Page 34 of Power Play

“Then adjust them completely. We don’t meet up after this.”

He doesn’t pull away, and I’m ashamed to admit that my heart rate kicks up speed again. Stupid, stupid heart. Stupid, stupid hope.

“How much more do you need for your feature?” he asks quietly.

In all honesty, I could probably get away with everything he’s told me tonight. Between personal quotes and regurgitated stats from other publications, I’ve got enough on hand that Josh won’t have any complaints. Still, I’m tempted to lie . . . tempted to tell him that I need so much more.

Seven days’ worth of material.

But his rejection still stings, and the thought of wearing my embarrassment like a cloak for the next week deters me from fibbing. “I have enough now,” I tell him, praying that I do. “Look at that, Mr. Harrison—you’re already off the hook after only two days.”

His brows come together like he doesn’t believe me. “Are you sure?”

No. “Yep, completely, one-hundred percent positive. Now, maybe you can back off of me?”

He stays where he is, pressing his hard body against mine for a long, excruciating moment before peeling away. “This isn’t how I planned for this game to go,” he tells me softly, and I believe it. Duke Harrison may be a man of few words, but the open expression on his face speaks of regret.

Regret over nearly kissing me. Just what every woman wants to read in an attractive man’s expression.

Ugh.

“It’s fine,” I say, yanking my coat back into place. “No worries. Thanks for—” I break off, waving my hand at the dartboard.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asks.

“I have my car.”

“Right.”

“It was nice meeting you, Duke. Good luck with the rest of the season.”

I don’t wait for him to tell me anything else. I hastily grab my bag from the couch, hook the strap over my shoulder, and hightail it out of The Box. No one stops me, and though I wish Duke would follow and ask me to stay, I don’t hold my breath.

We’ve only met a handful of times. He probably feels awkward turning me down. He may not want Gwen, but he certainly doesn’t want me.

I don’t mix business with pleasure.

Yeah, I read that memo loud and clear. And I have no intention of seeking either pleasure or business with Duke Harrison again.

Chapter Ten

“What do you mean, ‘it’s lackluster’?” I demand on Monday afternoon, four days after my shit-tastic dart game with Duke.

Josh makes a show of perusing the printed copy of my article, flipping through the pages way too dramatically for my tastes. He tosses the stapled stack onto my desk. “It’s no good, Denton.”

My hands fly to the pages. Red ink mars the entire copy. “Can you tell mewhyit’s no good?”

Josh readjusts his Red Sox baseball hat. “It’s got no pizazz. No life. I could have been reading about root canals I was so enthralled.”

Whatisit with this guy and the dentist? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I have bigger fish to fry. You know, like possibly losing myjob.

“What sort of ‘pizazz’ are you looking for?” I throw in finger quotations because, what the heck. I’m four days away from being demoted to Josh’s secretary-in-training anyway. Just the thought of having to sit in his office all day sends dread trickling down my spine.

I plow forward. “Not only did I speak to him personally, but I attended a game, on his dime. I spoke to his teammates”—okay,oneteammate whom I’d stalked all weekend on Twitter—“and I’m telling you, that article right there has more information on Duke Harrison than any other publication has put out since he last won the Stanley Cup three years ago.”

Josh doesn’t bother correcting me on any of that. He simply flicks up the brim of his hat, drags his coffee mug off my desk, and slurps the liquid down. Gross.

“It’s bland, Denton. B-l-a-n-d.”

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