Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
BIANCA
Brody should skip the morning skate. He may not think I noticed that he was off balance when he got out of bed, but I did.
I lie in bed fussing with the sheets and contemplating what else I can say or do to change his mind, but he insists he needs to be there with the team whether he’s skating or not.
How can I argue with that without flat-out telling him I don’t trust him to tell the truth about how he’s feeling? I can’t.
The thought crosses my mind to try another tactic, but I’m not going to resort to seducing him. I chortle. As if that’s a good idea. The whole point is for him to not overexert himself.
He promised to take it easy on the ice. But I saw him take the Tylenol first thing before he got out of bed, swallowing who knows how many tablets, dry.
I shudder.
When he emerges from the en-suite, he looks fresh and mind-bendingly sexy in sweats with those blue eyes and that dimpled grin, and not to mention his manly unshaven jawline that makes me—
“You look like you’re thinking something dirty, Brooks.” He sits on the edge of the bed and leans down to kiss me. I don’t resist in spite of my morning breath. Who am I?
With a caress of my breast, he straightens and emits a deep sigh.
“You’re a temptation, but I’m a dedicated hockey player, so don’t try to stop me from leaving.”
I laugh. “Okay. But it’s tough, and I’m only relenting because I’m also your agent.”
He raises a brow as he stands. “Also my agent? What else are you, Brooks?” His voice comes out raspy, scraping against all my most sensitive nerve endings like the edge of a knife.
Heat flares to my cheeks, and unable to answer him, I wave a hand at the messy sheets.
“My lover?” he says, his voice still raspy and quiet, like he’s telling a secret.
I nod. A smile grips my face and my soul because I love the sound of those words. Way too much.
His mouth twitches in a smirk. “I thought so.” Then he walks away.
But he stops at the bedroom door. “How about if I come home for lunch, lover?” He watches me with the look of a predator, and the familiar fluttery whoosh commences in my belly, reaching my chest where my heart clamors like it wants to leap out and latch onto him.
Opening my mouth to say yes, I almost abandon my plans to go to the office, but I clamp down on all the crazy feelings as my last hold on reason and rational, logical decision-making leaps into action—never mind that we just made love and stayed up half the night…
“I’m going into the Boston office today. They’re expecting me.” There’s an apology in my voice, but that doesn’t prevent the shuttered expression on his face telling me he knows it’s a half-truth at best.
“See you later then.”
He walks away, and when I hear the condo door close, I blink away the inexplicable tears that spring up. I must be getting my period or something because this is a ridiculously emotional reaction. It’s not like I won’t see him again soon.
Then maybe I can make up for disappointing him.
The errant thought alarms me because that’s not our arrangement, not how this is supposed to work between us. And it’s the exact reason we shouldn’t have become lovers.
After trying to read the same contract for the better part of the morning, I give up. Switching to making phone calls should make me more productive, but I’ve only succeeded in agreeing to review two more proposals, both of which may as well be written in Hungarian based on how much I retain.
One of the proposals is a sponsorship deal with a men’s hair product company for Brody. I know he won’t like it. He didn’t like the last male grooming product deal I brought to him, and I understand why.
He’s holding out for a sporting goods deal or, failing that, a brewery sponsorship. I told him to wait and buy a microbrewery and put his own label on it. He acknowledged it was good advice, but he’s impatient.
Standing, I pace around the office trying to decide whether his impatience is a flaw or the secret to his success.
Checking my watch, I decide it’s time to quit. I can be this productive from home—or rather at Brody’s condo, which is technically not my home. All the same, if I get there in time for lunch, maybe Brody will be there too, and we can have our assignation after all.
Assignation? Really?
Grabbing my coat and bag, I say out loud, “Yes. Really.” Stowing my laptop in my bag, I close my office door behind me and give the receptionist an extra sunny smile. “I’ll be working from home this afternoon, Alice.”
She rolls her eyes. “I bet. Don’t think I don’t know about sneaking away from the office for a little newlywed nookie when I see it.”
Laughing, I pick up my pace before she sees my blush. I can only hope for some of that nookie.
Parking in the expensive garage because I’m throwing caution to the wind in my rush of excitement and anticipation of some pretend newlywed nookie, I hurry to the elevator and wait forever until it opens on the penthouse floor to Brody’s condo.
