Astrid
“So, what are you going to do about…” Charlie tilted her head toward the kitchen counter where a small, elegant box sat. “You know?”
“Nothing,” I said, trying to ignore it. Just as I had since it had arrived earlier in the week.
I’d opened the package. Read the note. Returned the contents to the box. Moved on.
“Seriously?” Charlie whined.
“Yes, seriously.” I turned my attention back to my laptop screen, reading over the patient’s case notes.
I was in my final year of residency as an orthopedic surgeon, and then I needed a good recommendation from my adviser. Which meant I needed to focus on my patients’ care. I needed to focus on my future. And my future was not inside that box.
That box was full of wicked promises and trouble with a capital “T.” I squeezed my thighs together as if to stem the ache brought on by thoughts of him and that freaking accent. Ugh.
“A hot, single man sends you the key to one of the most exclusive luxury hotel rooms on the planet, and you’re going to do nothing.” She sighed as if I’d personally offended her.
“Correct.”
“But it’s a golden key.” She opened the box and held it up. “With diamonds!”
It was a skeleton key that looked more like a piece of jewelry than an actual key. Diamonds encrusted the three-clover design at the top of the shank and then again embellished the flat extension near the bottom of one side of the shaft.
It was expensive. Rare. And beautiful.
I took the key from her hands, admiring it briefly with a sense of longing and desire. And then I returned it to the velvet box where it belonged. With a sigh, I closed the lid, shutting the key firmly inside, along with any notion that I would act on the invitation.
She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze boring into me. I glared back at her, wishing she would drop it. We’d discussed this every day—at least once a day—since the damn thing had arrived.
I finally threw my hands in the air. “What?”
“You know what.” She leveled me with a glare.
“I work too much. I never have fun. Blah, blah, blah.” It was the same thing my twin sister, Emerson, had said. I would’ve argued that she didn’t understand, but she was an Olympic gold medalist, for chrissakes.
But of the two of us, she’d always been more fun. She’d always known how to find that balance. She was also more naturally gifted.
Not to say that she didn’t work hard. Didn’t push herself. But if I wanted to land a position in one of the top practices in the sports medicine field, then I couldn’t let off the gas now. Not when I was so close to the finish line.
“Look, I get it,” Charlie said. “And I respect the hell out of your work ethic. But if you keep going at the rate you are, you’re going to burn out. Trust me.”
She would know. Charlie had been one of the most successful young lawyers at her firm before she’d quit to become a makeup artist. She definitely knew a thing or two about burnout.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Really,” I added, wishing it didn’t sound forced.
I wasn’t fine. Not really. I loved my job. Helping patients was fulfilling, but the long hours were taking a toll on me. I’d missed so many family dinners and evenings out with friends, but I told myself it would all be worth it.
“Don’t you want to know if that night was a fluke?” Charlie asked, changing tack.
“And ruin the perfect memory of it?” I shook my head with a laugh. “No thanks.”
“Astrid, seriously? You called the man a ‘sex god,’” she said, complete with air quotes.
“You referred to it as ‘the hottest night of your life.’ Why the hell wouldn’t you want a repeat?
Even if it’s only half as good, it would still be better than what you’ve had lately.
” She planted her hand on her hip. “A whole lot of nothing.”
“I haven’t had nothing,” I said, moving to the kitchen and placing my dishes in the dishwasher.
She followed me, continuing to hound me. “Your battery-operated boyfriend doesn’t count.”
I lifted my nose in the air and sniffed. “He does the job just fine, thank you very much.”
“Really? He doesn’t have you screaming his name.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because I’m a considerate roommate.”
“Yes.” She nodded, her expression solemn. “Very considerate.”
“Why do you sound put out by that fact?” I mean, shit. I always cleaned up after myself. Hell, I was rarely ever home. I spent so much time at the clinic, I basically came home to shower and sleep. Rinse and repeat, the same thing day after day.
And that was the problem.
Every day was exactly the same. I was stuck in a rut.
It had been too long since I’d let myself have some fun. Honestly, the night I’d met Holden was the first time I’d had fun in longer than I cared to remember. And I could feel myself craving that release again.
“You need to do something fun. Let loose. You’re so…” She huffed. “You’re so bound by your job and the expectations you put upon yourself—”
I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Really?” She scoffed. “Try me.”
