Chapter 7
SEVEN
AUSTIN
Damn.
I hadn’t meant to make Jane think I doubted her. Especially not when she’d always been so consistent and I was the one messing with our usual dynamic.
I knew Jane wasn’t the type to be swayed by someone like Dad, although it was possible she’d be intimidated by him. He could be a scary guy when he wanted to be.
“I’m sorry.” I leaned forward and reached for her hand. It was small compared to mine, and to my surprise, she didn’t shy away from the touch. “Jane, I didn’t mean anything by it. Of course I have faith in you. He just gets to me like no one else, and I was worried.”
Someone behind me pressed their horn and held it, letting me know how much they appreciated the holdup.
Shit.
I jerked my hand away. Jane checked the mirrors and slowly released the brake, exhaling roughly as she rejoined the flow of traffic. “I wouldn’t fall for something like that.”
“I know you wouldn’t.” I wanted to meet her gaze, but she kept her eyes firmly on the road, which, if I’m honest, was probably for the best. “I’m not rational when it comes to him.”
“I get that.”
It wasn’t an acceptance of my apology, but at least she didn’t seem inclined to escalate the tense conversation into an argument. I’d already owed her an apology. I didn’t want to do or say anything to owe her yet another.
I kept my mouth shut for the rest of the drive home, sneaking glances at her out of the corner of my eye, hoping her attitude toward me might soften.
I understood her mood, though. Dad could be exhausting to deal with, especially when he tried to charm and manipulate, and then I’d put my foot in it.
As we pulled into the garage, I wondered if I should say something to try to defuse the tension between us, but I had no idea what to say.
In the end, the choice was taken from me.
Jane looked over, something unreadable in her expression. The worst of her earlier irritation had dissipated, but I wasn’t convinced that the hints of sadness and resignation I caught glimpses of in her eyes were any better.
She unclipped her belt. “I’ve worked for you for six months. That’s longer than any of your other assistants.”
I nodded mutely. I was less likely to upset her further if I didn’t interrupt.
“I never understood why you had a hard time holding onto your employees. Sure, you’re an exacting boss, but I’ve always admired the fact that you hold yourself to the same standards you hold others to.”
I nodded again, still clueless as to where she was going with this.
“Some people need a lot of praise, and that’s not me, but you n-n…” She trailed off, sucked in a ragged breath, and visibly steadied herself. “The point is, I’m g-good at my job and part of that is keeping away people you don’t want contact with. I haven’t failed you before and I won’t now.”
“I believe you.” As if I’d dare to disagree. Yes, I was the boss, but I’d fucked up, and I didn’t want to lose the best assistant I’d ever had because I’d gotten caught up in my head about my wannabe-controlling father.
“Good.” She sniffed, opened the door, and marched out.
Despite everything, I almost smiled. Had Jane always had a backbone of steel?
I’d thought of her as meek, but perhaps I’d dismissed her too easily because of the way she shied away from attention and often used her hair as a shield against the world.
I grabbed my bag and put my dirty clothes into the laundry, then I entered the living area, but Jane was nowhere to be seen. I checked the kitchen, which was also empty.
Well, what was I supposed to do now? Everything felt upside down.
Usually, I would go to my room, but instead, I decided to set up my laptop at the dining table in case she came out of her studio.
I opened one of the videos I’d saved of Gauthier’s former team playing Fox’s former team from last season.
I had some idea of both players’ strengths and weaknesses, but not as much as I’d like to have if I were to be their captain. I’d also downloaded recordings of games that Elliot’s and Schmidt’s teams had played. I’d get to them next.
I started the game, opened my notebook, and got to work.
A couple of hours later, Jane’s footfalls came down the stairs, and she entered the kitchen. I glanced up from the game, but her focus was fully engaged by the fridge, so I didn’t have any way to ascertain her current mood.
On the screen, Gauthier intercepted a forward from the other team, wrangled the puck from him, and made a break for it down the ice.
Interesting. He obviously liked moving around the rink, which was different from the approach Matt and Halonen had taken last year.
Matt generally stayed in the defensive zone and Halonen, for all that he was a glory hound, had been too afraid of Daniels to venture far from the goal in case something slipped past him.
“He’s fast,” Jane observed, breaking into my thoughts. “He’d do well paired with Matt. Matt could protect the goal while Gauthier remained more mobile.”
“You’re right.” I wasn’t sure why that surprised me. Whenever she’d said anything like that in the past, I’d always chalked it up to her knowing a bit about hockey because of her job with me, but there was much more to it than that. I really should have looked beneath the surface.
Now that I thought of it, Jane probably had opinions about a lot of hockey-related things that she’d never voiced to me. Had she felt that she couldn’t? That I wouldn’t be interested in hearing from her? Or had it been her desire to lie low that prevented her from speaking up?
I buried my teeth into my lower lip. Don’t ask. That’s exactly the sort of question that could get you in trouble.
I resumed taking notes when Jane didn’t say anything else, and she kept quiet through the rest of her time in the kitchen, although I was far too aware of her soft footfalls and the swish of the air when she moved.
When the meal was ready, she prepared a serving and brought it over to me. I held my breath, hoping she might join me—we had a lot to talk about, after all—but instead, she dished herself another serving and took it back to her studio.
