I nodded.
“What all does this entail, exactly? Like just here at the rink?”
“Everything,” I said. “Practice, travel, home games and away games, too. My life on the road. My life here in the city.”
“Like… twenty-four seven?”
“Apparently.”
A shit-eating grin curled on Jaxson’s face. “Interesting.”
I just nodded with a smile of my own.
Interesting, indeed.
Take Your Best Shot
Maven
Nothing annoyed me more than the fact that I was shaking like a leaf when I stepped onto the elevator the first morning of my new assignment. The lovely gentleman from the front desk had personally escorted me on, holding the door for me before pushing the button for Vince’s floor once I was inside. When the doors closed again, I blew out a frustrated breath.
I’d barely slept, my mind racing with the kind of anxiety only an unknown assignment with very high expectations could bring. Reya and Camilla were depending on me to hit this out of the park, and I couldn’t let anything distract me.
Least of all, the pouty-lipped rich boy I was assigned to cover.
My eyes snagged on my reflection in the elevator mirrors, and I felt a little better that at least I looked put together.
Colorful palazzo pants hugged my flat stomach and narrow hips before flowing down my legs, the rich oranges and purples and turquoise designs weaving together in the most gorgeous way. I’d paired a delicate white top with it, the straps thin and stretching over my collarbone, and just a sliver of my stomach showing.
My ink black hair was in its natural state, the curls airy and shaped around my face with the perfect volume, despite Florida’s humidity doing its damndest to make it frizz. I had what I called a five-minute makeup routine that mostly consisted of tinted moisturizer, brow gel, and mascara, but I’d run a shiny gloss over my lips and added my favorite gold hoops to my ears as a final touch.
I looked calm, confident, and beautiful.
I just needed that to permeate a few layers deeper so I felt all those things, too.
I could almost see my parents and their confused expressions in my mind, the look they gave me when I told them I was going to college instead of into the Peace Corps, the one they gave me when I graduated and told them I was going to focus on building my brand on social media, the one they gave me most recently when I told them I was the newest addition to the Babes.
They watched me like they had no clue what the hell I was doing with my life.
Sadly, they weren’t wrong.
I was in a strange predicament — walking into a literal dream job with my stomach churning. I felt torn, like two halves of a fragile paper heart. Because although I was making more money than I’d ever known I could earn on my own and I loved the work I did, I felt almost… guilty.
Like it wasn’t enough.
Like I wasn’t enough.
What was I doing to better the world, to help people, to make a difference?
Add in the fact that my new subject had a particularly unsettling effect on me, and you could say I was having a little meltdown in that elegant elevator thrusting me toward my impending doom.
“Get it together, Maven,” I coached myself, shaking out my wrists. The bangles on the left one made a tinkling sound as I did. “You are a bad ass, independent woman who can do anything. You are a professional. And he’s just a boy with a stick.”
My throat thickened with those words because Vince Tanev was far from a boy.
And as if he’d heard the words and was intent on proving me wrong, he answered his door shirtless, in nothing but a thin pair of dark green pajama pants that rested so low on his hips, I could see the band of his briefs beneath them.
“Well, good morning, sunshine,” he greeted, holding the door open farther as if I was supposed to come inside. The motion set his biceps on display, his massive palm flat on the door and propping it wide.
His hair that had been carefully styled at the gala was a chaotic mess now, the brown and gold strands of it sticking up this way and that. He looked like he’d either just woken up, or just rolled around in the sheets with a passionate lover.
Maybe both.
His hazel eyes danced as they stared back at me, that scar lining his eyebrow somehow more pronounced when he wore nothing to distract from it.
I had to clamp my jaw shut to keep it from hanging open. The muscles of his abdomen and ribs stretched like art under the light coming from inside his condo. It cast half of him in a warm glow, and the other half in dark shadows from all the lines and cuts, his body carved in the way only an athlete’s can be.
Clearing my throat, I held my chin high and checked the time on my watch. “I apologize, your general manager told me seven AM sharp. I can wait downstairs while you get ready.”
“I believe he told you seven because that’s about thirty minutes after I usually wake up,” Vince said. “And this is supposed to be a month of my life, right? It doesn’t start when I get dressed. And good thing, since I like to be naked most of the time.”
Heat scorched my neck, but I held a blank expression and blinked at him. “Can you please not make this difficult?”
“Me?” He pressed a hand to his bare chest, and my eyes followed the movement before I flicked them back up to meet his gaze. “I’m an angel. It was you who insulted me the first night we met.”
“I imagine your ego is inflated enough to handle the blow.”
Vince smirked, his eyes trailing down the length of me. And just like that night at the gala, he took his time, not even a little shame finding him as he let his gaze linger on every inch of my skin. His Adam’s apple bobbed before he pushed the door open even farther, his eyes snapping up to meet mine.
“Come inside, Maven.”
It wasn’t a request, but a command — one I felt like a bolt of lightning cast down from Zeus himself. I wet my lips, resisting the urge to argue since I’d have to work with the asshole for the foreseeable future.
With a contained sigh, I slid past him, hugging the opposite edge of the door frame so I wouldn’t brush up against his half-naked body. He seemed to notice, too, because he wore that damn smirk again when the door was shut and I was inside his condo.
I, however, wasn’t smiling at all, not when I took what I could see of the expansive penthouse.
The architectural design was sleek and masculine, dark metals mixing with rich natural woods to create a space that felt as cozy as it did dangerous. I’d walked directly into the living area, which was decorated with expensive modern furniture and eclectic art that was tasteful and sparse.
The windows were the art I was most drawn to, though, reaching from the floor all the way to the ceiling and showcasing a bright orange glow slowly rising beyond the lights of downtown Tampa. The city was stirring to life, the darkness being overtaken by the warm sun that would bring another hot, humid October day.
It was silent, save for the soft sound of a beat-heavy R&B song that started with a deep voice singing melodically in English, but then slid into French and Arabic as the song progressed. The music set a distinct vibe as my eyes trailed the space, from the decorative fireplace that I was sure was never used for heat, to the spotless, sleek kitchen.
But my eyes didn’t linger much on the carefully decorated space. Instead, they snagged on the messiest corner in the entire condo.