault that a six-foot giant hunk of a man couldn’t see where he was going and collided right into me at a turn in the corridor of the company building, splashing his coffee all over my ironed blouse.
I wish I could’ve reamed him out, but I was already looking like a hobo. I couldn’t afford to be late, too.
My blood pressure spikes at the thought of that mountain of a man as I barely keep my jaw from snapping together by fisting my hands under the table. He had no right to ruin this for me with that gorgeous face of his.
Mr. Mullens snaps the file with my CV, references, and portfolio shut, jarring me from my murderous thoughts. He slides the file towards me, his voice cold as he informs me, “If you’re selected, you’ll hear from us.”
His tone makes it apparent that it’s highly unlikely for me to be chosen for this social media internship. Disappointed, I stand and take my cue to leave with a muttered thank you. The pitying smile that Stacy gives me follows me out the door of the office.
Once outside, I rest against the wall and heave a tired sigh, knowing I bombed the interview, and it’s all because of him. The Boston Bandits was the only hockey team with an opening for an internship for grads. That means my dreams of working with a hockey team have gone down the gutter, like this stained blouse will. And it’s all because of that stupid hockey player.
God! It’s a travesty that I love the game, because I really hate the players—especially those who become the reason for me losing this internship.
Infuriated, but still keeping my calm, I move to leave the building. The silhouette of a tall figure startles me the moment I take a turn in the corridor. My eyes shut on a gasp as my hands fly to my chest, the file dropping on the floor.
“I’m sorry.” A raspy voice assures me that today is not the day I meet a ghost and discover the debated existence of the supernatural world.
My eyes flutter open only to fall on the mop of dark hair and blue eyes, whose owner ruined such an important opportunity for me. “You!?” I exclaimed, my tone accusing.
He straightens from where he was picking up my file for me–really, the least he could do after almost giving me a heart attack. “I hope your interview went better than your shirt situation.”
My brow arches at the audacity. “You mean the shirtyou ruined? No, it didn’t. Turns out ‘coffee casualty’ isn’t a great first impression on a hiring panel.”
He winces and has the decency to look guilty. With a sheepish smile on his face, he apologizes, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been more careful and watched where I was heading.” His chin tips towards the coffee stain on my clothes as he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. His muscles flex the moment he does that.
God! They look strong.
Why the hell am I noticing anything about him at all!?
I chide myself for getting sidetracked. Snatching my file from him with more force than necessary, I spit, “Yes, you should have.” My lips set in a straight line as I fold my hands against my chest, the file hanging off to the side.
His eyes drop to my breasts, and I don’t think I imagine the heat in them.
His hands slide into his trouser pockets as he rises on his toes and sets back. “Can I offer you an apology coffee?” My eyes flare at his suggestion. “Or maybe a drink?” he corrects himself, thinking that it’s coffee that I have a problem with.
“There’s no coffee or drink you can buy me that can get me to retake that interview. And I don’t date walking disasters.” Words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.
His mouth kicks up at my jab, and I know I walked right into that. “Who said anything about dating? Maybe I just don’t like knowing I ruined something for you.” He shrugs, his broad shoulders taking up space I wanna intrude on.
Fuck, no!
“You wanna do something for me? Then how about you start by stayingfaraway from me?” I say, before I do something insane like climb him.
He tsks. “That’s gonna be tough. You’re interviewing for my team.”
My brow arches. “I don’t think I’m getting it, thanks to someone.”
