Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
He leaned over the table, lowering his voice. “You have the most kissable mouth.”
My heart hiccupped in my chest before I flashed him a chiding look.
“What?” he said, smirking as he settled back in his chair. “You said you could handle it.”
“Oh, I assure you, I can handle anything you throw at me,” I said confidently, even though my knees felt weak just from the way he’d shaped the words. “But you’re definitely trouble.”
“How can you tell?”
“Just one of my many talents.”
That smirk turned wolfish as he held his coffee before his lips. “I can’t wait to see what other talents you have.”
The flirtation hit its mark, making anticipation flare through the side of me who’d kissed him last night, but the professional side of me saw it for what it was—deflection. I hated how the two versions of myself battled for dominance, knowing that my professional side needed to win.
Because he’d said he needed help.
And I couldn’t do that if I was swooning over him every five seconds.
“We should go over your schedule,” I said, trying to bring us back to common ground. “When can I see you next?”
“How long do I have you for again?” he asked. “I don’t remember what my team said.”
His team. God, I thought he’d been joking when he said that, when he’d mentioned the ten-million-dollar bet to get me to fall for him. It seemed like a ridiculous pickup line, but now that I knew he was the owner of the Hurricanes, it didn’t seem so far-fetched.
“Three months,” I finally answered him.
“Three months,” he repeated. “We can start tomorrow. My publicist gave me your phone number,” he said. “I’ll text you.”
We both stood up from the table, tossing our empty coffee cups as we headed out the doors and lingered on the sidewalk.
“Do me a favor?” he asked as he headed toward a silver Aston Martin parked on the side of the road.
“What’s that?”
He opened the driver’s side door, leaning against it. “Google my name tonight before you read my file.”
“Why?”
Something dark flashed across his eyes before he slipped on sunglasses to hide it. “You might not want me as a…client anymore.”
I furrowed my brow. “You think I’m so easily scared off?”
He had no idea the shit I’d dealt with in my past, things no one should ever have to deal with. I highly doubted Ethan’s demons were anything close to the ones I still suffered with daily.
“We’ll see,” he said, falling behind the wheel. “Text me if you change your mind.”
CHAPTER 3
Ethan
“Where are you headed?” Crossland asked, his voice filtering through the speakers in my car as I navigated the roads.
“I’m not exactly sure,” I said. “A club, I think. What’s up?”
“You think? How do you not know?”
I shook my head, gripping the wheel as I made a right turn. “Because Alexandra didn’t give me the name of the club. She only texted an address, but she said we’d be dancing.”
Which didn’t make any sense at all. What kind of anger management coach used dancing as a method of control? I’d gotten her text earlier today and had been shocked as hell when she was giving me an address to meet her at as opposed to the text I was expecting—her telling me she’d assigned me to someone else.
Either she didn’t care about the shit-show that was my life right now or the kiss hadn’t meant enough to her to ask me to see someone else so she could keep seeing me.
And fuck me, that stung. Because I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss since the moment she left my sight that night. Seeing her the next morning as the life coach I’d been assigned in order to keep my position as owner of the Hurricanes? That had been a blow I wasn’t prepared for.
But she was the best—that’s what the league commissioner and my team had found, and I needed the best if I was going to save my reputation, my career.
“It’s five o’clock,” Cross said, drawing me back to the conversation. “Who the fuck goes dancing at five? Isn’t she supposed to put you on a leather couch and talk you through some breathing exercises?”
I laughed, nodding like he could see me. “That’s what I assumed.”
“Fucking what are the odds that the woman Gareth picked was your assigned coach?”
“Astronomical,” I said.
“You could’ve immediately fired her in the hopes of dating her,” Cross said.
“I considered it,” I admitted. “Even gave her the option to pull the plug so we could keep exploring what we started.”
“Damn,” Cross said, a harsh laugh in his tone. “And she chose working for you over dating you? That’s cold.”
I didn’t need him to remind me.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Three months will go by, I’ll appease the league commissioner, and Gareth’s favorite charity will be ten million richer. All a win.”