Page 26 of This is a Kissing Book

She pouts as if hating that I’m right. Eyes narrowed with suspicion, she sniffs the coffee, which is more cream than anything caffeinated—how I noticed she likes it.

“You trained me to be wary,” she says.

I know the feeling. I suppose it was only a matter of time before people found out I’m the son of the company president. Dad wants to keep it quiet and certainly doesn’t want to advertise that I’m a jock, either—his words—rather than the reality that I’m a professional athlete.

I turn to go into my office, then pause. Lips tight, I answer her question, “About being an Andresen, it’s an unadvertised fact. Let’s keep it that way.”

“That explains a lot.” Her eyes flash.

Nancy’s reminders of my mother softened me, but now it’s like Juliana just aimed a ray gun my way, lighting up our ongoing, slow-burning bickering. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re competitive about everything and obviously not at all happy to have a veritable summer internship.”

“My father is hard to say no to.” Especially when he insists this is what Mom would’ve wanted for me. But Juliana doesn’t need to know that.

She juts her chin toward the door and the hall where I’d been chatting with Nancy. “You’re charming when you want to be.”

So she did overhear.

“But I get the sense you’d rather be on the boat with your buddy.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“So is this tough love? You’ve been on one long party barge bender and now your father wants you to take life seriously?”

I almost burst into laughter. Party-barge-bender? Far from it. My life has consisted of years of early morning practice, dryland training, and intense games. Disciplined diet. Managing every minute of my day. Then again, Bīriņš does have a Viking Motor Yacht, set up for fishing and wakeboarding. It’s large, as he likes to point out, but it’s not a barge.

Juliana must think I’m a rich kid screwup. I cannot hide the smirk on my face because nothing is further from the truth. Unlike some guys, hockey skills didn’t immediately come to me. I wasn’t born with a stick in my hand and skates on my feet, but I loved the feeling of playing—and winning—so much that I worked my butt off to make it onto a college team. Then the NHL was purely something I earned after essentially throwing away any semblance of a social life and turning my focus entirely to the ice, the puck, and the purpose of getting it into the goal.

“A spoiled billionaire brat. I bet you’d like that to be true,” I say.

She shrugs and shakes her head slightly as if not sure how to respond … for once. I’ve observed Juliana enough to know she’s not a genuinely mean or rude person. Quite the opposite, actually, but there is something about the two of us in the same space that sets the room on fire while the other fans the flames.

Squaring my shoulders, I ask, “What’s your impression of me?”

She tilts her head, studying me like I’m a painting with a questionable attribution. “Do you want the diplomatic version or the honest one?”

I can’t help chuckling lightly. “Try me.”

“You’re a trust fund man-boy who thinks value is something you can buy and sell.” Her voice is matter-of-fact, no malice. Just brutal honesty. “You probably have an MBA purchased with a generous endowment and three different pairs of boat shoes.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Four, actually.” I don’t, but the way her eyes flare makes me want to hear more.

“Of course you do.” But there’s the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You see dollar signs where I see stories. You’re here because Daddy made you, not because you care about preserving history.”

“And yet you helped me out with said daddy in the lobby when Bīriņš wanted to take us boating.” I lean against her desk. “Why?”

And why do I like her raw honesty—even if slightly off base—to all the “pick me” puckering up from most of the women I meet.

The smile disappears. “Because even a privileged chucklechump deserves basic human decency.”

I bark a laugh. “Chucklechump?”

“You asked for honest.”

“Chucklechump?” I repeat. “That’s a new one.”

“Chuckle because you approach everything in life like it’s amusing and chump because I was trying to think of a word that wouldn’t get me sent to HR. In my defense, you asked me to be honest. If you are going to apply disciplinary measures, that’s my defense.”