But I already understood. My father spent decades working his way up to the military brass; I recognized the need for loyalty and charisma, and Gunnar Evaldson had enough rizz to inspire the loyalty. That probably meant good things. I hoped.
Anyway, none of this was new information. Like my dad had taught me, I’d done my research, treating this job post as a potential operation for which I needed to gather intelligence.
Lydia went on. “We’re under the marketing and promotions department, and Noelle Fischer is a truly excellent boss. She works really, really hard to showcase the best of the organization and its employees, not just the players. In fact, next week, we’re starting a new series that highlights the equipment team. Those guys know their stuff.”
“That sounds interesting,” I said.
“It is. Oh, don’t worry, you’ll settle in quickly.”
She offered a smile, though I noted it didn’t reach her eyes. Maybe she still wasn’t sure about me. But she seemed to be thoughtful, so I needed to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“We have a lot of images and ideas, and the reason we chose you over the other candidates was your eye for aesthetics,” she explained, “and your ability to condense difficult concepts into hashtags.”
I nodded. I’d gone through a rigorous interview process to get here, to my dream position.
“In fact, we’ll start now with the images we want to sprinkle in throughout this next week. I’ll walk you through our current process, and then we have a meeting with Noelle and Gunnar to discuss how we can clarify and improve our messaging.”
I licked my lips, throat suddenly dry. “I’m meeting with Mr. Evaldson today?”
Lydia frowned as she nodded. “Yes.” She drew out the word. “We all meet regularly with department heads and top management, and you met him last night, anyway. While that was super awkward, dumping soda on him, we can’t let that stop us.” She smiled, one full of calculation and teeth. “This will be better.”
No, it wouldn’t, which was precisely why Lydia was putting me in this position. I rested my hands on my fluttering stomach. “Oh-kay.”
Lydia’s confused frown morphed into understanding. “There’s no need to be nervous. We’ll have checkpoints in place to make sure we catch any potential errors. And that’s not because you’re new,” she added. “It’s because this is the public face of the team, and we want the brand to reflect our values.”
“No pressure,” I murmured.
Patting the back of my desk chair, she said, “Oh, there’s pressure, but you brought that on yourself by acting the fool last evening. Now, I’ll let you finish getting settled. The meeting’s at three.”
My stomach plummeted to the bottom of my stylish pumps. I’d been right to be nervous, as it seemed Lydia was determined to keep me off balance. Everyone in the city, possibly the world, knew of the billionaire oilman turned NHL owner. Gunnar Evaldson’s philanthropic achievements rivaled those of the Rockefellers, and his team’s rise through the ranks of the NHL were storied, but equally as well-known was the fact that Gunnar Evaldson suffered no nonsense and even fewer fools. He created a plan, stuck to it, and saw it to completion. Rinse and repeat.
That was why, even with his generous seven- and even eight-figure donations, he remained one of the world’s wealthiest. My mother used to say white stuck to rice because it knew a good thing. I’d never completely understood that saying, but it seemed to apply to Gunnar Evaldson.
And now I knew he was even more charismatic in person. I might have spent all of one minute in his company, but I suspected the man’s icy blue eyes—more crystalline and more precise than any I’d ever encountered—had catalogued everything about me. What he’d done with that information after the fact, though, remained to be seen.
While I enjoyed the morning of meeting my coworkers and getting to sign in to my laptop for the first time, I dreaded three o’clock. But that didn’t stop it from arriving. When it was time, I followed Lydia to the meeting with a pounding heart and sweaty palms.
“Ms. Monroe. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Gunnar said as Lydia introduced us—thankfully not bringing up the Great Soda Incident.
I blinked up at him, noting the nearly imperceptible gray at his temples that fanned lightly into his thick blond hair. It looked as effortless as the cut of his bespoke suit. Now that I could study him, Gunnar Evaldson was like Chris Hemsworth with more money and the ability to buy a hockey team. My ovaries did the cha-cha.
“I’m glad to see you without your soda today,” he added, his voice like warm honey over gravel.
I smoothed my hair. “Well, I’m pretty sure I’ll never order another one. I don’t really like the stuff, and last night was enough to end any positive vibe it might have had.” I shrugged. “It’s just something my father used to get when we went to hockey games together, mainly because my mother refused to let us have sugary drinks at home. It was our thing.” I pressed my lips together to stop my rambling.
“I make you nervous.” His mouth compressed, though his eyes sparked, causing an answering fizz in my chest.
I’d never been this aware of a man before.
And I was not just aware; I was attracted. I swallowed, trying to force down the blush of awareness and need that had crept up my neck. “Nervous? No, not at all.” My inner snark kicked in. “Just contemplating whether I should feign a sudden illness to escape this meeting. Totally normal first-day jitters.”
“Unnecessary. I get the best ideas from engaged professionals who understand that they have more expertise in their area than I do. I’m here to learn. From you.”
Was there anything sexier than a successful man looking me dead in the eye and telling me I could teach him? Nope. Nothing.
While I’d teetered on the brink before, I now fell into complete infatuation, right then and there.
I lowered my lashes, not wanting Gunnar to see the desire that had to be broadcasting from my face. He was everything I wanted and more that I hadn’t yet fantasized about. Gunnar Evaldson had become my unattainable sex god, better than any book boyfriend, and all in the last sixty seconds. I was so fucked…because I wouldn’t ever get to fuck him.
