Boss Girl (Minnesota Ice #2) Page 10

  Elene wiggles her eyebrows. “I know who he is, and I don’t blame you, Miss Jones. That man’s packing a lot of...” she gives a raspy clear of her throat. “Charm.”

  Lindsay laughs, pulling me into an upright position. “See? None of us blame you. It’s understandable. Boxer’s a catch.”

  “I don’t like him, I just...” I pause, taking a lick of salt from the edge of my glass, washing it down with a crisp swig of cocktail. Instant brain freeze. “Ow. Ow.”

  “Slow down, boss,” Lindsay says, “or you’re going to be spending the night on my couch while I hold your hair.”

  “I’m not good at this.”

  “The drinking, or the falling in love?” Elene asks. “Because if you want my honest to goodness opinion, you’re not good at either. You, my friend, are wound tighter than a spring.”

  Lindsay nods enthusiastically. “Whenever she tries to deep breathe, she has a heart attack. Basically.”

  “So? Why not jump in bed for a night with this guy, get the sexual tension out of the way, and then do business with a clear mind?”

  “It’s not a horrible idea,” Lindsay agrees with Elene, which is surprising. Lindsay is a professional in all senses of the word, having never dated anyone in the realm of the sports world. “He really does seem like a great guy.”

  “It’s not that simple.” I run my fingers along the bar, the alcohol melting away my previous arguments. “Even if I were interested in a one night stand, he’s not interested.”

  “Good Lord, woman. Take a look at yourself,” Elene says. Then she turns to Lindsay and shakes her head. “Is she always this dense?”

  Lindsay nods. “She’s the smartest woman I know, but sometimes I want to whack her over the head with her own stiletto.”

  “Excuse me,” I say. “I’m right here.”

  “What man doesn’t want a piece of you?” Elene asks, gesturing to me. “You’re clearly successful and smart, and you’re stunning. I highly doubt he’s not interested.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised,” I tell her. “I happen to carry a reputation.”

  “Let me guess. Maneater.” Elene folds her arms across her chest. “You’re successful in the Boy’s Club, so all those men with the winky little wieners have some name they like to pin on you out of jealousy.”

  “The Blonde Bitch. Ice Queen,” Lindsay starts listing them off. When I glare at her, she looks up. “What? It’s true. We both know it, and we both know they’re completely unfounded.”

  “Of course they’re unfounded,” Elene scoffs. “But if this Boxer is a true man, he’ll embrace your success, not run away from it.”

  “He’s a true man.” Lindsay fans herself. “He’s gorgeous, and he’s so sweet with his daughter.

  “This is strictly business, ladies,” I say, though I have a feeling my argument is falling on deaf ears.

  “Honey, you’ve gotta loosen up,” Elene interrupts. “I don’t know you that well, but I know your type. How long has it been?”

  “Since?”

  Lindsay and Elene laugh. When I still don’t answer, Lindsay gapes at me. “Since you’ve had sex, Jocelyn.”

  “Oh, come on, ladies. I don’t know.”

  “Sure you do,” Elene says. “Two months and four days for me.”

  “Last week for me,” Lindsay says. “But only because it was my fifth date with a guy, and I think it’s going somewhere.”

  “You didn’t tell me that,” I accuse her. “Is this Mark?”

  “Yes! He might not last forever, but for now, he’s perfect.”

  “Your turn,” Elene rounds on me. “How long?”

  It’s no use arguing, so I sigh. “Fourteen months.”

  Lindsay blinks and looks like she’s about to pass out. “Seriously?”

  “Good God, woman,” Elene says. “Call Boxer right now. Screw business—literally. Your health and sanity are more important. Drinks are on me.”

  “She’ll say she’s too busy.” Lindsay sighs. “She’s in a relationship with her job.”

  “Right, but is your job going to cook you dinner on your birthday?” Elene asks. “Or hell, forget cooking. I just need the man to dial in for a pizza and make me feel nice. I’m simple.”

  “No,” I say quietly. “I can’t.”

