Chapter 22 Sienna
TWENTY-TWO
SIENNA
The sound of my thigh-high black Louboutins tapping against the floor as I follow Gavin to my office soothes my raw nerves. I may not be a fashion designer anymore, but I can still dress the part.
I didn’t stop being me just because I’m no longer her.
Or so I keep telling myself.
The truth is, I’m not sure who I am anymore.
But today is the start of a new era, and what better way to kick it off than in my favorite pair of boots?
Paired, of course, with a black dress made of a fabric so smooth I practically cried when I slid it over my body this morning.
I finished off the look with a red lipstick that will make a statement.
Don’t fuck with me.
Or maybe I’m the boss.
Anything, really. As long as it isn’t I’m so forgettable even the man I’ve been dreaming about for six years doesn’t remember me.
Yeah, I’m nowhere near ready to unpack my encounter with Noah last night.
Never in my life have I wished more for female friends to help me figure out what the fuck occurred in the family and friends suite last night.
Other than Millie, I really don’t have anyone to talk to. And I can’t possibly talk to her, considering who she’s married to and because Hannah is her sister-in-law. I swear someone needs to make me a diagram so that I can remember who everyone is either related to or fucking.
It’d be one of those giant diagrams pinned to a wall. The kind always depicted on crime shows. With red string and pushpins.
Seven Degrees of the Langfield Brothers.
I swear, no matter who I meet, they’ve got some sort of connection to at least one of my brothers.
Annoyance flares to life in my chest. Can’t I just have one person to myself? One memory?
Nope.
Not even Noah, apparently.
“Here’s your office.” Gavin stops in front of a door a few down from Liv’s.
I peer in, take a step back into the hall, and eye the nameplates outside the surrounding offices. “Where’s yours?”
Gavin smirks. “I have one downstairs. Near the rink. This is my old office.” A smile creeps onto his face as he surveys the room, like there are real memories walking around in there.
I eye the space through his eyes, quickly racked by a full-body shudder.
“How many women have you fucked in this room?”
With a scoff, he slips his hands into his pockets and looks away.
I take a step to the side so I’m in his line of vision and arch a brow.
He was always the fuckboy of the bunch. His attempt to act like he’s affronted by my question isn’t fooling me.
With a sigh, he adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves. “It’s been empty for years, and it’s cleaned weekly.”
I snort as I walk in. “Noted.”
“Don’t say anything to Millie,” he grumbles from the doorway.
Laughing, I spin to face him. “Right, because she thought you were a saint when she seduced you all those years ago.”
Gavin wanders around the office, ignoring me.
That’s fine. I’m happy to move on, and honestly, bantering with him like that put me in the headspace I need to move forward with this day.
“What do I do now that I’m here?” I round the desk and run my hands over the black lacquered surface.
It’s nothing like Liv’s desk, or Beckett’s. Theirs are standard solid-wood pieces. This one is shiny and sleek. My heart aches with affection when it hits me that he had this put in here specifically for me. That he took the time to find something he knew I’d like.
The office itself is simple, with a tall bookcase on one side and framed photos of Boston on the other, but the view of the Atlantic through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk makes up for it. It may not be the Eiffel Tower, but it’s no less beautiful.
As that thought runs through my mind, I make a promise to myself to stop comparing this new life to my old one.
There’s no going back, and it’s time to start working toward making peace with that.
“HR has a few forms for you to fill out.” He slips his hands into his pockets.
“I’ve left you a list of the contracts that are up for negotiation this year, as well as a list of positions we’ll be looking to fill.
Take your time. Familiarize yourself with the notes.
It’ll probably seem like a foreign language to you—”
I snort. “I moved to France before I could speak a lick of French. I can figure out your hockey stats.”
He nods, a smirk on his face. “I have no doubt. Still.” He surveys me, his expression thoughtful, caring. “It’s a lot. My door is always open—”
“Are you sure about that? We’ve already established the kinds of activities taking place in your office—”
With a roll of his eyes, he breathes out an annoyed sigh.
Laughter bubbles out of me in response to his reaction, and his eyes light up.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s nice to see you smiling. It’s been a while.”
That sobers me. But I won’t let it ruin my day. So with a shrug, I say, “Like you guys said, this is my new start.” I pick up the folder on top of the pile he’s left for me. “Get out of here. I need to get up to date in your world.”
As he meanders to the door, his back to me, I look at the name on the folder in my hand and immediately wince. Shit. Of course it’d have to be Noah Harrison.
“Want to do dinner with Millie and me tonight?” Gavin asks, turning in the doorway.
I force a smile. “I’ll keep you posted. I’ve got a call in to a realtor. I want to look for a place of my own.”
His lips kick up on one side. “Moving out? Mom will be beside herself.”
I huff a laugh. “You have no idea what it’s like living with them again. I moved out when I was eighteen, and now I’m thirty and living at home again. It’s pathetic.”
Gavin’s smile softens. “We all need help sometimes.”
