Chapter 16 Fletcher #2
I almost backpedal when I approach the front desk and Dana Holbrook is there wearing a big fur coat and those superhigh heels like she’s walking on stilts.
Keep it together. Calm, confident, no bullshit. Make her respect you.
The iPad’s in her hand.
I’ve got the small plug-in that will let Lawrence remote into the iPad. I keep it in my pocket—I take it everywhere, just in case I get lucky. If I can get her to bed, I’m pretty sure I can slip it in there while I’m keeping her busy.
Dana pulls off her sunglasses when she sees me. She nods to the handful of mini liquor bottles in my hands.
“Just protecting your assets.” I shrug one shoulder. “You spent way too much money on Zayne Murphy.”
She blinks at me. “No, I didn’t.”
I set the bottles on the counter then lean on it casually to look at her while the hotel clerk types the number into the computer.
“Zayne’s only thirty-seven, and he has already sold more in merchandise than I’m paying him,” Dana says. “He’s the only thing keeping this team afloat financially.”
“Huh.” I level my gaze at her. “I bet you make all those self-absorbed finance bros in Manhattan cry on the regular, don’t you?”
Dana just raises an eyebrow. “Apparently, I wasn’t harsh enough with you a few days ago.”
“You hired me to play hockey—one of the roughest sports out there. I don’t just give up.”
“You’re cute.” She takes her room key from the clerk.
“We’ll have your bags taken up, Ms. Holbrook.”
“Good. I need a drink.”
“The private terrace is available for you, ma’am.”
I make a gamble and pick up her black leather suitcase and walk ahead of her to the elevator, trying to keep my heart from hammering. I jerk my chin up to her as I hold open the doors and hit her with my smoldering smile that Skylar made me practice.
Dana seems more amused than intrigued, but better than her busting my balls.
“Can I come up and have a water with you?”
“A water?”
“Game tomorrow. No drinking.” I wink.
“Hence the bottles of liquor?”
Yeah, she’s definitely not attracted to me. But hey, a boredom fuck is all I need from her. I’m making progress. A few more hours, and I’m in and done. I may not even have to play that game tomorrow.
The elevator across from me dings, the antique brass doors open, and Ellie careens out. “Where is he? Oh my god, this is a—” She sees me then sees Dana.
Ellie claps a hand over her mouth then thinks better of it and clasps them behind her back. “Dana! Hiiii.”
Do not yank the well-dressed billionaire into the elevator, I chant to myself. Her shoes cost more than your salary.
Ellie is giving me a look. But I don’t speak nonverbal caffeinated annoying girl.
“How about that drink?” Dana purrs.
“Uh, Dana, hi, hey, can I just—” Ellie takes the suitcase from me, her fingers brushing mine, then sets it on the floor.
“I’m just gonna borrow him if that’s okay. Official hockey business.”
“I’m on my off hours,” I growl.
“No”—she pinches my arm—“you’re not.” She gives Dana a big smile. Her eye is twitching. “Have a nice drink. Alcohol sounds fantastic right now.”
I watch, dying inside, as my mark dismisses us silently and steps into the elevator. A bellboy rushes for her bag.
“You,” Ellie hisses at me, jabbing her finger in my chest, “are on babysitting duty. That means you don’t go around trying to get laid.”
“I’m not,” I scoff.
“Yes, you are. God, you NHL players are the worst. You know, maybe you’d be a better player if you weren’t thinking with your dick all the time.”
“Holy—”
“Don’t,” she warns.
“Shit, you’re jealous, aren’t you?”
“I’m not attracted to any of you. I know how you smell after a game,” she sputters.
“Yeah?” I round on her. “You wish it was you I had in my hotel room earlier. Don’t you?
” She’s backing away from me. Her back hits the wall with the elevator buttons.
“Tell me, and be honest—did you take this coaching job because your love life is a disaster and you thought you’d make a rich NHL player fall in love with you? ” I step up into her personal space.
“I like my men to have teeth and job security. I also like them to follow instructions, so where the hell is Zayne, whom you’re supposed to be watching?”
“What? He’s in my room.”
“Try again. He’s not there.”
“Dammit. I wasn’t even gone that long.” Ellie races after me as I exit the elevator and head across the lobby. “What are you doing? Go up to the terrace—they have a bar up there,” I snap at her.
She turns and runs back to the elevators.
Zayne’s not in the fancy main hotel bar, where all the sports media are gathered to schmooze and network and talk shop about tomorrow’s game. I sprint down the hall and around the corner to the little speakeasy in the back of the hotel.
In a dark corner, there’s Zayne, settling in to five fingers of scotch. There’s an empty glass next to him already.
“Dude, what the hell?” I blow out a breath. It’s reminding me of having to take care of my mother, where I had to be the adult even though I was still having to walk in a single-file line and raise my hand to speak in elementary school.
Zayne looks down as I grab the glass.
“We have a game tomorrow.” I let my frustration lace the words. I slam the glass on the bar. “Do not,” I tell the bartender, “serve that man for the rest of his time here, or I’m going to get my hockey stick and smash every goddamn bottle up there.”
“Fletch, I just—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” I drag Zayne up to our room.
He slumps on the bed. The handcuffs are still in my pocket.
I snap one cuff on his wrist then snap the other on my own and turn out the light.
Zayne breathes in the dark.
“I used to want to be you,” I say into the blackness. “I used to want it more than anything in the world.”
Zayne rubs his eyes. “I’m really sorry, Fletch.” He sounds like he means it.