  My tone must ring through to them, because both women quiet down, watching my face as I push my empty glass away from me. The margarita is buzzing in my head, and I take a second to gather my thoughts.

  “You have to trust me when I tell you it’s not that simple,” I say. “I don’t have time for love from someone like Boxer.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Elene asks. “You deserve love as much as the rest of us. I don’t want to hear you saying that ever again, Miss Jones.”

  “Jocelyn,” I correct automatically. “And I just mean...”

  The thought is lost, somewhere between the back of my brain and my heart, struggling to surface, struggling to tease out the words I’m trying to say.

  “I just have the feeling that when Boxer falls in love, it’s everything,” I say finally. “There’s no stepping slowly into the water, dipping a toe and testing the boundaries. He’s either all the way in, or he’s not.”

  “Honey, that’s the sort of love everyone else is looking for,” Elene says. “Every woman wants—no, deserves—a man who loves with his whole heart. Otherwise, why not skip the love and go for the sex? It’s easier.”

  “Not for someone like him,” I say. “I don’t know why, but I have the feeling Boxer isn’t the sort of guy who has sex without there being strings attached. He’s protective of his daughter, his family, and when he invites someone into his home, he’s going to make sure it’s worth it.”

  “You are worth it, boss,” Lindsay says. “I still don’t understand the problem. You don’t need him as a client, do you? If you feel this strongly, let Rumpert take him.”

  “No, I can’t do that,” I say, blinking back tears. “I just... I don’t have the sort of capacity for love that Boxer does.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lindsay asks. “Sure you do.”

  “He’ll do anything for his family, his daughter, his parents. I don’t have family, okay? I don’t know what that’s like. I haven’t for a long time.” I shake my head as my throat burns with tears. “I almost tore apart a couple in love recently. Because I didn’t recognize it was love. What sort of psycho does that?”

  “Andi and Ryan?” Lindsay asks softly. “You didn’t know—”

  “I should’ve known. I should’ve listened to Ryan when he told me he was falling in love. He called me...” I stop, swallow, a wave of shame washing over my body as I remember the night at my co-worker’s wedding. Lawrence Pierce, brother to Ryan Pierce. “I’d wanted to sign Ryan, and I pushed him too far.”

  “You made a mistake,” Lindsay says. “When you realized it, you backed off. Did you apologize?”

  “I tried to,” I say, my voice raspy with hate for what I’d done. “Ryan won’t return my calls, and I don’t blame him. I don’t dare talk to Andi after what I did.”

  “Why did you try to break them up?” Elene asks. “I don’t understand.”

  “Because I wanted to sign Ryan from the Minnesota Stars and bring him over to the LA Lightning. He deserves it—he’s a great player. But I wasn’t risking a young kid on my roster who’s can’t control his...” I clear my throat as Lindsay fills in ding-dong for me. “I’ve been burned before. I love the game. I’m loyal to my clients. But I’m not an idiot, and I’m not a sucker—I refuse to sign another player who runs off to South America at the drop of a hat because of a girl.”

  “Things went south?”

  “They were in love,” I say, looking away. “Ryan was willing to give up everything for Andi. I’d thought they were nothing more than a fling. I tried to get him to break things off so he could focus on his career, but I was wrong. Completely wrong.”

  “Well, it ain’t too late to fix it.”
<
br />   “Of course it is. I botched the deal.”

  “Ryan got the girl, didn’t he?” Elene asks. “That sounds like it’s far more important to him than any money he might’ve gotten.”

  “True,” I agree. “But I was horrible to them. I don’t know what came over me; it was like I morphed into someone else. All these old feelings came up, and I turned ugly.”

  “Can you get her a meeting with this guy?” Elene asks Lindsay. “I’m guessing you run her life?”

  “I do,” Lindsay says. “And I can.”

  “No, I should leave them be,” I say. “Honestly, no good can come of it.”

  “Think about it,” Elene says. “You can apologize to the couple, ask for their forgiveness or whatever makes you feel better, and then get their advice. Find out what sort of love they have because honestly, it sounds like something worth having.”