Eyes closed, I suck in a steadying breath. Then I lift my chin and look him in the eye. “I think I’ve had enough time to lick my wounds. It’s time I help myself.”
He nods once and taps on the doorframe. “All right. I’ll be at the rink if you need me.”
With that, he’s gone, leaving me alone in this new space.
With a sigh, I pick up the folder with Noah’s name on it. Looking inside feels like cheating. I could have googled him last night. Anyone else probably would have. There’s probably a plethora of information about him on the internet. About his son. The mother.
My throat gets tight just thinking about her.
Ollie is young. Five, maybe. Which means Noah probably met his mom not all that long after our weekend. The thought sends a wave of grief through me. While I haven’t been a nun these last few years, I couldn’t even look at another man for months after I left the Bahamas.
It took years to even go on a date with someone else.
I was a foolish romantic who believed we’d find one another again.
I slump back in my office chair and spin to face the ocean. Its vastness has always made me uneasy. It’s always made me feel small. Especially when I was on the other side of it, far from my family and friends. Far from him.
“Ugh.” I groan, dropping my head back. Even now, I’m behaving like a hopeless romantic. How is that still possible? How, after all this time, have I not become more jaded? I should be. The man had a child in the time since I last saw him. He’s probably been married and divorced since then.
Hannah mentioned that he’s single. That one detail, unfortunately, makes my heart pitter-patter like a lovesick teenager. There’s a chance, it says. It’s not impossible, it teases. Maybe it’s fate.
My heart is clearly delusional. It should probably be locked up. Or at least zapped a few times.
“Knock, knock.”
I spin my chair at the sound of a masculine voice.
The man standing in my doorway might be one of the most attractive humans to ever walk the earth.
His dirty blond hair is thick and a tad longer in the front, though he’s got it haphazardly brushed to the side.
The scruff on his jaw, a couple of shades darker, makes his blue eyes extra bright.
The scar across his cheekbone and the light wrinkles around his eyes make me think he’s probably a former hockey player.
His suit is a deep shade of blue; his tie, gray.
Though with the way the light reflects off the fabric, it’s almost silver.
He’s got one shoulder propped against the doorframe, his stance casual, the vibe radiating off him one of complete ease. Like this man is comfortable in almost every room he enters.
Money. Every inch of him screams it. A lot of it.
It’s the least attractive thing about him.
“How can I help you?” I push off the desk and stand, holding his gaze.
“Wanted to introduce myself. I’m Ezra Bardot, the Bolts’ GM.” He straightens to full height and steps into the room.
I skirt my desk, keeping my shoulders pulled back, and hold out my hand. “Sienna Langfield.”
He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes, our new CEO, I’m told.”
There’s no hiding the hint of bitterness in his tone. This man does not like the changes my brothers have made. Noted.
I grip his hand firmly, meeting his pressure, then motion to the guest chairs. “Would you like to sit?”
Nodding, he eases into one. I settle in the seat beside him rather than on the other side of the desk with the hope that it’ll earn a little goodwill. I don’t know a thing about this man, but if we’re going to work together, I’d prefer to get along.
“I wasn’t aware that there was another Langfield interested in the sport.” He infuses the comment with a bit of humor. Or he tries, at least. Though the words are more cutting than anything.
I shrug. “I honestly wasn’t.”
His eyes go wide, like he’s shocked by my candor. But it’s pointless to lie. He’ll learn soon enough how little I know about hockey.
“This is a family business. My brothers need help, so here I am.”
Tongue poking into his cheek, he nods. “Right. Well, I played hockey professionally for ten years and have been on the administrative end for the last fifteen.” Yep, the man is definitely in his late forties. “So let me know if I can help at all.”
I give him a professional smile. “I appreciate that.”
We’re silent for a moment. As if we’ve come to a stalemate.
And the tension in the air is not the good kind.
He studies the room, his focus pausing on the view I was admiring when he appeared. “Nice office they gave you.”
My hackles rise. The words themselves are innocuous. But the tone is off, his eyes a little too cold.
“Yes. Though considering all the traveling the team does, I don’t suppose I’ll spend much time here.”
Ezra lets out a derisive snort. “You intend to travel with the team?”
I shrug, keeping my expression serene. “How else will I figure out which of our guys we should be pushing to keep and which other players we should be looking at offering contracts to?”
He frowns, his brow creasing. “That’s the GM’s job.”
“And the owners’,” I point out. “And since, as CEO, I represent them, it’s my job too.”
That may not be completely accurate, but the idea that I’ll have any say seems to addle him, and that only inspires me to dig my heels in. I can’t imagine Beckett getting along with this guy, and now I can’t wait to find out why they hired him.
Ezra stands, causing his chair to slide back a couple of inches. “Well, then I guess we’ll be working together a lot. Welcome to the team.” With a sharp nod, he turns and strides out.
When I’m sure I’m alone, I inhale deeply and let the air out slowly. I get the feeling he doesn’t mean that at all.