Now there was a terrifying idea. Hi, Leo. That was the only truly good kiss I’ve had in six years. Was there any permanent damage on your end?
Georgia shook her head. “I’m the last person he wants to talk to right now. And unless he’s decided to sue my father and quit the team, somehow we have to travel on the same jet for six straight days.”
“And five straight nights,” Becca said, waggling her eyebrows.
“I love you, but you’re crazy,” Georgia said, checking her bag one more time and then standing up.
Becca threw her arms around her. “I love you, too, Georgia. And I don’t think you say those words very often.”
Surprised at this uncharacteristic emotional moment, Georgia put her arms around Becca and gave her a squeeze. Becca was right, too. She didn’t ask people to dance and she never told anyone she loved them. And damn that Leo Trevi for showing up and making her notice all the ways she’d changed since high school. “You’re going to DVR our shows, right?”
“Of course.” Becca released her.
“And if I need you to return some calls to the press today . . .”
“I’ll do it. Just forward the e-mails and tell me what to say. Now let’s go. Your car is outside.”
Georgia stepped into her shoes—flats, of course—and picked up her carry-on. Becca rolled the big suitcase toward the door. “I’m helping you carry this down the stairs. God, it’s heavy.”
“Six days is a long time.”
“And I want frequent updates.”
After they wrestled the suitcase down the stairs, Georgia handed off the bag to the driver of the black sedan who was waiting at the curb. She climbed onto the leather seat in back and shut the door, waving at Becca one last time.
Just as the driver climbed back into his seat, another black car pulled up behind them. Georgia eyed the ridiculously fancy condo building across the street. Usually the hired cars stopping on this block were here for people who lived in the posh building across the street. And given the timing, it might even be Silas who emerged from the front door.
Sure enough, a doorman with shiny buttons on his uniform stepped out, holding the door. Silas followed, wearing his suit, his purple tie, and rolling a big duffel bag behind him.
We should have shared a car, Georgia thought. What a waste. But then another figure appeared behind Silas—a tall, beautiful man with an enormous purple bruise all over the side of his face.
Leo. Her heart gave a whimper at the sight of his injured face.
Her driver picked that moment to accelerate, and the car slid away from the curb and down Water Street. Georgia actually felt a rush of nausea. She gripped the door’s handle and debated with herself whether she might need to ask the driver to pull over. She fixed her eyes on the horizon and took three slow breaths.
What a tangled mess she was in. And she had no clue how to escape.
One of Brooklyn’s blessings was the quick trip to LaGuardia airport, so Georgia was only allowed half an hour of brooding before the car pulled up to Marine Air Terminal.
“Morning, Georgia,” her father greeted her as she rolled her suitcase into the gate area. “Can I get that for you?”
Georgia gave her head a shake and tried to keep on walking.
But he reached out and grabbed her hand. “What, you’re not talking to me now? I brought you an apple turnover from Reinwald’s.”
“Dad,” she said, forgetting her vow to call him Coach at work, “don’t try to butter me up. My inbox is full of reporters who want to know if Coach Worthington socked one of his players in front of three hundred guests. A pastry isn’t going to make that headache go away.”
He gave her a sheepish face. “I’m sorry about that, Princess. Didn’t mean to make your job more difficult.”
“Then what did you mean to do? I don’t get it. Not at all! What did Leo do that was worth jeopardizing your career, my sanity, and his face?” Georgia felt herself getting all worked up. If Leo stuck around Brooklyn, he and her father were going to have to sort some things out. Whatever issues they had probably involved her. So wouldn’t that be fun.
Her father lifted his chin in that maddening, closed-off way that men had. “That’s not your concern.”
“Isn’t it?” Georgia pressed. “I’m telling you that it is. And I need you to fix it. Tell him you’re sorry.” She pointed at the bakery bag. “In fact, you should give that pastry to Leo and commence groveling.” Then she rolled right past him, taking up position against the wall and arming herself with her phone and a don’t-talk-to-me face. She kept her head down, because it was too tempting to watch for Leo, and to worry about that awful bruise on his face.
This was going to be a long trip, and she could not spend it staring at Leo. There were other things to worry about. Her stomach gave a grumble, which only made Georgia more irritated with her father.
Because now she was also thinking about apple turnovers from Reinwald’s. Only pride kept her from snatching it out of her father’s hand.
* * *
While last night Leo had been That Guy Who Caused Two Scenes at One Benefit, this morning he was That Guy Whose Name Wasn’t on the Flight Manifest. His record for causing difficulty within the organization was approaching epic proportions. For once, at least, it wasn’t his fault. None of the office minions had remembered to add his name to the list. But that didn’t stop the grumbling and the overt checking of watches before his twenty-two teammates and assorted staff were ushered onto the plane without him.
Leo stood there, passport in hand, watching the last of them disappear down the Jetway and tried not to feel that the universe meant it as a sign.
When eventually his status was sorted out, Leo boarded the jet to find that most of the seats were taken. He kept moving down the aisle, and toward the back he spotted a couple of empty seats, one of them beside Georgia Worthington. He’d snuck glances at her in the terminal while she studiously ignored him. She wouldn’t be able to avoid him now, though. He quickened his pace toward the seat.
“Leo Trevi?” He looked up to see Hugh Major calling to him from a narrow doorway at the back of the plane. “Can you come in here a moment, son?”
Foiled again.
Leo continued down the aisle, his eyes on Georgia. And when he passed, she glanced up, her eyes creasing with something like sympathy.
He must look pretty frightening.
Ducking into the little room in back, he found a small but attractively appointed room featuring a table and leather-upholstered built-in seating—like a restaurant booth for rich people. In fact, the jet was a marked upgrade from long hours on a bus with his AHL team. And now he’d been called into the inner sanctum. Coach Karl sat at the table, looking surly.