  “I guess,” I say. “But I still can’t—”

  “What’s the worst that can happen?” Lindsay says. “You don’t get Boxer as a client?”

  “No,” I say, near silent. Both women lean in, their eyes locked on mine. “That’s not the worst.”

  Lindsay shakes her head. “What—”

  Elene shushes her. “Let the woman speak.”

  I swallow, breathe deeply. “The worst would be to screw things up so bad, pushing him so hard in one direction—my direction, that I lose him entirely.”

  “Honey,” Elene says, “you have to push a little, or at least open yourself up. Otherwise, the opportunities will sail right past you whether you want them to or not.”

  “And if he doesn’t like me?” I’ve blinked a hundred times, but a tear manages to slide onto my cheek. “What if he sees what’s inside, and it’s not enough?”

  Elene looks down at the bar. “Love is a risk, honey. I can’t promise you anything. That’d be cruel of me, so I’m not going to do anything of the sort. But—” she raises a finger. “What I’m going to do is promise that you’ll regret it if you don’t try.”

  “But—”

  “Donovan,” Lindsay says, interrupting. “That’s what this is about. It’s not about Andi and Ryan.”

  “It is.”

  “No, it’s not. Sure, maybe you feel bad,” Lindsay agrees. “But this is about Donovan.”

  I fall silent. It’s crossed my mind once or twice, but I’ve never let myself dwell on the past. I made one mistake, and it nearly ruined me. I try not to think about it.

  “Sorry, but I need to get going.” I stand and toss enough money on the counter to cover the round of drinks, then turn to leave. “Thank you both for the advice.”

  “Wait, boss—”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. “I’m going to call a cab home tonight. Lindsay, use the Uber account with my corporate card.”

  They call goodbye after me, clearly sensing the end of the conversation. I’m thankful they give me my space because the second the taxi arrives, I crumple into the backseat. Another tear falls, and then a third. It’s been months since I’ve cried, but there’s too much at stake for me to hold it all inside.

  The cabbie lets me off in front of my condo. I pay him, dry my eyes, and make it inside while keeping myself somewhat put together. Once inside, I change into my pajamas and grab a pint of ice cream from the fridge.

  I ignore the texts from Lindsay asking if I made it home okay and plop down onto the couch. I’m sick of crying, so instead I’m going to blow my diet and dip into my emergency stash of sweets.

  Emotions—I hate them. Yet, they still happen, so I’ve tried to keep myself prepared with Ben and Jerry.

  I’m only two bites in when the knock sounds on the door. I stand up, carry myself through the kitchen and look through the peephole. My heart does a full-on line dance at the sight of a familiar face.

  Landon Boxer.

  Chapter 21

  Boxer

  Let me be honest. I’m not completely sure why I’m here.

  There’s movement behind the door, and the click of the lock has me ready to turn around and pretend I was never here. Except for that peephole. Damn peephole means it’s too late for me to chicken out.

  Taking a deep breath, I prepare to find the woman I’ve come to think about obsessively. As if her perfume is lingering around me to tease, drawing up images of her at inopportune moments. Which is problematic when I should be doing other things, like playing hockey or reading bedtime stories or otherwise functioning in life.

  My brother showed up in town earlier this evening. He does that sometimes, wandering in and out as he pleases. He remembered Charli’s birthday and brought her a present. She’s infatuated with him being here and showering her with attention, so much so that she hardly noticed when I asked Steven to watch her for a few hours. Outstanding business, I told him.

  Maybe I’ve come to apologize. Maybe I’ve come to be honest, to ask for more than she can give. Maybe I’ve come to push her away completely. I don’t know, and I don’t have a plan. I just know that my heart, my head, and my feet all led me here tonight.

  I thought I was prepared to see her, the stunning blonde from the office, but that’s not what I find when she pulls open the door. There, instead of the polished exterior I’m used to finding, is something different.

  While the shimmery blonde hair and slim figure are the same, Jocelyn’s face is nearly devoid of makeup. Her eyes are pale blue, like the sky viewed through a cloud, just a bit hazy and soft.

