Chapter 3 Rina
Rina
Present day…
Evelyn Kingston’s office smells faintly of lavender polish and old money.
Not the flashy kind that shouts for attention, but the quiet sort that’s defined Chicago for generations.
She’s perched behind her glass desk like a queen on her throne, pearl earrings gleaming as she scans the event proposal I emailed her this morning.
I’ve claimed a chair on the opposite side of her desk, iPad in hand, the gala schedule open between us.
“Beau Masterson confirmed catering,” Evelyn says, tapping a manicured nail against one of the pages. “I’d like to spotlight that partnership in the press release. He’s a recognizable name.”
“I can work that into the first paragraph,” I reply, making a quick note. “And Callie’s bakery is handling desserts.”
Evelyn’s mouth curves. “Perfect. Lakeshore Sweets has a loyal local following. I want the event to feel community driven. Less corporate.”
I grin. “Then I’ll make sure the coverage reflects that. Maybe a behind-the-scenes feature with Callie and Sloane prepping the desserts?”
Her eyes brighten with approval. “Exactly. The players will draw attention, but people remember the details. You have a knack for that.”
After four years in the Railers’ PR department, I’ve learned that details are everything. Especially when cleaning up after the guys. I can spin a scandal before my first cup of coffee.
Which is exactly why my pulse shouldn’t spike when my iPad vibrates, and a text banner flashes across the top of the screen.
Big D: Been thinking about you.
Heat crawls up my neck. I swipe the message away before Evelyn can notice, refocusing on the agenda even as my heartbeat stutters.
“Beau’s team will need access to the loading dock by four,” she continues.
Buzz.
Big D: I can’t wait to get my hands on you again.
My grip tightens on the stylus until it’s on the verge of snapping in half.
Ignore it.
Focus.
You’re a professional, Rina.
Buzz.
Big D: God, I’m starving. I haven’t stopped thinking about the taste of you on my tongue.
Heat curls in my belly, and I tug at my collar, popping the first button, as if that’ll do a damn bit of good to cool me down.
“Rina?” Evelyn’s crisp tone cuts through my haze. She studies me carefully as her brow furrows. “Are you all right? You look flushed.”
“Uh-huh. Totally fine.” The reply comes out a note too high.
Her eyes narrow. “Do you need some water?”
“Yes,” I blurt before I can stop myself. “That would be great.”
She crosses to the mini fridge before returning with a chilled bottle. My hands shake as I take it and twist off the cap, gulping down half of it like I’ve been walking through a desert for hours. The icy water does nothing to touch the heat raging inside.
Buzz.
Big D: I’m going to make you scream tonight.
I bite the inside of my cheek until my eyes sting.
Holy. Freaking. Hell.
This man needs to stop.
If Evelyn stares at me for a second longer, she’ll see everything I’ve been working so hard to keep tamped down. The butterflies, the restless thrum under my skin, the rules I’ve been ignoring.
My contract has a strict no-fraternization clause when it comes to the players. One I signed without a second thought. If anyone caught a glimpse of those messages, I’d be cleaning out my desk by the end of the day.
Hockey players have never been my thing.
Okay… so maybe one in particular has reluctantly become my thing.
Which is a real problem.
Relief hits when the door opens and Hugh Landry strides in, all crisp suit and quiet authority. Alongside Evelyn, he’s the Railers’ other owner. “Do you have a moment?”
Her spine straightens, a subtle bristle I’ve learned to recognize. “Sorry, we’re in the middle of something.”
The atmosphere between them crackles. Whatever this is, I don’t need a front-row seat for it.
I shoot to my feet before I self-combust in Evelyn Kingston’s pristine office. “I, uh, need to run to the restroom. Be right back.”
“Take your time,” Hugh says, gaze locked on my boss.
“Sure, no problem.” My heels click a little too quickly across the tile as I escape into the hallway. The phone buzzing in my pocket only intensifies the ache I’m trying to ignore.
Bathroom.
Cold water.
Pull it together, Rina.
You’re better than this.
I round the corner, focused on making it there before I go up in flames, when a door jerks open and a hand shoots out. I yelp as fingers lock around my wrist and tug me inside. The door slams, plunging the room into shadows that smell of sweat, ice, and leather polish.
The squeak that leaves me is swallowed up by the pounding of my heart as my back hits a solid chest and strong arms band around me, pinning me in place.
“Let go!” I twist, then freeze as my body recognizes who I’m pressed against.
Oliver Van Doren.
He looks dangerously good with sweat-dampened hair, black T-shirt molded to his biceps, and eyes that gleam with mischief.
Then there’s the cocky, sinful smile that destroys my composure every single time.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I hiss.
The deep rumble of his chuckle vibrates through his body.
“You know how much I hate when you ignore me, baby.” His tone drips with wicked satisfaction. “I was just trying to get your attention. Did it work?”
His mouth dips close to my ear, breath hot against my skin. “Besides…” His finger drags lazily down the front of my blouse, stopping at the undone button I forgot to fix. “We both know you were headed to the bathroom to give yourself a little relief.”
He’s right, but there’s no way in hell I’ll admit it.
I force a haughty tone. “Are you insane? It’s the middle of the workday.”
“Only when it comes to you.” He leans closer. “And now that I’ve got you exactly where I want you…” His hand tightens at my waist. “I’m not letting you go.”
I hate the part of me that wants to melt into him and stop pretending I’m immune to his charm. “You don’t get to decide that, Oliver.”
But the worst part—the one I can’t admit, not even to myself—is that when he lays his hands on me, I never want him to let go.
And for one dangerous heartbeat, I forget about every rule I swore not to break.