2. Aiden
2
AIDEN
I shouldn’t be thinking about how gorgeous she is. I shouldn’t be tracking the way her hips move in that skirt.
But as I watch Rory walk toward me, coffee cups in hand, it’s all I can think about.
Hiring her was a dangerous call. She’s going to be around constantly, running my schedule, traveling with me everywhere. I’ve got three books to finish and more appearances than I can count—the last thing I need is this kind of distraction. But something about her during our interview yesterday grabbed me. I couldn’t let her walk away.
“Good morning.” Rory hands me my coffee with a smile that hits me right in the chest.
“Morning. Thanks.” I take a drink, watching her settle into the seat beside me. That’s when I notice the pale strip of skin on her ring finger. Is she married? The thought disappoints me more than I care to admit. It shouldn’t matter either way.
“I hope you’re okay with a lot of traveling,” I say.
She nods. “I love flying.”
“What I meant was, I hope it doesn’t interfere with your life outside work. You have any pets?”
“No. I was going to adopt a dog with—” She presses her lips together, clearly wishing she hadn’t started the sentence. “With my fiancé. But we aren’t together anymore. So no, no pets. Do you have any?”
An ex-fiancé. That explains the ring mark. “No. My sister’s family has a real sweet German Shepherd, though. I get my dog fix whenever I see them.”
Her smile comes back. “Yeah, I love hanging out with my friends’ dogs too.” She pulls her phone from her bag. “So, I went through everything you sent over last night. I made some notes about additional points we might want to bring up with your publisher today.”
I want to know more about her, not what she thinks about the files I sent over. But she’s already launching into meeting preparations, and she’s thorough. We’re still discussing it when they call our boarding group.
With our first class tickets, we’re among the first to board. As we’re getting settled in our seats on the plane, I take the opportunity to bring our conversation back to a more personal topic. “What kind of other traveling have you done?”
“Oh, nothing too exciting.” She continues arranging her things under the seat in front of her. “I wouldn’t consider myself a world traveler or anything.”
“What’s been your favorite trip?”
She thinks for a second. “When I was a kid, my family went to Glacier National Park. It was so pretty—it felt like we were on a different planet. I have a lot of fond memories of the time we spend camping there.”
“That’s sweet,” I say, smiling. “You said you grew up in San Francisco. Is your family still in the area?”
“Yeah, they are.”
“How many siblings?”
Something flickers across her face. I can’t read it, but it makes me pause. “Should I not ask about them?”
“No, it’s just...” She twists her hands in her lap. “Um, okay, this is kind of awkward, but…we actually went to the same elementary school, Aiden.”
“What?” I must have heard her wrong.
She bites her lip. “Mrs. Watson? Third grade?”
I stare at her. There’s no way. No fucking way we were in the same class.
Her cheeks flush pink. “You used to steal my desserts at lunch. And one time you convinced everyone I had a contagious disease, so no one would play with me at recess for a week.”
The memory crashes into me. Suddenly I can see it clear as day—little Rory with her dark braids, sitting alone at lunch. Me and my friends laughing, watching her shoulders hunch as she tried not to cry. Jesus Christ. More memories surface, one after another, each worse than the last. I was such an asshole to her.
“Fuck.” I force myself to meet her eyes. “I can’t believe this. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. And God, I’m so sorry for what I did when we were kids. That’s?—”
“In the past,” she says firmly, cutting me off. “We don’t need to talk about it. I didn’t even want to bring it up.”
Her words don’t do anything to lessen my guilt. “I feel like such an idiot, Rory. On multiple levels.”
“Don’t. It’s fine.”
How can she say it’s fine? How can she drop a bomb like that on me and expect me to act like it’s no big deal?
“In fact,” she says, smoothing the fabric of her skirt, “I’d prefer it if we considered this a fresh start and didn’t bring it up again.”
Does she really mean that? I watch the way she won’t quite look at me, trying to read what’s really going on in her head. But it’s impossible to tell.
“You sure?”
She nods. “I’m sure.”
