Chapter 18
Gunnar
After dinner on Saturday night with my executive team, in town for the weekend to review financial reports for my oil and gas company, I arrived home exhausted but pleased.
Things were going well, and I needed to schedule my return to Sweden to check in with my staff there and tour our facilities, something I did at least twice a year.
Those trips helped me understand the changes in the business and speak to my staff about the challenges they were navigating.
Our diversification into cleaner energy had progressed faster than expected, and the cost of inputs had dropped sufficiently enough to allow for a significant increase in production.
That would eliminate a substantial volume of pollution over the next decade.
I remained a man who’d made the bulk of his wealth from petroleum products, but I wanted to leave the world in as healthy a place as possible.
I flipped my phone over in my hands, debating whether I should text Zaila to ensure the spa experience for her and her mother had been satisfactory. Okay, I was going to message Zaila, but I needed to decide how to start the text.
Casual? Flirty?
The indecision irritated me, so I typed, Hey, how was the spa day? Did they pamper you enough? I hit send before I could change my mind.
Her reply took several nerve-wracking minutes to arrive. It was amazing! I feel like a new woman. Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it meant to both Mom and me.
I grinned at the screen. A new woman, huh? Do I need to reintroduce myself to this upgraded version of Zaila? Will she still tolerate my hockey obsession?
Her response came more quickly this time. Hmm, she might. But she’s definitely expecting you to step up your game now, goalie.
I chuckled, imagining her smirking as she typed that. Step up my game? I’m already in playoff form.
Her response was quick: We’ll see about that. My mom would like you to come to dinner this week. We can make any night work.
Dinner with the parent. I chuckled as I dragged my palm across the nape of my neck. I hadn’t ever met a woman’s parent before. Though with Zaila, I wanted to. Thursday?
Zaila: That’s great! I’ll let Mom know. She’ll ask about food allergies, your favorite dish, everything, so if you have any goodies to share, now’s the time.
I eat anything, I wrote. While I detested shellfish, I wouldn’t tell Zaila that, because there was no need to stress out her sick mother.
Zaila: Hmm…that’s not true. You dislike shrimp.
Ah. Right. The team nutritionist, Phoebe, had mentioned that in one of the interviews she did for Zaila’s social media campaign.
Gunnar: Caught me. But I would have eaten them for you and your mom.
Zaila: No need. I’ll tell her you might be Scandinavian by birth, but you’re a meat-and-potato guy like my dad. She knows what that means.
I shook my head and typed, I don’t.
Zaila: Sure you do! And if you really don’t, it’ll be a surprise. A good one. Now, I’m signing off. Goodnight, Mr. Playoffs.
It’s Lukas, I typed.
Zaila: What?
Gunnar: My middle name. One day you’ll tell me yours, Ms. Fancy Spa.
As I set my phone down, I realized my cheeks hurt from smiling.
A pleasant surprise flickered through me when I received a text midway through the following morning.
Zaila: Good morning! Hope your day is as relaxing as mine was yesterday.
Relaxing? Not really how I operated. To prove the point, I snapped a picture of my desk, where the laptop was open with game footage and a coffee mug sat next to a stack of notes, even though it was Sunday.
Gunnar: This is what relaxation looks like in my world.
Zaila: Wow. Living the dream, huh?
Gunnar: Absolutely. Who needs beaches when you’ve got defensive zone breakdowns to analyze?
Zaila: You have an incredible group of coaches who are paid to do that for you, but you’re such a nerd about hockey, I know you can’t help yourself. It’s rather adorable how into the stats you get.
Adorable?
Gunnar: Careful. Call me adorable again and I might start thinking you like me.
Her response made me laugh out loud.
Zaila: Don’t get cocky, wannabe coach.
That interaction kept me peppy all day, and I even took an hour off to enjoy the latest thriller novel by my favorite author. For the first time in ages, I went to bed before I was dragging, and I slept well—better than I had in a long time.
The sight of Zalia walking into the office on Monday morning was enough to freeze my thoughts in place. Yes, I’d been waiting for her, but no, I would never admit it. She had this way of commanding attention without even trying—confident strides and a warm smile that could light up the room.
“Zaila,” I greeted her as she approached my office door. “You look lovely.” As always.
“Thanks. I had a great weekend, thanks to a very generous donation.”
“Really? How lucky for you.”
