Page 6 of Ice Cold Hearts

We settle in on opposite sides of her desk, and it’s only here behind the closed door of her office that I feel comfortable taking off my hood and sunglasses. Her brows knit together when she gets a full look at my face.

I tense, waiting for the inevitable kowtowing.

It never comes. She just tilts her head to the side like someone trying to understand abstract art and returns to my file.

Does she not know who I am or is her poker face that good?

Either way, I’m intrigued.

I study her face closely.

The canary yellow eye makeup dulls the glow of her amber eyes, but no amount of electric blue mascara can hide those beautiful long eyelashes.

Since when have I ever cared about eyelashes?

I think there is a smattering of tiny freckles across her upturned nose and high cheekbones, but it’s hard to tell under all the rainbow glitter.

All this confirms my suspicions. Under all of that is an exceptionally beautiful woman, and the longer I spend with her, the more danger I’m in.

“Alexei LaRue?” she asks.

“Yes,” I confirm.

“And you’re here for some lower back concerns?” Emily raises her eyebrows.

I shrug. “Ian pushed me into coming. Ever since his shoulder injury, he’s been militant about treating any injuries, however minor, professionally.”

“Ian is your coworker? Friend? Boyfriend?”

Depends on which tabloid is running the story.

I wonder if her question is personal or professional.

“Teammate, friend, roommate,” I answer.

Was that a smile that stole across her face just now?

Knock it off. She’s your doctor, not some empty-headed socialite looking for a good time, I scold myself.

“That reminds me,” Emily says. “Jenna’s notes about the phone consult were fairly sparse. She told me you were a high-profile client, and based on ‘teammate’, I’m assuming athlete. I don’t need to put anything more specific than that in your file, but I would like to know for myself so I can get a more holistic picture for your treatment plan.”

I can’t keep the surprise out of my tone. “Pro Hockey for The Cold Hearts. Team captain, in fact.”

Recognition floods her face, “Oh, that’s why you’re familiar. My parents are massive hockey fans.” She laughs. “If I had a dollar for every game they dragged me to as a child, I wouldn’t have had to take a loan out for my degrees.”

“I take it you’re not a fan?” I ask.

Her smile fades.

“I used to be,” she says guardedly. “I haven’t kept up with it for the last five years or so. Life got in the way, you know?”

Her answer shouldn’t bother me, but it does. That’s my problem, not hers, though, so I just nod politely.

“Anyway,” she continues, “we’re here for you today. Take me through what happened and we can go from there.”

I walk her through the past week and a half and the minor issues I’ve been having. She stops me a few times to ask specific questions about the frequency and intensity levels of some of the symptoms.

“I know exactly what to do with you.” She gives me a satisfied smile.

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