“Great.” I don’t know why I sound so moody right now. It isn’t doing anything to improve his idea of me. My eyes catch on something lacy and I hook a finger into it, holding it up. “Do you normally pick out panties for your employees,Coach?”
He stares at the underwear, cheekbones going pink. “Obviously, the stylist picked those out. I didn’t know what was damaged, so I told her to include everything.”
“Are you sure?”
Good, kind, professional Tate Ward would die before buying his employees panties. Especially pretty, lacy ones like these. Like everything, they look expensive. Teasing him is too easy, though.
“Jordan.”
The way he says my name, all stern like that, makes my mouth curve.
“Are you going to check to make sure I’m wearing them tomorrow at work? As part of my professional wardrobe?”
He drops his head and rubs the bridge of his nose with a long sigh.
I pick up a maroon balconette bra, nicer than anything I’ve ever worn beneath my clothes, and check the tag. All the prices have been removed. Appearing at my feet, the cat stares at the bra, transfixed.
“Wow, you even got my bra size right.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “Is that in my file at work, too, or did you make a lucky guess?”
His jaw tightens. I like this game. The cat reaches a paw out to claw at the bra and Tate scoops her up into his arms.
“The stylist guessed based on some photos from Dr. Greene.”
My eyebrows shoot up. So Georgia the traitor was involved in this. Interesting.
“Consider it a signing bonus,” he adds, eyes lingering on mine. “You need to dress for your new role.”
“I don’t need to look professional in order to do a good job.”
“No, you don’t.” He says it like he means it, like he truly doesn’t care what I wear to work. “But you’re going to have a lot of eyes on you, Jordan.” He works his jaw, studying me with an unreadable expression. “I thought it might make you feel more comfortable.”
I hate that he makes a good point. I hate that he’s so thoughtful, that he thinks about things most men wouldn’t.
There’s a few bags from Arc’teryx, though, which sells outdoorclothes. The gold standard of raincoats in Vancouver. That wouldn’t be professional clothing. And a shoebox labeledBlundstones. Again, great for rainy weather but not for an office where guys like Tate are wearing sharp custom suits.
“I’ll bring in a cabinet from the house for anything that doesn’t fit in the closet,” he says before I can argue.
“I’m not staying,” I say quickly. “I’ll find somewhere else to stay tonight.”
Obviously, I can’t stay here. Even if I love this little cottage.
Tate studies me with a frown, like he’s torn. “You should stay.”
I stare at him.
“No one uses this guest cottage except Bea. You’re going to be busy this season.” He looks at me, then away. “Finding a place last minute is going to be a nightmare. And I’ve seen the kind of place you chose for yourself.”
I don’t know what to say. Do I want to live in the cottage? Yes. Forever.
Do I want to sleep fifty feet from where Tate Ward sleeps? That seems risky. That seems like a bad decision that could lead to more bad decisions. Decisions that end in my total humiliation.
A tiny, stupid balloon of hope lifts in my chest. “Don’t tell me you’re actuallyworriedabout me,Coach?” My eyebrows lift and I’m smirking.
“Ross asked me to take care of you.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Making sure you have a roof over your head is the least I can do.”
Oh. The balloon deflates in my chest, sputtering around until it hits the ground. He’s doing this because he’s a stand-up guy. He looks out for me out of duty to my father.
“I can’t afford this place,” I admit, half-relieved and half-disappointed.