  She’s been called the ice queen, among other names, but I don’t see it—not how they mean, anyway. When I look at her, I don’t see the sharp icicles, the cold front that others claim to find in her. Instead, I see a crystalline gem, a raw and beautiful work of nature.

  Ice, while at times dangerous and sharp, can also be beautiful. There are few things more miraculous than snowflakes, or the sheer white innocence of a frozen tundra. Within her is a certain contentment—like the quiet of a morning’s fresh snow.

  Maybe I don’t mind the ice because I spend so much time on it. It’s my love, my career, my passion. Maybe there’s a reason I’ve been drawn to her.

  My hands shake as I fold them in front of my body. No matter how strongly I feel for her, if she doesn’t feel the same toward me, it means nothing.

  “Landon?” Her voice is a windchime in greeting as she waits for me to say something. “What are you doing here?”

  It’s now that I notice there’s a tinge of sadness in her beauty tonight. A hint of redness lines her eyes, and a remnant of makeup is smeared high on her cheek, as if she’s been crying.

  I spy her shorts, just barely long enough to be decent, and a flimsy tank top that leaves little to the imagination. This puts my mind at odds with my body; while I’m nearly rigid with desire for her, I’m more concerned with the source of the tears, the reason for her pain. I want to hold her until the tears stop.

  “What’s wrong?” I step into the apartment, not waiting for an invitation. I raise a hand to her cheek, brush my thumb across it. “Why are you crying?”

  She doesn’t argue or pull away. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it does. Jocelyn—”

  “I’m fine, okay?” Her voice is razor thin, a hint of danger at the edge of it. “Did you want something tonight?”

  The way she phrases her question sends a lightning bolt of clarity straight through my body. “Yes,” I say, kicking the door shut behind me as I step further into the room. “I do want something. I came here for something. For you.”

  Her eyes flicker in confusion.

  “Tell me no right now if you’re not interested,” I say, backing her against the kitchen counter. “Otherwise, I’m going to kiss you.”

  Confusion melts from her expression and is replaced by something else entirely—a warmth that tells me I’m not the only one feeling this way. But I don’t move, not yet—I can be patient. I’ve been patient for years, waiting for the right woman to come along, and now she’s here. I’m sure of it. It wasn
’t love at first sight, I don’t believe in that anymore, but there’s a chemistry between us, and I’d hate myself forever if I didn’t risk exploring it.

  She still doesn’t say no. As I wait, giving her time to push me away, I feel her body arch against mine, her nails digging into my shoulder as one hand comes up to balance herself against me.

  I lift her up and deposit her gently on the counter so that I’m standing even closer. Stalling. Making my intentions known. Once this moment passes, things will never—can never—be the same between us.

  Then her legs wrap around my waist.

  “Are you sure?” I ask, leaning in, our breath mixing together as I pause there, an inch above her lips. “Because this is your last chance to say no.”

  She blinks once, then nods. The sight of her full lips tilting toward me is enough to spark movement. A rush of desire courses through my body, liquid ice as our lips touch.

  The moment’s frozen, suspended, like the utter stillness across that frozen tundra. Muted and tender in its fragility. She tastes sweet, like vanilla ice cream. I know then that I’ll never be able to get enough.

  My hand comes up and rests behind her head, fingers weaving through the silky strands as I pull her lips off mine. Her neck is exposed, vulnerable, and I move in for a taste. When I press my lips to the skin there, she murmurs a sound that sends heat clamoring through my veins.

  She hasn’t been touched like this in ages, I can sense it. I’m just glad I’m the lucky man who gets the chance to show her what she’s been missing.

  “Joss.” I pull away, leaving only my fingers to dance across her collarbone. She shivers as I find the tiny strap of her tank top and ease it down over one shoulder. “Please tell me if I should stop.”

  Her eyes are still closed. Instead of telling me no, her legs squeeze tighter around me. My hands reach down behind her, spread over her lower back, and I pull her to the edge of the counter.

  The only thing between us is the frustrating friction of my jeans and her shorts—and whatever she might have underneath. Whatever it is, I intend to find out—but first, I need to explore, to cherish, to worship the treasure she is.