Boss Girl (Minnesota Ice #2) Page 9

  “I’ll do you one better. I’ll have to bring over some papers for you to sign for that endorsement deal. The party’s Saturday? How about I swing by early and set everything up for you.”

  “You’ll come to the party?”

  “N-no,” she says. “I’ll just do the event planning part. I’m good with organization—I’m not as good with kids.”

  “I beg to differ.” I smile, remembering the way she’d talked with Charli in the car. At first there’d been a few awkward pauses, but then they’d gotten along like pals. Charli hadn’t stopped talking about her all afternoon. “But I wouldn’t force you to be part of the party. If I had a way to escape it, I would.”

  “But my offer stands. What if I put in for an order of an ice cream cake and drop it off with the papers? I know a great place. I’ll get all the streamers and party favors set up, and then I’ll leave before the main event. In exchange, you’ll sign those papers.”

  “Okay,” I agree slowly. I’d already been planning on signing the papers, even if she didn’t set up the party. But I can admit when I’m out of my element, which I am now. I need the help on Saturday, so I will selfishly take it. “Can I ask for one more favor?”

  “Name it.” She pulls something off the shelf, reading the box before turning to me and waggling some party poppers. “Charli will love these.”

  I nod, and she tosses them in the cart. “Do you know how to do hair?”

  She stills. “Hair?”

  “Charli’s been asking to wear a braid, and I’m hopeless. I can never manage to do anything more than knot it together, and then we spend an hour crying and trying to untangle it.”

  “Hard to imagine you crying.”

  “Well, I do the cursing, she does the crying.”

  “That seems more like it.” Her eyes crinkle as she grins. “You’re lucky I grew up braiding my own hair, and a few of my friends’, too. Have no fear, a French Braid is on the way.”

  A weight is lifted off my chest, floating away, as if I’d cut free the unicorn balloon that Jocelyn had tied to the cart. All morning, I’d been dreading this—the party, the cakes, the favors, the poppers—terrified that I’d throw Charli the worst birthday celebration in the world.

  Now, with Jocelyn’s help, there’s nothing left to worry about. She’s taking care of everything, including the hair. As I watch her push the cart down the aisle, humming a little ditty to herself that sounds like A Whole New World, my heart fills with a warmth that has nothing to do with her looks. Nothing to do with the stunning beauty that’s had me captivated since our first meeting, or the gorgeous way her eyes shine when they land on me.

  This, this feeling, is more than that. Deeper, having everything to do with the fact that she’s single-handedly subtracted the stress from one of the most nerve-wracking moments in any single dad’s life. If I can’t make my daughter feel like a princess, then I’m not doing things right.

  “I have to find a way to repay you,” I blurt out. “For doing all of this.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to repay me at all.” She looks almost surprised that I suggested it. “I volunteered to help, and I’m having a good time. Plus, you’re doing the endorsement deal for me. It all evens out.”

  “You don’t get anything from the deal, either, though. You’re doing all of this... why are you doing it?” I move toward her, and she steps back. I take another step forward, and this time, she stops. We’re inches apart. “Does my signing with your agency mean that much to you?”

  A flash of something, discomfort maybe, crosses her face. “No, I—”

  “Why are you doing all of this?”

  “Because I want to,” she says. “I’d do it for anyone.”

  “You would?”

  “Any friend.” She shifts, her eyes downcast. “Or any client. When I bring on a business partner, I’m willing to help in whatever ways you need.”

  “So this is business?” I ask the question carefully, watching her reaction. I’m trying to gauge whether she’s feeling the same way as me—confused, like things are progressing in a direction entirely different than what we’d planned. “You’d do this for any of your clients?”

  “Yes.” She tilts her chin upward, defiant. “I have clients loyal to me, and I’m loyal to my clients.”

  “Like a friend.”

  The defiant gleam in her eyes flickers. “I suppose.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder you’re the best in the business.” I take a step back, finally able to breathe. Standing close to her is too consuming, too distracting, and I can’t seem to stop talking. The words flow, keeping conversation alive just so I can stand near her. “Well, I appreciate it.”