I finished my meal and took my laptop to my living room, acknowledging that I likely wouldn’t see Jane again that evening. I couldn’t force my company on her if I wanted her to change her mind. In fact, I had to get better at listening to her.
My phone rang as I was getting comfortable in an armchair. I checked the caller ID and answered.
“Hi, Gus.”
“Hey, Austin. I thought I’d check in and see where you’re at on the matter of finding a girlfriend—either real or fake.”
I groaned. “Drop it. I’m already having trouble because of your bright idea.”
“Oh?”
“Jane isn’t pleased with me.”
He whistled. “Damn. She hasn’t come around?”
“Not even close.”
“Surely, we can change her mind. Have you offered her a raise?”
“She doesn’t seem to want to negotiate.” I’d offer her more if that was what it took, but I doubted that would be the case. It was obvious she’d rather pretend our conversation about fake dating had never happened.
“Give her time. She’s perfect for the job. I’d hate to try to find someone else right as we’re heading into the season. If we had to, do you think your neighbor would be interested?”
I snorted. “I said I don’t have time for a girlfriend, and I meant it. Not a real one. I’m willing to consider a fake relationship but not with anyone who will want or expect more, and that means definitely not Sylvia.”
She hadn’t been shy about coming on to me. She’d never settle for anything less than the real thing, and nor should she have to. But I wasn’t her man. Even if I were interested in her, I wouldn’t make her happy. I didn’t have enough time and energy to please any woman and falling short would hurt.
“I think it’s bullshit that choosing the captain could be about anything other than hockey,” I grumbled.
Gus sighed, and I could easily picture him pinching the bridge of his nose as he often did when he was exasperated with me.
“Austin, I’ll be real with you: Once you reach a certain level of success, advancement is almost always political. If you’ve got a pool of candidates who each have the skills and talents required to be able to do the job, then political positioning can be the deciding factor. It’s just how it is.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Yes, you’ve made your opinion clear, but that doesn’t change the facts of the matter. If you don’t think you can talk Jane into it, then have a think about whether anyone else might fit the role. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“All right. Talk later.”
“Good night.” Gus ended the call.
I dug my fingers into my hair and tugged, a growl of frustration tearing from my chest. Where, exactly, did Gus think I was going to magic up this perfect fake girlfriend from? I hardly talked to anyone other than the guys on the team.
I flinched at a crash somewhere else in the house. It didn’t sound like anything had broken, more that something had been knocked over and hit the floor. I flopped back onto the sofa and strained my ears, hoping to hear further clues. Sure enough, a few more bumps and bashes followed.
My feet itched to carry me to Jane, but I pressed my soles to the floor and didn’t budge. Yes, I wanted to apologize again, and yes, time was running out, but Jane had made it clear that she didn’t want to interact with me right now and pushing her would only make her resist harder.
Nevertheless, a sense of urgency crackled through me like electricity, urging me to find her immediately and do whatever it took to make it right.
I knew my motives weren’t pure. I hoped, deep down, that apologizing would get me what I wanted.
I was a selfish asshole, and because of that, I didn’t let myself seek her out. I stayed exactly where I was.
When the noise dissipated, I finally padded out of my suite and made my way through the house to the kitchen.
Jane had cleaned up. I looked around, wondering what she’d knocked over.
Nothing looked out of place. I glanced over at the dining table and froze.
A large book sat on one of the chairs. I knew Jane liked reading.
I’d seen her reading on her tablet before.
But I’d never seen her with an actual book—at least, not that I could remember.
Feeling like a stalker, I approached the book. It was face down. After a short debate between the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, I turned it over.
I cocked my head, surprised. While the book was large, I’d assumed it was fiction. Instead, the front cover declared it to be a textbook on the pathology of speech disorders.
Intrigued, I picked it up, sat down, and flipped it open. There was absolutely no denying that this was a textbook. While it had some images to break up the chunks of text, the few paragraphs I scanned were dry and academic.
Why did Jane have this textbook?
My eyebrows knitted together as I recalled the way she’d stuttered earlier, tripping slightly over her words. It had happened once or twice before, but the same could be true of many people, so I’d never given it much thought. Did Jane have a speech disorder?
I continued flipping and reached a section where there were tiny notes in Jane’s familiar scrawl in the margins.
I read them like a voyeur, entranced. She hadn’t just been reading this book, she had been studying it.
Perhaps she didn’t have a speech disorder but instead was taking a course on the subject.
I should know.
If my assistant—who lived above my garage—either had a speech disorder or was undergoing a course of study, I ought to be aware of it. The fact that I wasn’t made me even more of an asshole.
Sure, I’d seen her reading and making notes on her tablet, but I’d always assumed it was either work-related or some kind of hobby.
It had crossed my mind that she might be working on a novel.
With how quiet and intelligent she was, she seemed the type.
I’d never asked because I didn’t want to make her self-conscious, and she’d never volunteered the information.
I closed the book, my conscience getting the better of me.
I shouldn’t read it. It wasn’t mine. Not only that but doing so would breach Jane’s privacy.
She clearly hadn’t meant to leave it out here.
But I wanted answers. I gripped it tightly, unsure of what to do.
Take it to her and demand to know why she had it, or pretend I’d never seen the book and let it go?