Page 108 of Lace 'em Up

And I know he’s checking in on me because he’s worried about me and wants to take my pulse.

Well, know what?

He’s had his own brand of shit dropped into his lap of late, what with his ex-wife showing up and trying to implode his life, his relationship with Chrissy, and his businesses.

So, in the vein of finally stepping into my own life and making decisions that will have me—pardon the sports reference—jumping in the game rather than waiting around for someone to extend a hand and draw me onto the ice, I decide that maybe my fairy godmother needs some magic of his own.

And that’s why I’m already on my feet and moving toward him before I tell him, “Yeah, let’s walk it.”

“And the bars will be set up here and on the far side of the room,” I tell him, scanning the digital map on my tablet and then looking up and studying the space again.

Something about the setup feels wrong, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Then again, I’m the design brain for graphics and menus, gift bags and photo backdrops.

Space planning isn’t in my wheelhouse?—

Thankfully, it is in my fairy godmother’s.

“No,” he says, reaching over me and tapping the screen. “That’s not going to work. You need to double that at least.” A beat and he studies the map. “No, with this amount of tickets sold, you’ll need at least six.”

“Six?” I exclaim.

“This is a charity event and auction,” he says, pulling out the notebook and pen he always keeps in his back pocket and sketching out a layout of the room, complete with those six drink stations. “You want people to spend money.” Another beat before his eyes flick up to mine, his mouth curving up in one corner. “Which means you need people to drink all of the free wine that your boss is donating.”

“Fr-free?” I sputter. “Jean-Michel, that’s not what we agreed to.”

In fact, what we agreed to was that he would give my rescue a wholesale discount on the wine.

And that I’d pay the rental fee for the event space.

Especially because he’s “giving” me the team for the night—making the event sponsored by the charity arm of the Eagles organization doesn’t strictly make it mandatory for the players to attend, but it does encourage them.

Strongly.

He lifts one muscular shoulder, drops it again as he continues laying out the room in an efficient manner that speaks of exactly how many events like this he’s attended. “Maybe not, but that’s what we’re doing.”

“Jean-Michel?—”

“And you’re not paying the rental fee for the space.”

“Jean-Michel!”

His head tilts up, eyes hitting mine. “Did I tell you that Phillip has decided to take the relocation offer with his company?”

I still, almost able to feel that hand on my throat again.

Almost able to see the anger in Phillip’s eyes.

To feel the fear that had coiled in my belly, spread from fingertip to toes, burst out of every cell, that had me running the moment Phillip left the room, climbing out a window and sprinting down a deserted road.

“Hey,” Jean-Michel murmurs, gently settling his hand on my shoulder. “It’s taken care of.”

I swallow. “It shouldn’t have to be.”

Those fingers squeeze.

Gently.

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