Right. I’m a flake and he doesn’t want me to bail on the team. Of course.
“Um. Yeah. I’ll take you up on that offer.” I swallow. “To live in the guesthouse. Thank you, Tate. Again.”
I expect him to make a crack about me actually using my manners, but he gives me a pleased look. “You called me Tate.”
Blood rushes to my face, and I’m suddenly self-conscious.
“It’s a good thing,” he adds. “We’re colleagues now.”
“You’re my boss.”You’re under me,he said.
“Sure. But you can still call me by my name.”
Our gazes linger for a long moment and there’s a funny feeling in my chest. I break eye contact first.
“I better unpack.”
“Sounds good.” He clears his throat, stepping back. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Before I can tell him I won’t, he’s walking up to the house, the cat following at his heels.
That night, I’m unpacking more of my new things when something catches my attention through the windows—light flickering in Tate’s bedroom window. My jaw drops.
No TV, my ass. Hesohas a TV, that liar. I shake my head, smiling. So he’s actually human, with his own little shameful secrets.
Maybe he’s not so good after all.
CHAPTER 20
JORDAN
“Anything else?”my father asks Monday morning in his office.
He’s actually in the building today, and my whole body is tense, sitting across from him. My demeanor is cool and unaffected by him, as if he were any other boss.
On the inside, I’m a mess, fighting off memories of him being distracted during dinner, answering calls while he was supposed to be spending time with me and my mom. She made him take me out to a movie once when I was fourteen and he spent most of it in the lobby on the phone, making some hockey trade for his team.
“Nothing from me.” Tate looks at me. “Jordan?”
It’s the only solace in this moment, that Tate is here. I’m aware of the irony, that the man who is firmly on my father’s side is the only thing keeping me from bolting.
Tate’s eyes linger on my outfit—a cream cashmere sweater with matching trousers and suede boots. I’ve never felt so put together and stylish.
I shake my head. “Nothing from me.”
My father watches me. “I heard there was a problem with your apartment.”
I stiffen. Tate must have submitted the receipts for the clothes.
“Jordan will be staying in my guesthouse for the rest of theseason,” Tate says before I can say anything. “I thought it would be easier than her finding a new apartment. We want her focused on the team.”
“Absolutely.” My father gives him a grateful nod. “I appreciate that, Tate.”
See? He did it for my father. Not for me.
“If there’s anything else you need, Jordan,” my father says to me, “just ask.”
“Yep.” I will never. “Thank you.”