My heart beats against my ribs faster and faster, like it’s reaching a dramatic crescendo as I open the door.
“Hello? Anyone home?”
Walking inside, I listen as I hang up my coat and put my things on the kitchen island.
All I hear is the drumming of my heart blocking out the silence of the condo. Moving down the hallway, I push into the bedroom to find it exactly the way I left it: bed made, everything in order.
My disappointment is disproportionate to what it should reasonably be because I’m the one who said no to his invitation for newlywed nookie. But logic doesn’t stop the crushing sensation of disappointment in my chest as if my heart is spent from expending all that anticipation with no reward.
At the same instant I plop down on the bed, my phone blasts loudly. “Shit.” I bounce up from the bed and rush back to the kitchen to answer it, senselessly thinking it could be Brody.
“Hello?” I answer, out of breath.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” It’s Delaney’s voice, and I let out a whooshing sigh that sounded too much like disappointment.
She says, “Never mind, forget I asked. I don’t want to know—”
I laugh in spite of my letdown, finally letting go of my fantasy of a stolen afternoon with Brody as if I really were a newlywed. “No, you’re not interrupting anything. I had to run for the phone.”
“Aah. I bet you were hoping I was someone else. I can hear it in your voice.”
“Oh no—I mean, I’m sorry. Am I that transparent?” It feels good to admit to someone how I feel even though to Delaney, I’m supposed to be pining away for my new husband. Little does she know my feelings are completely inappropriate and out of the question because they make no sense.
“You’re almost as pathetic as I was as a newlywed. Close call. Maybe we’re tied for most pathetically in love.”
My laugh is nervous this time because she’s wrong.
I can’t sound that way. I’m not pathetically in love.
My feelings are all about indulging in a little nookie, not about being in love.
Maybe I am a teensy bit smitten, but only because Brody is a charmer and sometimes even sweet and thoughtful. That’s a far cry from being in love. I—
“I called shamelessly at the last minute to invite you to lunch with me and Cherry. We’re meeting in thirty minutes if you can make it.”
The invitation saves me from my circular reasoning about my tangled feelings for Brody.
It warms me as my mouth reflexively curves up at the corners in a smile.
But a trill of nervous tension follows because I like these women and would love to be friends with them, except I’m not really one of them.
I can’t expect to have a real friendship based on what amounts to an acting role.
It would be like me having a friendship with Carrie from Sex in the City when I happen to meet her during filming the role.
The minute she walks off the set, she’s someone else, someone I don’t know.
The right decision, the sensible decision, is to tell Delaney no, tell her I’m busy working—which is what I’m supposed to be doing. I need to finish reviewing that contract.
But dammit, pretending to be Brody’s wife is work too, isn’t it? This charade is all part of my job, and so what if I enjoy it? I should enjoy my job. That’s a good thing.
“I’d love to join you for lunch. Tell me where and I’ll be there.”
It should be no surprise when the host at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Portsmouth knows Delaney and Cherry and seats us immediately at the best table in the place with a view of the harbor. I am, however, surprised when he hands me the menu and greets me by name.
“I’m so glad you’ve chosen to lunch at the Rooftop at the Envio. Ms. Holden, is it? Or do you still go by Brooks?”
My mouth opens, and it takes a beat to recover, though I still don’t know the real answer, so I make an executive decision—and it’s about time.
“Brooks. I’m still Bianca Brooks, intrepid agent with the Jett Agency.”
Everyone is pleased with my answer, beaming approval. The host leaves, promising service.
I lean in and whisper, “I can’t believe he knows who I am.”
“Believe it,” Delaney says. “You’re all over social media with people posting everything they know about you to fill the gap about the mysterious woman who snagged the most eligible hockey bachelor.”
“It’s such a romantic story,” Cherry says. “Dating secretly and then impulsively tying the knot Vegas style.” She sighs deeply.
I nod and agree vaguely, then busy myself with the menu because I don’t have much of a prepared backstory.
In fact, Cherry has summed up all the details Brody and I ever talked about.
The last thing I want to do is invent details on the fly and then try to remember them and make Brody memorize them.
I try to read the menu while repeating in my head—in case she can read my thoughts—Please, please don’t ask me about our first date…
Delaney speaks up instead. “How did you go from—”