I check my watch. I'm swamped, but the tone of his voice tells me this isn't going to be a quick phone conversation.
“I can be there in twenty minutes,” I tell him.
I take an Uber ride to my apartment and find Noah waiting in the hallway outside my door. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and gorgeous brown eyes.
The first time we met, I was too distressed to really look at him, but now I can see he's objectively handsome.
Any other time, I might have been interested. But after two days of living with Cole Maddox, every other man seems to fade into the background. The thought irritates me.
Focus, Harper. You have work to do.
“How bad is it?” I ask as Noah unlocks my door.
He leads me inside, pointing out areas of damage with his flashlight. “I'm afraid it's worse than we initially thought. The water damage has spread throughout multiple rooms. We'relooking at drywall replacement, floor refinishing in the bedroom and living room, and full restoration of your kitchen cabinets.”
My heart sinks. “How long?”
“Six to eight weeks, minimum. Maybe longer if we run into any complications with the building's plumbing.”
Six to eight weeks.In Cole's apartment. Will he even let me stay that long?
“I'll get you a written estimate by tomorrow,” Noah continues. “Your insurance should cover most of it, but there will be some out-of-pocket expenses.”
I nod numbly, already dreading the conversation I'll have to have with Cole tonight. How do you tell someone that your ‘few days’ just turned into two months?
That’s a problem for future Harper to deal with. I’ve got too much to do today. I head back to work and dive into the endless details that come with planning a high-profile event.
By evening, I'm exhausted. The day's meetings and planning sessions, combined with the stress of my housing situation, have left me drained.
The apartment is dark and quiet when I walk in. Cole is probably out with his teammates. Most hockey players are notorious for their nightlife. Bars, clubs, a different woman every night.
Though Cole doesn't strike me as that type, he's too focused on his routines. Then again, maybe I just don't want to picture him surrounded by beautiful women, throwing themselves at the famous team captain.
I shake my head. Cole's social life is none of my business.
I heat up leftover Chinese food and try to work at the dining table, but I’m too tired. Eventually, I give up and go to bed.
I sleep like a log, but at three AM, I’m woken up by a nightmare.
The kickoff gala turned into a complete disaster. Caterers who never showed up, a sound system that died mid-speech, and guests standing around an empty ballroom while I frantically made phone calls.
In the dream, Cole stood in the middle of the chaos, shaking his head in disappointment while Jennifer McCall fired me in front of four hundred witnesses.
My heart is pounding, sweat dripping down my body. I grab my laptop and pad out to the dining room, needing to check and double-check every detail of our planning.
I'm deep in calculations when footsteps pull me from my work. Cole appears in the doorway wearing black boxer briefs, his hair messed from sleep.
Even half-asleep, he's ridiculously attractive.
“Working late?” he asks, his voice rough with sleep.
“Working early, technically.” I look down at my laptop screen, afraid my expression will give away how affected I am by his state of undress. “Sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn't. I don't sleep much during pre-season. Or during the season, for that matter.”
“Nervous about opening night?” I ask after a beat.
“Something like that.” He leans against the doorframe, studying me. “So. Events coordinator for my team. That's quite a coincidence.”
