He has every right to be mad. Holy shit. My insides quake.
“Oh.” Brad’s a little taken aback, but not nearly as much as Vince and Roman. “Small world.”
Clearly, he’s questioning Owen’s judgment. Dating the team owner’s daughter might not be the smartest career move. But I’m only Vince’s stepdaughter, and Vince doesn’t really care about me other than for making Roman Moretti happy.
“Right?” Owen chuckles. “I just found out Vince is Emerie’s stepfather.” He casts a chiding glance my way, but I can see a glint of censure in his eyes, matched by the tightness at the corners of his beautiful mouth.
“You two can’t know each other that well, then,” Roman says with an edge.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Owen replies with a smile bordering on dirty.
Thank you.
“It’s my fault,” I say. “I just wanted him to know me for who I am, not my family.”
I meet Roman’s eyes when I say it, and even though I’m smiling, his face stiffens. “Emerie…”
“I said we’ll talk about this later,” Vince interjects, laying a hand on Roman’s shoulder and squeezing. “So, Owen, how are you feeling about the season so far?”
As if a microphone has been shoved in his face, Owen switches into pro mode. “We’re having a good season,” he says. “We’re playing the right way and getting better all the time.”
He, Brad, and Vince launch into hockey talk, which makes my eyes glaze over. Here I’m trying to convince everyone I’m dating a hockey player when hockey is the last thing in the world I’m interested in.
I keep an interested expression in place as I down my martini. Heat from the alcohol runs through me. I’m going to need another one of these, ASAP.
What have I done?
5
Owen
Holy fucking shit.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think this is a huge practical joke. The guys have done some crazy pranks on each other, but this would definitely take the cake.
Did someone set me up here?
Nah. Not possible.
I’m doing my best not to look like a fucking idiot in front of the owner and GM of the team, but I strongly suspect I’m failing.
Who is this chick? Oh yeah—apparently the owner’s daughter. How the hell did she pick me to drag into this nightmare? Why the fuck is she busking in the subway when her stepfather is a billionaire? Or something. I have no idea how much money he has, but it’s a lot.
“Obviously, our goal is to be ready for the playoffs.,” I say. I don’t know what the hell I’m babbling. I take a sip of scotch. My buddy JBo once tried to get me into scotch, but I can’t stand the stuff. I mostly avoid alcohol during the season, but right now, I’m glad I have this.
Eventually, Mr. D’Agostino ushers Roman away to talk to someone else, but not without a stern look at Emerie and a reminder they’ll talk later. That takes a little of the stress off. Then Mr. Julian’s wife joins us. I’ve met her a few times over the years I’ve been playing for the Bears. She doesn’t know what’s just gone down, so the atmosphere lightens as we chat about the holiday season we just had, what we all did for New Year’s Eve, and the snowstorm apparently headed our way.
Then Emerie excuses us, and her arm hooked through mine, leads us out of the living room and into the kitchen. The people bustling around in here must be hired—they’re preparing appetizers and arranging them on platters, and a man carries a case of liquor through. Emerie pauses at the island.
“How’s it going here, Klara?” she asks.
“Things are fine,” a woman assures her with a smile. “Thanks for checking in.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
Is she…in charge of this party?
In her high heels, she clips over to a huge refrigerator, opens the door, and pulls out two beers.
“Do you live here?” I ask in a low voice, following her through another door and into another living space, this one more casual. And empty.
“Unfortunately, yes.” She doesn’t stop. “Come on, I have to check on my little sister.”
What?
I trail behind her down a hall. She knocks on a door and when a small voice calls to come in, she enters.
I’m not following her into a little girl’s bedroom, so I hover in the hall as she walks in.
“Hey! What are you watching?”
“To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before.” I can’t see the person belonging to the voice. “How’s the party?”
“Boring.”
“You’re just saying that so I won’t feel bad that I’m not there.”
“No. I really mean it.” Emerie turns and beckons to me. “Come meet Cat.”
I wave a hand and shake my head. I’m already in this deep enough.
“Who’s there?” the young girl’s voice asks.
“My friend, Owen,” Emerie says. “He’s shy.”
I roll my eyes. I’ve never been called that before. I poke my head in. “Hi.”
The girl is curled up in an armchair in the corner with a remote control in her hand, the picture on the big TV near her paused. “Oh, hi,” she says with a smile.
She looks nothing like Emerie. Her hair is long, wavy, and dark, more like Emerie’s wig, her eyes big and brown. Okay, their face shape is the same. And their smile. She’s cute.
“Just wanted to check on you,” Emerie says. “Make sure you didn’t sneak a bottle of booze in here or something.”
Cat rolls her eyes. “As if.”
Emerie grins. “Bedtime is nine,” she reminds Cat, and we leave. “Let’s go to my room.”
“What? Jesus.”
She ignores me and struts down the hall in her wicked heels, her ass twitching in the form-fitting black dress. Under those baggy clothes she wears in the subway, she’s…wow. Small waist, curvy hips, and stacked.
Reluctantly, I trudge after her. She opens another door and steps inside, flicking on a light.
It’s another spacious bedroom with a queen bed at one end and near us, a sitting area with a small couch and chair. I don’t take in a lot of details, focused more on Emerie, but the overall impression is luxurious and serene. My gaze lands on the guitar on a stand in the corner, then takes in the papers covered with music notes strewn on the low table.
“Here.” She hands me a beer. “I have a feeling this is more your taste.”
She’s not wrong. If I drink, it’s usually beer. But I hold up a hand. “No thanks. I don’t drink much.”
She shrugs, quickly gathers up the papers, then kicks off her shoes and sits on the couch. “Have a seat.”
I take the chair. “Okay,” I say, letting out a long gusty breath. “What the hell is going on?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She lowers her head into her hand. “I had no idea you play for the Bears.”
“Really?” I’m not prepared to believe anything she says at this point.
Her head snaps up. “Really!”
“Your father owns the team.”