Chapter Seven #2
Besides, I'm not a CEO right now. Thanks to my board's "temporary reassignment," I'm just a woman trying to figure out how to nanny a nine-year-old while fighting an attraction to her uncle that could destroy Genevieve Holiday's plans.
I lift my hand to knock, but the door swings open first. Trey fills the frame—fresh from the shower, track pants hanging low on his hips, a Hawkeyes training shirt pulled tight across his chest. Ink teases up the strong column of his neck, just enough to make me wonder what’s hidden beneath.
His dark hair is damp, a few stray drops clinging to his temples, and he smells of clean soap and fresh coffee.
The scent alone is enough to make my mouth water.
"You're early," he says, his morning voice rough.
"I'm always early. The habits of a CEO are hard to kill.
I brought breakfast." I lift the bag of fresh bagel, egg, and ham sandwiches from Serendipity’s like a peace offering, the coffee carrier balanced in my other hand.
“Thought we could talk logistics before Adeline gets back from her sleepover.”
"It smells good, thanks. I just got back from a run and a shower. I was going to make breakfast. You're just in time. Come in." He steps back, and I catch a glimpse of the tattoos wrapping his forearms when he reaches for the coffee carrier and bag of food to carry it for me.
I walk through, and Trey closes the door behind me. I wait until he leads me down the hallway, and then I follow as he passes me.
This house isn't as big as the other players’ in the neighborhood, but my townhouse could fit in it a few times over, but you get more for your money in the suburbs.
Slade and Penelope live on the opposite corner of the neighborhood, Kaenan and Isla, only a couple of streets down, and Coach Haynes and his wife Juliet live in this neighborhood as well.
It’s a large gated community with gorgeous homes.
"So you run?" I ask.
"Everyday. Early morning. Four-thirty before morning skate."
"Like clockwork?" I ask.
"Routine is important while I'm still adjusting—"
He doesn't finish, as if he didn't mean to divulge that information.
What could he have meant? Adjusting as a father? As a professional player on an elite hockey team?
"Adjusting how?" I ask because I'm nosy…and because understanding his routines will better help me understand where I can help as a nanny.
Being a nanny isn't just an overpaid babysitter. Our job is to blend into the family as seamlessly as possible and to lighten the burden around the house wherever we can, especially when it comes to the kids.
"It's been taking some time to adjust to civilian life. I still feel like a fish out of water. A strict schedule and morning runs help keep me sane," he says. Then he shakes his head as if he couldn't have said that out loud. "Shit, I probably said too much. I don't talk about this a lot."
"No, I get it. And you didn't say too much.
I can't relate to adjusting from military life to being an instant dad and professional hockey player, but I understand that early mornings and strict organized days keep me from spiraling out of control.
Though my working conditions seem trivial compared to yours. My office isn't a war zone."
He glances over his shoulder. "But isn't it?" he asks and then turns back as we walk through the living room and into the large kitchen.
I smile to myself. Sure, we both know his years in a special forces unit were far more dangerous than a heated conference room negotiation—although, in my world, things get ugly fast when the pastries run out and the coffee pot’s empty.
Still, I appreciate that he’s not letting me downplay what I do.
Because my job is hard. The stress load is relentless, and when I’m not on my A-game, it’s not just the company and shareholders who take the hit—it’s the people who work for me.
The staff who show up every day and make Newport Staffing Solutions the best staffing service of any of our competitors.
I built this company from nothing, and those employees aren’t just names on a payroll; they’re the reason I fight as hard as I do.
They’ve been here fighting with me. I know their families, their goals, and I care about their futures.
If I lose control of the company, I lose the ability to protect them from the kind of careless decisions made by leaders who only see the bottom line. Like Martin Howard.
A company doesn’t grow to where we are by winging it, and it certainly doesn’t stay there without someone willing to go to war for it.
Meticulous plans and long hours are what got us here. And no matter what the board thinks, I'm still the right person for the CEO position because no one else loves this company as much as I do. It's my baby—starting it with my own sweat and tears to get it to this point.
I follow him through the house, trying not to stare at the way his track pants hang low on his hips.
The layout is open concept, modern but warm.
