Page 6 of Break the Ice
Mr. Hawk awarded me the larger office of the ones available, which overlooks the ice rink many feet below. I’ve filled the generous space with abstract modern art and geometric furniture, even setting up a sitting area for my guests to relax and unload. I made a point of adding a fresh vase of flowers for a touch of femininity and a stack of sports magazines on the coffee table to capture the more masculine eye of many of the players.
It works like a charm as we enter my office and Rafe Golding tosses himself onto my sofa and reaches straight for the hockey magazine on top of the stack.
“Something tells me you don’t have any beer and definitely no liquor,” he replies finally. “In which case, no thanks. I don’t drink tea.”
A slow smirk crawls onto my lips from where I stand by my K-Cup machine, a pod of green tea in my hands. I pop the pod into the K-Cup holder and press the on button. “Suit yourself. You’re the one missing out, not me.”
“Your idea of missing out is warm piss water?” he snorts, flipping through the magazine.
“Warm piss water doesn’t taste so bad once you add a drop of honey. Besides, I never said it’s all I drink. But some of us are professionals.”
“And some of us have dignity. Which means we have no interest in brown-nosing and ass-kissing.” He tosses the magazine aside as if the sight of it insults his sensibilities, then folds his arms behind his head, hands clasped.
A move that shows off the impressive muscle tone of his biceps. Paired with the intense blaze of his golden-hued eyes, it’s more than disarming. I lose my focus for a split second before catching myself and snagging my piping hot mug of tea from the K-Cup machine.
It’s a given Rafe Golding would have this effect on me—objectively speaking, he’s the definition of an attractive man. Since his career began, he’s been in the top ten of every Hottest Athletes list out there.
About six feet, one hundred and ninety-eight pounds. A perfect balance of size, strength, and speed. His body’s resilient, long and lean but cut with muscle in the right places. His sloped shoulders and thick neck add to his masculine appeal… as does the sharp jawline that’s dusted with a few days’ worth of scruff. It matches the unruly dark chocolate hair up top, a couple stray locks falling over his brow.
Amber eyes, large ears, strong nose. Lips that look like they’ve probably inflicted an ungodly amount of pleasure on many women during his time and that stretch into what could be the most dazzling smile known to man.
Rafe proves me right when I join him on the other end of the sofa and he pops it on—a dimpled smile that adds a charming boyishness to his very masculine features. For a second time within the last five minutes, he’s disarmed me.
He seems to know he has because his cocky smile eases an inch wider. “Look,” he says. “Let’s be real about this. We both know you’re here on a limited-time basis. You’ll come in, spend a few months soaking up the perks of working for the team, then dip out once you’ve got what you wanted. No need pretending you’re actually here to improve things.”
I arch a brow. “Get what I want? And what would that be, Mr. Golding?”
“It’s Alpha,” he corrects. Then shrugs, answering, “Whatever you’re here for—a chance to pad your resume before landing the job you really want. Earning a sweet payoff from Hawk for his inevitable bad behavior. You know, the usual.”
“Has that been the case with the previous PR consultants?”
“What do you think, Sugar Tits?”
“Why don’t you learn to call people by their appropriate name? The last time I checked my name’s Marisse March. You may refer to me as Ms. March.”
“The last time I checked, I don’t care.”
I take a moment to recollect myself, recognizing this is what Rafe Golding does, and I steer the conversation in a new direction. He may believe he’ll be able to steamroll over me like he’s done everyone else from Mr. Hawk to Coach Oates to his teammates, but he’s extremely mistaken. Nothing and no one will be sabotaging the job I’ve been hired to do.
“Let’s talk about your image,” I say, sampling a gentle sip from my tea. “I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that you’re not just the team’s bad boy, you’re the league’s bad boy.”
His dimples deepen on either cheek the more condescending and cocky his smile grows. He lets out a husky chuckle and says, “That’s damn right adorable—you actually think I give a shit about my rep? I couldn’t give less of a fuck about being the league’s bad boy. I don’t care about reforming my image, and I sure as hell won’t be doing so anytime soon. Or ever. Might want to save the energy.”
“Mr. Golding?—”
“Alpha.”
I roll my lips together, fighting off the scowl that’s threatening to tighten my features. “Rafe,” I say in a tone that’s restrained, “this process will be a lot easier if you just cooperate. I was thinking the bad boy image does fit you well. It’s clearly something you’re comfortable with. But what will really take your image to the next level is some touches of a good heart somewhere in there. Maybe a small charity event volunteering with children or animals. It’ll really win over the female fans?—”
He tosses his head back in a roar of a laugh, cutting me off. “This shit is priceless! I wish I were recording you. Wait ’til Kai and the rest of the guys hear about this.”
“You don’t have a choice in the matter,” I snap. “Mr. Hawk wants the team to revamp its image. You’re part of the team. Your image is going to be overhauled whether you like it or not.”
The smile drops off his face. The laughter ends. He unfolds his arms and sits up from his reclining position. The boyish quality of his dimples is no more, and the patronizing glint in his gaze has faded. Instead, all that remains are the hard edges of his handsome face. Intimidating and arousing all at once.
Get a fucking grip, Mari.
“Bullshit,” he spits.