I sighed, debating whether I really wanted to get into this. But, well, fuck it.
“Oh, come on. How could I not expect myself to be the best in my field? I mean…look at the rest of my family.” I flung out my hand, my movements jerky and angry.
One of my dads—Dr. James Thorne—was one of the most sought-after plastic surgeons in LA.
The other—Declan Cross—was a former player for the Hollywood Hawks turned NHL coach.
My twin, Emerson, was a successful pro athlete who was now married to a billionaire celebrity who had been voted “Sexiest Man on the Planet.” Twice.
An orthopedic surgeon seemed almost…ordinary in comparison. Not that my family had ever made me feel that way—they’d always celebrated me and my accomplishments. And even if they hadn’t, I knew it was a huge achievement.
“I can’t fuck this up. I won’t let one night” —one spectacular night— “ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to accomplish.” I’d nearly made that mistake once before, and I wouldn’t do so again.
“So, you’re considering it?”
“Are you kidding? No!” I started pacing. “Besides, my dad would die if he ever found out.”
He’d only recently taken on the job of head coach for the Hollywood Hawks. I knew how excited he was to be back on the ice, even if it wasn’t as a player. And after decades of coaching my sister in all her various track-and-field events, he needed this job. This outlet.
I didn’t want to undermine his success by causing a scandal. Nor did I want my name to be in the headlines for sleeping with a pro athlete. No thank you.
“It’s not like you knew who Holden was at the time.”
Charlie was right. I’d never paid much attention to hockey, despite Dad’s love of the sport. That had always been Emerson’s thing—athletics. I’d always been closer to our other dad, Papa J. We’d bonded over our love of science and, well, musicals.
“And what did Jasper—the man who designed the golden key experience—say about the key?” she asked, though she damn well knew the answer.
I glared at her. But she ignored me, snapping her fingers as if the answer had just occurred to her. Because, of course, she’d been the one to ask him in the first place. And Jasper would know—he was not only Emerson’s brother-in-law, but one of the owners of the Huxley Grand empire.
“Jasper said,” she continued, “that the key grants the holder entrance to a one-of-a-kind experience at the Huxley Grand LA. One of the most exclusive, lavish hotel suites on the planet. A room that costs five figures for one freaking night. It has a private entrance. A private butler. A—”
“Okay. I get it.”
“Do you?” she asked, leaning forward. “Because Holden selected a private room that even Taylor Swift could enter without much fanfare. He arranged for a driver to pick you up. If you think about it, you’ll realize he went to great lengths to ensure your privacy.”
“And his,” I added, not willing to let her forget that fact. Charlie wanted to act like this was all some romantic rendezvous arranged solely for my benefit, but that would be ignoring the fact that privacy benefited him as well.
The media had been swirling around Holden since his trade to the Hollywood Hawks. I didn’t want to be in the tabloids any more than I wanted to get a root canal. Nor did I want to jeopardize Holden’s place on the team because of a fling with the head coach’s daughter.
“And let’s not forget that Holden tracked you down.”
“Tracked me down?” I barked out a laugh. “He ran into me at the practice rink while I was waiting for my dad to finish practice.”
I could still remember that moment. Looking back, I should’ve known. Should’ve realized the night I’d met him that he was a professional athlete or something. No one had a body like he did without putting in some serious effort. And man, did it show.
I was skimming the contents of my email when something caused me to look up.
Slate-gray eyes collided with mine as he glided across the ice.
A smirk lifted the corner of that wicked mouth.
A mouth that I knew intimately. That had been on my lips.
My skin. My… Oh god. I squeezed my thighs together and glanced away.
It might be freezing in here, but my body was suddenly on fire.
He skated closer, helmet covering that blond hair, slightly obscuring his hard jaw. Protective gear that made him seem even bigger, almost larger-than-life. I ignored him. Or at least, I tried to.
I watched him out of the corner of my eye, captivated by his speed and grace. He was a natural on the ice, and this was bad. So, so bad.
That said, the longer I watched, the more he seemed to be favoring one side. I had a hunch that his hip flexors and quads were tight, based on the way he moved. He’d need to do some stretching. Something I mentioned to my dad.
“Hansley,” my dad called out, waving him over.