Bottles & Blades (Eagles Hockey: Oak Ridge Vineyards #1)

Chapter 19

Nineteen

Tiff

I’ve just finished with my pile of flash cards, adding the new words, reviewing old, and I’m slowly making my way through some of my homework—not the easiest to do with just my phone, but also not impossible, when the office door opens with a soft whoosh .

I look up, heart skipping a beat, hoping that Jean-Michel’s meeting has finished earlier than expected.

Even as I’m hoping, I’m half-expecting it to be Marie, his assistant with the aforementioned food.

Her expression was curious a few days before when she brought Jean-Michel’s checkbook down to the lobby. But walking down the hall, Jean-Mi’s warm arm wrapped around my waist before he ushered me into his office…her face had gone from inquisitive to?—

Interrogative.

Only it’s not Marie pushing into Jean-Michel’s office.

It’s a pair of women, one a pregnant brunette with a kind face, the other blonde with the most striking set of green eyes I’ve ever seen.

Something I don’t see until they stop talking, the conversation they’d been having as they walked in drawing to an abrupt halt.

Then I see those green eyes—because they’re fixed on me.

“Uhhh…” the brunette murmurs, nibbling at her bottom lip, eyeing the office like she’s walked into the wrong room. “Hi.”

It’s more question than statement and it spurs me into motion.

I set my phone aside, climb to my feet, and move over to them.

“I’m Tiffany,” I say as I extend my hand. “But everyone calls me Tiff.”

“Chrissy,” she murmurs and I jolt as the combination of her name and those startling blue eyes hit my system.

“Dubois?” I ask softly.

She goes still, her fingers wrapped around mine. “Yes,” she says quietly. “Though soon I’ll be a Dawson.”

“You’re Jean-Mi’s daughter.”

Somehow she goes even more still.

And I realize what I’ve said.

What I’ve revealed.

Maybe he didn’t want her to know what we are yet?

Hell, I don’t even know what we are.

Except…that’s a lie, isn’t it?

I know exactly what he is to me, even if I haven’t accepted it yet.

“I mean Jean-Michel’s daughter.” Christ, this is awkward. “I—” I struggle to find the right words for this situation.

“I’m Rory,” the blonde says.

I shake her hand, thankful for the interruption, for the distraction. “Nice to meet you.”

After which I run out of words again and an awkward silence grows.

“Um,” Chrissy says softly. “If you don’t mind me asking, who are you to my father?”

“I—” I tuck my hair behind my ear, struggling to find the words. “I guess, I don’t know. He…well, I paid for his food the other day when he lost his wallet and phone?—”

“He lost his phone? ” she asks incredulously.

“I guess something happened at the vineyard.” I shrug. “He was just trying to buy some lunch, so I took care of it, and he didn’t like that?—”

“No, I bet not,” Rory says, her mouth curling up.

“He insisted on paying me back and…” I look around the immaculate, expensive office. “Now, somehow, I’m here.”

“He worked his fairy godfather magic is how.”

I glance back at Rory, see her mouth is tipped up.

“It’s kind of his superpower,” she adds.

I think of the food and the door and the exquisite morning in my bed, and I know she’s right.

Same as I know my cheeks are on fire.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I guess it is.”

That quiet falls again, and God, this is so strange, so awkward, so?—

“You want to grab something to eat?”

My head jerks up, studying Chrissy’s face. “Jean-Mi— Jean-Michel,” I correct, “said that someone was going to bring me something—we were going to go out, but there was a problem.” Both of the women nod like they’ve had plenty of experience with the problems that come with Jean-Michel’s business interests, and I suppose they have, considering Chrissy’s his daughter and Rory seems to know him well. “I don’t want whatever he arranged to go to waste?—”

“Oh, we can take care of that,” Rory says, moving closer and lacing her arm through mine. “This okay?” she asks, and I barely have time to nod before she’s drawing us forward. “We’re just eating in the cafe downstairs. We’ll check with Donnie”—one of Jean-Michel’s assistants and the one who was sitting in a desk right outside the door when I came in—“if he’s already ordered, we’ll grab it when we’re down there.”

