Page 19 of He Has Charm

“You’re right, Harper. This is one of those assignments that could either make or break your career.” His words slap me with the realization, making my heart beat fast like I’m running away from a nightmare, but it’s only my own imagination that taunts me as I picture myself in that video with Maddox and shudder at the horror and the pleasure.

I’m putting everything on the line, my dream career, the chance to put my family’s financial struggles behind us, and unbeknownst to my boss, possibly my heart. Because that little crush I had on Knight from afar is bound going to grow now that we’re going to be up close.

Unless I can keep him at arm’s length and be rational about the stupid crush.

What am I so afraid of? My own sensuality and need for sex? My vulnerability to Knight’s other nonsexual charms? How about a big fat yes to both in a bone-jarring nod? Do I have the resolve to withstand the onslaught of constant temptation?

I haven’t been able to resist wanting him yet in the short time I’ve known him, having wished that small kiss on my temple on the airplane was so much more.

He’s the personification of that intrinsic basic necessity to want and own and embrace, to breed. Oh my god, no. The horrific idea of having his children provokes a surge of defiance against him in spite of my strong instincts otherwise, and the war inside silences me, freezes me with confusion. I feel sick.

Until one need trumps both the horror of the idea of having his children and the need to have his children. And that’s the need to survive, to put food on my table, to earn a living and provide for myself and my family. I need this job.

“I’m nothing but professional,” I say.

“That’s what I thought.” He reaches out, squeezing my shoulder. “Don’t look so depressed. It’ll be fun. I bet you guys get along and make the best of it. You’re both hardworking professionals, right?”

I nod, feeling like an arctic wind just blew through me, robbing me of my blood and energy. I’m drained and barely functional because the compass of who I am is pointing in all kinds of crazy directions right now, none of them familiar. Having his children? Where the fuck did that notion come from? How can I go from a serious professional to a simpering woman overridden by her most basic biological needs? I thought I was more evolved, more ambitious, more sane than that. I can’t go from finding Knight attractive all the way to desperate to have his children—or wanting to fuck him like a mindless rabbit at the mercy of my hormones.

There has to be a cure for this short-circuit in my system that Knight’s presence has wreaked and I have to find it if I’m going to last until the end of this season. I nod my head more firmly and find my voice.

“One hundred percent professional.” Do I have my fingers crossed behind my back, metaphorically speaking? Maybe, but I’ll start with fake it till you make it and will myself to mean it, because I have no choice.

There are only two outcomes. Succumb to Knight’s charms and lose my job, my livelihood, my family’s salvation, literally everything, or resist him and get that promotion and raise securing my future. Should be no contest.

He stays late to take slapshot practice with Finn, so I stay and wait for him to let him now we’ll be moving into the team’s townhouse sooner than later. Nerves have me jumpy, but the sound of his stick hitting puck after puck in a steady rhythm of fury settles me. I must be insane.

He’s driven me insane. And it’s only been two days.

Six

Maddox

After the practice we walk back to the hotel in spite of the cold. I found a North Face jacket waiting in my locker after the skate, courtesy of Harper, or I should say the agency. When I put it on I feel warm for reasons having nothing to do with the material and everything to do with how Harper is taking care of me, job or not.

“Nice jacket,” Finn says as he passes by me on his way out. “You finally got smart. I was worried about you freezing your ass off.” He looks at my gym shorts.

“I’m sure you were losing sleep at night. Don’t worry about me. My legs never get cold. I’m a hockey player.” I arch a brow in a mock macho challenge and he chuckles and punches my arm before walking away.

“Glad to see you’re making an effort to fit in here in Boston,” he shouts over his shoulder, and I realize my attire is just one more thing that screams not from around here and maybe not staying long and decide I need to go shopping. Even when all my things arrive I won’t have the winter wardrobe I know I’ll need to stay—and I’m determined to stay here. That much I know.

I find Harper busy with her phone, leaning against a wall near the locker room, the curtain of her hair hiding half her face, but I can see her lips. They’re lush and the color perfectly matches her hair down to the shine. As I drift toward her, heat simmers in my belly and I take some breaths to calm down that damn natural—or I should say unnatural—attraction I have for her. It works until her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip. Fuuuck.

Does she know I’m watching her? I stop short a few feet away. O’Rourke passes by, thumping me on the back, and says hello to Harper. That’s when she looks up, skates her glance past me and smiles at O’Rourke, a smile unmarred by business distractions or concerns about propriety. I move closer, blocking her field of vision.

“Nice jacket,” she says, trying not to look pleased. “Let’s go. I have news.”

“Thank you for the jacket. It was thoughtful—”

“Just doing my job, Knight. Don’t make a deal out of it.” We walk side by side to the exit, and a blast of frigid air hits me. I automatically put an arm around her and pull her to my side. I shove my other hand into my pocket.

“Looks like you saved my life. If I didn’t have this jacket today I would have frozen to death.” She snorts, slips from my hold, and looks away, clutching her oversized bag filled with work-related shit to her chest. I keep my smile to myself. At the end of Causeway Street, we stop and wait at the lights. There aren’t many people walking around but the car traffic is insane.

“Jett talked to the Brawlers’ front office and they want you to stay in the team’s townhouse on Beacon Hill. For a fee of course, to be deducted from your compensation. And we’ll practically be neighbors with Mary Delaney.”

“The ballbuster,” I say. Shit. “What if I want to look for a different place?”

“Nope. Nonnegotiable. Brawlers have to approve of your accommodations. It was in that addendum you signed—”