  “You shouldn’t feel pressure to sign with me,” she says, marching forward, her heels clicking on the tiles. “It’s no secret that I want you on my roster, sure. But I would do this anyway.”

  “Even if I told you no right now?”

  “No?”

  “If I said I didn’t want to sign with you, would you still be here, helping me?”

  I move toward her again. Her back is to a wall of toys, and she can’t possibly do anything except meet my gaze. She does, her eyes glinting as she looks up.

  “Yes,” she whispers. “I would.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.” Ducking around a display of trucks, she disappears down another aisle. “Every girl deserves a great sixth birthday party, and I’m not going to let some clueless man ruin it.”

  I laugh, following her as she throws a few more packages into the cart. “One little girl is very lucky.”

  “It’s fun,” she says. “I haven’t had an excuse to do these things in ages.”

  “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay for the party?” A part of me is longing for her to say yes, if for no other reason than an excuse to spend time together. I can’t possibly call what’s between us love, or lust, or anything except for curiosity. All I know is that she makes my head spin in ways that have me wanting to find out more. “Charli would love it.”

  “No,” she says. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t?”

  “It’s not my place.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll drop off the papers on Saturday morning, and get you all setup, though, so don’t worry.”

  She click-clacks in her heels down the aisle, the conversation closed. I’m frozen to the spot for a moment, watching her calves as they lead the rest of her slim figure through the store. I could watch that woman move all day long, and it’d never get old.

  “Hey, big guy, I need some help with this.” Jocelyn’s a good ten steps ahead of me, and I have to hustle to catch up. “You think she’ll like it?”

  I eye the piñata. It’s a unicorn the size of a small canoe. “She gets to whack something with a stick? She’ll love it.”

  “These were always my favorite.” Almost reverently, Jocelyn pulls a package from the cart to her chest. “The poppers.”

  “Poppers?” I haven’t seen these before, but the look on her face has me convinced they’re the best thing in the world. “What do they do?”

  “You’ve never seen them before? You have got to try one.”

  “Fine, then, hand them over.”

  “But—”

  “I’m still going to buy them, I just want to try one.”

  “But—”

  Rebel that I am, I gently remove the pack from her chest, tear it open, and pull one free. It’s not hard to figure out that I need to yank on the little dangly string in order to make it work. So I give it a good tug, and let’s just say I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  The thing is called a popper.

  But somehow, that doesn’t register, and I’m fucking terrified after pulling the trigger.

  It blasts off, loud and echoing through the store. No wonder Jocelyn didn’t want me setting it off inside. That, plus the streamers. They’re everywhere, flying through the air as I blink in shock.

  “Oh,” I say.
“That’s a popper.”

  She’s just staring at me now, a look of disbelief on her face. Where I’d normally call her stunning, now, I can’t help but think she’s adorable. Bits of confetti and streamers decorate her, bright bursts of color against the pale strands of her hair.

  “I can’t believe you!” she hisses. “You stole a popper, and then set it off in Target!”

  “I said I’m going to pay for it.”

  She’s completely oblivious to the fact there’s paper all over her, so I reach out and brush a long strand off of her shoulder. It trails lazily to the floor, both of our eyes watching as it swirls through the air.

  Then, reality sets in, and she pulls a little circle thing out of her purse and pops it open. A mirror. Fascinating. I had no idea they made them that small.

  One look at her face, and she gives the tiniest gasp, her lips parting into the letter ‘o’ before she turns her gaze on me. “I’m a mess.”

  “You’re beautiful.” I don’t mean to say it, but it comes out, and then it’s just there. I can’t take it back, and frankly, I don’t want to. She is beautiful. “Let me help.”

  She clears her throat, her eyes fixed on my chest as I step toward her and carefully run a hand through her hair, teasing out the ponytail holder.