Problem is, now that I’ve remembered, I can’t stop thinking about the past. Every memory hits like a fresh wound—Rory sitting alone at lunch, the cruel jokes, the way her shoulders would hunch when we laughed at her. The memories follow me through the whole flight to New York, torturing me as we check into the hotel and head to Manhattan for the publisher meeting.
I manage to keep it professional during the meeting, but my mind keeps circling back to one thought: how is Rory sitting here next to me, being so damn composed about all of this? She should hate me. Instead, she’s taking notes and asking intelligent questions about marketing strategies for my next book series.
We’re walking out of the publisher’s building when I can’t take it anymore. I need to talk to her about this, not just brush it off like she wants to. I’m about to suggest we grab coffee—or maybe something stronger—when a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.
“Aiden? Holy shit, it is you!”
A hand claps my shoulder as Jackson King appears, grinning like we’re still rookies sharing a dugout. “What’re you doing in New York, man?”
His timing is terrible, but I can’t help returning his smile. Jackson and I go way back—he was there for some of my best seasons with the Stallions before we both retired. “Jackson, hey.” I pull him into a quick hug. “Just wrapped a meeting with my publisher.”
“That’s right—you’re writing those kids’ books now.” He raises an eyebrow. “What, all those years in the majors didn’t set you up nice enough?”
I laugh. “The books are a passion project.” I turn to include Rory in the conversation. “Jackson, this is Rory. Rory, Jackson King—former teammate and perpetual pain in my ass.”
Rory offers her hand with a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you.”
Jackson shakes her hand, but his eyes dart between us with amusement. “Well damn, you two make a gorgeous couple. How long you been keeping this quiet, Edwards?”
My stomach drops. “Rory’s my assistant,” I say quickly, catching a blush creep across her cheeks.
“Shit.” Jackson winces. “My bad. Let me make it up to you both—drinks on me? There’s this great little place around the corner. Best dirty martinis in Manhattan.”
“Thank you, but I should really get some work done,” Rory says, already putting space between us. “It was nice meeting you, Jackson. Aiden, I’ll check in later about tomorrow’s schedule.”
She disappears into the crowded sidewalk before I can stop her. Part of me wants to go after her, but Jackson’s already steering me toward the bar. And, honestly, I could use a drink and a friend right now.
The bar is exactly what you’d expect—narrow, dark, with decades of stories soaked into the worn wood surfaces. We slide into a booth with our drinks, and Jackson wastes no time cutting to the chase.
“So,” he says, leaning forward. “Want to tell me what’s really going on there?”
I take a long pull of my whiskey. “Nothing’s going on.”
“Bullshit. I saw how you were looking at her. And how quickly you jumped to correct me about the couple thing.” He points an accusatory finger at me. “You’ve got that same look you used to get before a big game. All intense and wound up.”
“It’s complicated.”
“When isn’t it?” He sits back, crossing his arms. “Come on, man. Talk to me.”
Maybe it’s the whiskey, or maybe I just need to tell someone, but I find myself spilling the whole story—how seeing her yesterday knocked me completely off balance, the bomb she dropped this morning about our shared past, the flood of memories about my bad behavior back then.
When I finish, Jackson lets out a low whistle. “Well, shit.”
“Yeah.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
I stare into my glass. “What can I do? I’m her boss now. And after what I did to her as a kid...”
“But she took the job,” Jackson points out. “She must have forgiven you.”
“Or she really needed the work.” I drain my glass instead of dwelling on that possibility.
“Look,” Jackson says, his voice gentler now. “You were a kid. Kids can be cruel. But you’re not that person anymore—anyone who knows you can see that. Hell, you write children’s books about kindness and friendship.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No, it doesn’t. But beating yourself up won’t fix anything either.” He signals the bartender for another round. “As for those other feelings you have for her…sorry, man, but this is clearly one of those situations where you need to just let it be. She’s your employee.”
I know he’s right. The responsible thing is to keep things strictly professional, to focus on being a decent boss and proving I’m not that same thoughtless kid who made her schooldays hell. But getting rid of the desire I feel for her is going to be far easier said than done.
“Another round?” Jackson asks, reading my expression.
I nod, thinking I might need several to get through this. “Keep them coming.”