Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
She wraps up the call in less than five minutes and apologizes. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” Standing from her chair, Brienne rounds the desk and sits in the club chair next to the one I’m in. She crosses one long leg over the other, looking as comfortable in those skyscraper heels as she would in house slippers. I can’t help but notice the bottom of her dress has a slight slit in the side, and her legs are smooth and bare.
They’d look good over my shoulders, no doubt.
I don’t even think to chastise myself for my lecherous thoughts, because ever since my ex went psycho, the only interest I have in women is of a physical nature.
And Brienne is a woman I can’t help but be interested in.
“How was the first day of camp?” she asks with a faint smile.
“It was fine,” I reply with a frown. “But that’s not why you called me here, so why don’t you cut to the chase? I’ve got plans.”
“Right.” She nods, and the smile vanishes. “There’s an article in the Times about you.”
Immediately, rage builds. It’s not that I expected my return to hockey to be ignored, but the fact that Brienne feels the need to warn me about it means the press isn’t flattering. “And what does it say?”
“It’s more about me than you,” she replies without any rancor. She clearly doesn’t give a fuck what people think about her, judging by the careless wave of her hand. “Questioning my business acumen in bringing you on. But this won’t be the first article, and eventually reporters will be asking you about it. So I’d like to get ahead of this, set up an interview with you and a trusted journalist who—”
“No,” I growl.
She blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Not doing it.” I stand from my chair, fists involuntarily clenching as I’ve been down this road before. Brienne rises, and I’m not sure what she sees on my face, but I’m guessing it matches the darkness within me. She walks over to the door to close it, and I’m so angry I can’t even appreciate the curves of her ass.
Turning around, she takes a few steps back toward me. “We can nip this in the bud if we—”
I stride to her, three long steps, and we’re toe to toe. She backs up, not in what I’d call fear, based on her expression, but definite wariness until she backs against the door she just closed.
Despite her more than average height and the ridiculously tall heels, she still has to tip her head back to look at me. She swallows hard and tries again. “Drake… we have to confront it. Otherwise, it will get worse.”
“For who?” I growl, pressing my palms to the door and effectively caging her in. “I’m guessing you think worse for you, but that’s your problem, not mine. I’ve been through this shit already, and I’m not getting sucked back into the public perception circus. Crystal told lies about me in an attempt to get custody of our kids. It was blatantly untrue, and no one should have believed it. I refuse to address those allegations again. They were put to rest long ago.”
I expect her to argue—I’d never expect her to give up something she felt was important to her or the team—but something flickers in her eyes. A sudden awareness of how close we’re standing, and I’m stunned when her eyes wander down to the base of my throat where she can see the start of my tattoos. Etched along each collarbone are two dates. On the right, Jake’s birthday, and on the left, Colby and Tanner’s.
Her chest rises as I dip my head to study her studying me.
Fuck if her hand doesn’t rise and come within an inch of my collar, her fingers curled to pull it down to see more. My breath freezes, and my body locks tight. I don’t know what I’ll do if she touches me, but it might be that I bend her over her desk and—
Brienne’s hand drops, and she ducks under my arm, sliding out of my trap and smoothing her dress. My head swivels slowly to look at her, palms still pressed to the door.
We stare at each other in what seems like an intense battle of wills, and I know there are a few things that could happen. I could kiss her. She could fire me. It could be she’d get down on her knees for me if I asked, or maybe she’d let me bury my face between her legs. Every single option is acceptable.
“I’ll issue a press release,” she finally says and retreats to her desk. “I’ll handle it.”
It feels like a snap of energy releases when she puts distance between us, and I sigh as I straighten. That wasn’t an option I’d considered, her absolute retreat from me.