A few family photos line the hallway—mostly of Adeline with who I assume are her parents.
There are only a couple of Trey, and I’m guessing his brother.
One at his brother’s wedding, another of Trey at the hospital holding a newborn Adeline while his brother beams beside him.
The last frame makes me stop. Trey’s in full Night Stalker gear, standing in front of a Black Hawk helicopter with another man at his side, his arm draped over the guy’s shoulder as they pose for the camera.
The grin on his face is pure adrenaline, and something in my stomach flips.
I’ve always told myself I didn’t have a “type,” but apparently I like a man in uniform.
Because Trey? He looks just as devastatingly handsome in Army fatigues as he does in a hockey uniform.
Or maybe it’s not the uniform at all. Maybe it’s just him.
The pictures are hung with care, but they certainly lack a woman's touch.
"Your house is beautiful," I say, as he leads me to the kitchen island. "When did you move in?"
"Last month." He pulls out a bagel sandwich, sets it on a plate, and then hands it to me. "I wanted to get Adeline out of my apartment at The Commons before the end of the season. Give her some stability. It’s what my brother would have wanted too."
The Commons is the luxury high-rise in downtown Seattle, only a couple of blocks from the Hawkeyes stadium, where most of the single Hawkeyes players live.
Definitely not the best environment for a nine-year-old girl.
Especially with the late-night shenanigans I can only imagine happening around there.
The women sneaking out in the morning, still in their cocktail dresses or in a player’s warm-up gear with heels in hand, isn’t probably the best for Adeline to witness.
I can see why Trey wanted to get her out of there. I have even more respect for him than I did before I showed up this morning. Staying in The Commons would be easier for him with proximity to the stadium. Moving her here was clearly for Adeline's best interest. Not Trey's.
Right when I think I couldn't like him more, I learn something new about him and what he's willing to do for Adeline.
"Smart move." I help unpack breakfast, hyper-aware of his presence as he leans against the counter. "This neighborhood's great for kids. Close to her school and the ballet school down the road."
He nods. "And Berkeley's house. They've gotten close."
"They have." I smile, remembering how the girls have seemed almost inseparable since Adeline joined the Little Hawks when Trey got signed on with the team. "Isla says they do everything together."
"Yeah, about that…" He runs a hand through his hair. "Her recital's in a month. Charlotte was helping with costume fittings and hair and…well, all that stuff I know nothing about."
The admission carries an edge of frustration that makes my heart ache. Here's this fierce hockey player, this decorated soldier, brought low by the prospect of ballet buns and tutus.
"I can handle that," I assure him. "What else can I take off your plate?"
He pulls out his phone, showing me a carefully crafted schedule. "Morning practice at six means I leave by five-thirty. School starts at eight. Then there's after-school activities—hockey on Mondays and Wednesdays, ballet on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Piano on Friday afternoons."
I nod, mentally noting each commitment. "And game days?"
"Home games, I leave around four for pre-game. Away games…" He hesitates. "Those are tougher. Sometimes two or three nights away."
"I can do overnights," I say quickly. Maybe too quickly, but I don't want him to stress over any of this.
I know what I agreed to. I remember Kaenan's schedule before he retired with Isla handling his days out of town with their kids.
"I mean, I'm used to traveling for business trips, and I'm familiar with the Hawkeyes' away game scheduling.
You don't have anything to worry about. I'm assuming it would be easier for Adeline's routine if I stayed here? "
"I think that would disrupt her life the least, if you're okay with it. You can have the bed in the master bedroom. I've never slept on it."
"You don't sleep in the bed? Even when you're home?" I ask, overstepping into nosy territory again.
He looks down at his coffee cup and then takes a sip. "No."
"Where do you sleep then?" I ask.
"In the living room—usually."
"Even when you host a lady friend?" I ask, the words slipping out before I can think better of them. "I mean—sorry—that's none of my—"
Trey cuts me off before I can finish my thought. "I don't bring women home. I keep Adeline's life free of any of that." His response is casual, as if answering the question doesn’t bother him in the least.
"Never?" I ask, though I should just shut up. It's just hard to imagine, with all the women I've seen begging for his attention, that he doesn’t bring any of them back to his place.