“Oh,” I say. “Well, if that’s the case?—”

“Great!” she starts hauling me forward.

“I—my purse?—”

“I’ve got it,” Chrissy says, sweeping to the table. “Do you need the cards too?”

I shake my head. “I can come back for them late?—”

But I’m out the door before I finish my sentence and then Rory is calling to Donnie. “Did you already order Tiff lunch?”

“No,” he says, “that was next on my list.”

“Well, that works out perfectly.” She sends a thousand watt smile his way. “We’ll take care of her.”

“I’m not sure?—”

Chrissy’s voice trails us as Rory all but hauls me off to the elevator. “If we’re not back, let my dad know where to find us when he comes looking, okay?”

“Okay, Chrissy,” I hear as the elevator doors open.

Rory drags me on and stops the metal panels from closing with her free hand while Chrissy walks over to join us.

As she reaches for the control board, preparing to hit one of the buttons to select the floor, the comment just slides out of me.

Too much time with Queen Rox and Brit and Stefan, listening to them banter.

“Why do I feel like you two are about to pack me off to the basement and do Dexter-like things to me?”

They both freeze.

I freeze, thinking I’ve obviously misread the room and joking about serial killers is not appreciated by this bunch.

Then Chrissy’s eyes—that are so much like Jean-Michel’s—come to mine.

She slowly leans forward, pushes the button for the third floor.

“No basement on this go around,” she says lightly.

“But never say never?” Rory teases.

Chrissy swats at her. “Stop,” she says. “This is the first time my father’s brought home a woman, and we don’t want to scare her off.”

“Just to say,” Rory points out. “This isn’t his home.”

Chrissy rolls her eyes. “Sometimes, it may as well be.” She looks at me. “Not that he wouldn’t make time for you?—”

Now it’s Rory’s turn to swat at Chrissy. “You’re blowing it. Don’t scare her off.”

“Shush,” Chrissy says before looking back at me. “My dad doesn’t bring a lot of women home. Heck, he doesn’t bring any women home.”

“That’s true,” Rory adds. “He just fairy godfathers them to safety and sends them off to live their happily ever afters.”

The doors ding open and they draw me forward, Chrissy teasing Rory, “You’re just saying that because he helped you get there.”

“And Mrs. My Boyfriend?—”

“Fiancé,” Chrissy corrects.

“Okay, Ms. My Fiancé is a Player on My Dad’s Team and Just So Happened to Move in Next Door”—Rory grins and looks over at me, winking—“and now you’re trying to pretend that he wasn’t equally involved in your happy ending.”

There my heart goes again.

Jean-Mi helped both of them find love.

Fierce and kind and… alone.

Yeah, I’m going to do something about that last part.

“He wasn’t directly involved,” Chrissy argues.

Rory counters just as quickly. “He had cameras installed to watch Christina Dubois’s inevitable descent into hockey player lovedom.”

“So says the woman who’s also married to her own hockey player”—Chrissy slants a look my direction—“who also plays on my father’s team.”

My lips twitch.

“That’s neither here nor there,” Rory says as she opens a glass door for us to enter the building’s cafe.

It’s sleek and modern and bright, just like the lobby.

And it smells freaking amazing.

“Of course it’s here or there,” Chrissy tells her.

“Is not.”

I wade in. “Should we?—”

“I love you,” Rory bumps her shoulder against Chrissy’s. “But it absolutely is.”

“I love you too but...”

I look around the space, their argument continuing as I debate what to do.

All of that conversation is a lot.

All of this —being here—is a lot.

Enough to have me blurting again, “You two are giving me a headache.”

Then immediately clamping a hand over my mouth as they fall silent, staring at me with wide eyes.

“Oh, my God, that was so rude,” I sputter. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”

Rory grins.

Chrissy grins, rubs her hand gently over her pregnant belly.

Then they’re both linking their arms through mine and drawing me forward.

“You’ll do, Tiff,” Rory says. “You’ll just do.”

Wonderful words. Scary words.

But not as good as Chrissy’s when she announces, “I couldn’t agree more.”

Mostly because it means they won’t start arguing again.