We’d moved closer to each other. Zaila must have realized that because she lurched back. Ah. She wanted to keep our time at work professional. I supposed we hadn’t really discussed that anything was different. So I could do that for her. For now.
“I’d like you to have lunch in my office,” I told her.
She licked her lips. “All right.”
Her voice was a bit breathy, and her chest rose and fell, telling me I affected her, probably as much as she affected me—which was good to know.
“I need your help to splice some video for our socials over the next couple of weeks. Gotta get the fans ready for the season.” No, I didn’t. She did an excellent job of creating engagement with no input from me. “I’d like you to make time for this hockey nerd,” I said anyway.
Her lips parted, and her pupils dilated. “Lead the way, coach.”
I itched to touch her, but I managed to resist. “Twelve thirty? I’ll have lunch waiting.” With that I scooted past her and moved toward the elevator, fleeing so I didn’t tug her into my arms and kiss her…
Now that I wasn’t trying to avoid my attraction, I wanted to jump in with both feet. But I wasn’t sure Zaila felt the same, and she deserved to weigh her options with me.
Once I’d faked an errand and then returned to my office, I told my assistant Zaila would be coming for a working lunch, which was true if you counted watching hockey film as work.
Then I focused on reports from the Wildcatters as well as my oil business for a solid two hours before I started counting the minutes until I could see Zaila again.
I haven’t been this into a girl since I was fifteen, I thought to myself. Actually, I wasn’t sure I’d ever been this interested in a woman. Zaila made me fumble for my usual collectedness. And somehow, I appreciated that I wasn’t able to keep my cool with her.
I continued to contemplate this loss of control until my fantasies took a not-suitable-for-work turn, and I forced myself to rein them in. By the time twelve thirty rolled around, I’d managed one additional hour of focus, for which I should have received a gold star.
At precisely 12:30, Zaila knocked before sticking her head through my double doors. “Is now a good time for our lunch meeting?”
Any time is the right time for you. I smiled.
I enjoy spending time with Zaila. Even the little things were a revelation sometimes.
“Perfect,” I told her. “Leon’s getting our lunch.
Why don’t we sit over here at the table, and that way we can go through the footage while we eat.
” I nodded toward the large, flat screen on the wall nearby.
She nodded. Once she’d taken her seat and pulled out a pad and pen, Leon knocked on the door.
He brought in the food, setting a stuffed paper bag between us.
Leon had worked for me for nearly five years, and I could see the interest in his gaze.
I never had working lunches with Wildcatters staff.
Coaches or players, sure, but not the employees.
I’d tended to steer clear of them, until Zaila.
My gorgeous intern had changed everything, and she didn’t even know it. I gave Leon a curt nod, and he exited the office, shutting the door behind him.
“Let’s eat first, and then we can dig into the details,” I suggested.
I’d ordered from a place I’d seen on her social media feed, betting she’d enjoy the dish she’d posted there.
She opened the container of chicken masala and raised an eyebrow. “Hmm… Cyberstalk much?”
I shrugged. “I consider this research.”
Her eyes lit up. “Lucky for you, this is my favorite, so I’m not going to complain.”
“Good, on both accounts.”
We ate, and the conversation was easy—like we’d known each other for decades, not mere weeks.
Zaila told me about her mother’s illness, and I reciprocated with details about my parents’ deaths and Karl raising me through high school.
I didn’t even hesitate to mention my brother, which was atypical for me.
The words were out before I had time to consider them.
“We had to move twice because of his hockey commitments, but I didn’t mind.”
“Your brother plays?” she asked, clearly surprised.
I shook my head, setting aside my meal. This was why I never talked about Karl. I hated remembering how he’d been taken from me. “Not anymore,” I murmured. Steeling myself, I met Zaila’s concerned gaze. “He was murdered.”
Zaila’s fork clattered into her to-go packaging. She leaned forward, her eyes filled with so much compassion that my nose stung with answering grief. “I’m so sorry, Gunnar. I can’t even imagine how much you must miss him.”
I reached over and intertwined our fingers.
“I do. I always will.” I paused a moment.
“I don’t like to talk about it. I usually don’t talk about him.
But somehow…” I looked up at her and cleared my throat against the emotion crammed there.
“He was beaten too badly to survive. His teammates found him outside a gay bar with his partner.” Because Leon had told them where Karl would be.
I shoved down those thoughts, those memories, with the ruthless precision I’d mastered over the decades.