  “Sorry,” I tell her. “I can’t get all the confetti with this thing in.”

  She gives the slightest nod to continue, and I do, picking out the colorful clumps from her silky mane. I could run my fingers through her hair all day. If only we weren’t in the middle of the party section at Target.

  Maybe I should’ve waited to test the popper on Saturday where I could’ve done this in the comfort of my own home with nobody to interrupt us. Until, of course, fourteen girls arrived in hopes of finding a birthday party and functioning poppers—not some old hockey player infatuated with his almost-agent’s hair.

  “There,” I say, teasing my fingers through one last time. “You’re all cleaned up. Sorry about the mess.”

  To my surprise, she leans in toward my fingers, her eyes closed. It’s as if she’s never been touched like this, and it makes me rock hard and tingly all over. The look on her face—I can only imagine what it’d be like if I let things go further.

  “Unless you want me to keep going?” I laugh, continuing to caress her head. “I give excellent head massages.”

  “What?” Her gaze flicks up as she steps backward, a look of alarm on her face. “No, just... a broom. I’m going to find a broom.”

  “No, Jocelyn, I’ll ask at the front desk—”

  She’s already gone before I can continue.

  Awesome.

  Great job, Boxer, I tell myself. I scared off the one agent who is generous enough to help plan my kid’s birthday party. If I don’t watch out, I’m going to lose the one woman who can help me pull of Charli’s sixth birthday party, and the one woman who could do great things for my career.

  The one woman who I’m finding I can’t stand to be without, even if the only thing we have in common is business.

  When Jocelyn returns moments later, she’s holding a broom with all the tags still on it. “We’ll buy the broom too,” she mutters. “Need it for the party.”

  I take it from her hands and sweep up the mess, but it doesn’t do much to set her at ease. She checks through the cart methodically, muttering under her breath about numbers and items and invitations and God knows what else.

  “Hey,” I say, finally. “Are you okay? I don’t want to make things weird between us.”

  “No, of course not.” She’s distracted, counting out various plastic utensils. “Just figuring this out.”

  “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

  “Oh.” She gives a throaty chuckle. “It won’t be, but we can make it work.”

  “Jocelyn.” I walk over to her, resting the broom in the cart. “I shouldn’t have said you were beautiful. I know we’re just business partners, okay? I crossed a line, and I’m sorry.”

  She freezes with the pack of forks in her hand, her gaze slowly coming to meet mine. “Yes, of course.”

  “I’m sorry. I won’t cross the line again, okay?”

  “Great.”

  “But I won’t take it back either.” The words spill out, and I know that even as I’m promising not to cross lines, I can’t help it. There’s an emptiness inside those pools of blue; a place that seems lonely to me, as if it’s been too long since she’s had fun. Too long since she’s been touched, told she’s beautiful, made to feel like the incredible woman she is. “You are beautiful, Jocelyn.”

  She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

  “I also respect your work, so I will try my best not to say something stupid like that again.” I offer her a smile. “Can we forget about it?”

  She nods, her lips curling upward at the side. “Sure thing, Boxer.”

  “Thank you for your help, again,” I say, gesturing to the cart. “I’d be lost without you.”

  “No, thank you,” she says, finding a clear, firm voice. “I had fun. Really.”

  We haul our treasures up to the front. I check out and pay, and together we walk out through the front doors. She’s carrying a bag, so we walk to my car first and unload everything.

  I turn to offer her a handshake, determined to stick to my word about keeping things professional.

  To my surprise, she gives me a shy smile. Then she opens her arms and eases onto the tips of her toes to give me a hug. I try not to sniff her hair, but it’s difficult. She smells like ice cream and sugar, and I want nothing more than a taste of her skin, a kiss on her neck.

  Maybe it’s me, and maybe it’s her, but the hug lingers for a second longer than necessary.

  “I’ll see you Saturday,” she says, pulling away and clearing her throat. “I’ll bring the cake.”

