Page 31 of Tempting the King

Text me back, goddamn it.

I fire off another text, my fingers flying on the screen of my phone as I growl at one of my teammates when he shoots me a look.

Me: Tell me you’re okay. What did you have for lunch? I’m still a little salty I couldn’t take you out. Had to get to Dr. Hoffman. He thinks highly of you. I’m jealous he’s known you for so long. Answer me, firecracker. I need to know you’re okay.

Fuck. I’m not playing games with this girl. She’s got a direct line to this wild, nurturing, protective part of me I didn’t know I had.

After I lapped her sweet cream off my hand, I took her down the street to the Galleria.

First, our wet clothes were hella uncomfortable, so I told her to pick any store she wanted, and she chose the Nike store.

Fucking girl.

She only smiled as I told her to pick out my clothes as well as hers, and she chose an identical pair of gray sweats and white t-shirt to the ones I was wearing.

I made sure she had at least a week’s worth of clothes from there, with shoes, then insisted on taking her to the Apple Store to get her a new laptop.

Her phone survived the sprinklers, but her laptop was gonna be toast even when she gets back into her office to retrieve it. She kicked up a fuss about paying, but I took care of it with a phone call before we arrived, and gave the store manager who I know a heads-up on some other special treatment I needed for her new setup.

He took us into his office and got her all rigged up on her Apple account, making sure all her logins worked, she could access her client list and schedule in the cloud, and she had every program she would want or need.

While he was finishing up with some of the technical stuff, I distracted Emee, sending her out with another sales associate to get a new laptop case and whatever else she might need, while Gabe asked for her phone to make sure it was ‘updated’ and connected to the new laptop.

Then, I made sure Gabe got me set up with what I needed: a clone account and a screen sharing program on a duplicate new MacBook.

As well, I had him download a location tracker on both of them, then linked it to an app on my phone.

Over the top? Invasive? Yeah. But since she put her hand on my shoulder, I’ve lost my fucking mind.

And I don’t want to find it.

She still isn’t answering my text.

I scan the locker room where my team is milling around in various states of gear, ready to head out onto the ice. I can’t leave, but fuck, if she doesn’t answer, I’m calling my security company and sending them to the hotel.

I check the tracking app for the hundredth time. There’s been no movement on her phone or her laptop for twenty-four minutes. What if she fell?

What if she slipped in the shower and hit her head?

Or, she opened her hotel door to some stranger.

The idea of her hurt or in pain drives a rusty spike into my skull.

Me: Firecracker. If you don’t answer me, I’m coming there and missing practice.

One. Two. Three. Fou—

Emee: Don’t you dare.

Relief floods through me.

Me: I’d skip the whole season if I thought you were in trouble.

Emee: Well, I’m fine. I called an Uber, so I used your card…I’m going to go to my apartment. I called the leasing office of my building and the super let me in.

Me: Good girl for telling me where you’re going. What do you need at your apartment?

Emee: Things for work, more clothes, toiletries, so I can just stay here. It’s so lux. lol I could use a little change of scenery. I’m getting the suite organized for clients. If they stop canceling on me, that is. I only had two late afternoon clients for today, but when I got into my scheduling program, they had both canceled. Luckily, it was a light day for appointments, and I guess it was for the best. But then, guess what?

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