  Chapter 20

  Jocelyn

  “Did you go to the spa?” Lindsay shrugs out of her jacket, resting it on her lap as she slides onto a bar stool. “You look refreshed.”

  I accept a cocktail list from the bartender and shake my head. “No time for the spa.”

  “Yoga?”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s not your birthday for another few weeks...” She frowns, sizing me up. “Are you on some diet you didn’t tell me about?”

  “If I were on a diet, would I be ordering a margarita?” I set down the drink menu and put in my order with the bartender. Extra salt, blended. Two shots of tequila. “I’m telling you, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Oh, there’s something.” Lindsay picks up the menu, scans it over, and then duplicates my order. “I just can’t put my finger on what it is.”

  “You ladies celebrating anything special?” The bartender is an older woman, her voice rocky and worn from a lifetime of over-the-counter conversations. “Birthdays?”

  “We’re celebrating something,” Lindsay says. “But I haven’t figured out what yet.”

  The woman nods. “Well, I’ll leave ya to it. Call me Elene.”

  “We’re not celebrating anything,” I say, once we’re somewhat alone. “We’re drinking to forget.”

  “Forget what?”

  I sigh, scanning the dimly lit bar that used to be a local hangout. Over the years, newer, trendier bars have popped up in the area, stealing the clientele from this establishment and diverting them to the shinier ones. I’ve tried the other bars in an effort to impress clients, but the music is always too loud, the drinks too expensive, the food too bland. This place is a classic.

  “Nothing,” I say. “Let’s just forget it.”

  “What happened today?” Lindsay’s not giving up so easily. “I thought your outing with Boxer was going well. I could’ve saved you if something went wrong.”

  “Oh, no, the park was phase one. Phase One went great. After the whole Barbie incident.”

  “Don’t be hard on yourself. You couldn’t have guessed she wasn’t a Barbie lover. But wait one second, missy.�
�� She swivels to face me. “Phase One?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why am I not aware of Phase Two?”

  “Because I wasn’t aware. I’m still not sure what happened.”

  “Start talking.”

  “I’m waiting for my margarita.”

  Lindsay squints at me. “Jocelyn Jones, you’re not afraid of anything. The last time I saw you order hard alcohol was when Donovan... oh, shit. You’re falling for Boxer.”

  Thankfully, Elene, the bartender, plunks down our drinks at that very moment. “This is about a man?”

  “No,” I say, at the same time Lindsay says, “Apparently.”

  “What’s he like?” Elene leans against the counter. “Why are you still in denial?”

  “I’m not in denial. I’m just not interested in him,” I argue weakly. “Except as a business prospect.”

  “Right,” Elene snorts, rolling her eyes in Lindsay’s general direction. “Name?”

  “Boxer,” I say, all too quickly.

  Elene laughs. “He’s on your mind, sugar, whether you like it or not.”

  I rest my head against the counter, eyes closed, the first sips of margarita swirling through my brain. Lindsay’s right—I’m a business drinks sort of woman. One or two glasses of wine, and that’s my maximum. I don’t get out of control.

  Now and again, I’ll have three glasses of wine for a special occasion, like my horrendous date with Mr. Hot Shot the other night. But I feel as if that one deserves a pass—it was either the third glass of wine or suicide, and I choose to live.

  To my surprise, Lindsay’s hand snakes out and rubs my back. “I should’ve seen this coming the second you ordered a margarita. Or before, when I saw your cheeks glowing without a facial peel.”

  “I’m not glowing,” I say, sneaking a glance at her with one eyeball. “I’m terrified.”

  Elene pours herself a margarita. “Bar’s empty, and I might as well be a counselor with all the tears I’ve wiped off the counter over the years. Spill your beans, ladies.”

  “I’m Lindsay, this is Jocelyn,” Lindsay says. “Jocelyn’s the best sports agent around, and she’s out to rope in Boxer as her client. But, apparently, we’ve got a twist to this whole thing. Miss Jones wants more than Boxer’s signature.”