Page 11 of Sin Bin

I shift on my bare feet, wishing I hadn’t kicked off my heels around the time that I started scrubbing the windowsill. “I needed somethingtodo.”

“Want to clean my office?” she says, although I’m not sure that she’sjoking.

With the Windex bottle clutched in one hand and a paper towel in the other, I say, “Will it keep me at Golden Lights for longer thanthirtydays?”

Her expression seesaws as she presses her back against the open door. “I’m sorryaboutthat.”

I shrug. “Igetit.”

Because I do—I’m a liability. I place the Windex bottle on my desk and throw the dirty paper towel away into the waste bin. The office smells like fresh lemon, its past sins all butwipedaway.

“So, is itweird?”

My heart squeezes.Here it comes . . .“What doyoumean?”

“You know”—she widens her eyes in that way people do when they want you to pick up the clue that they aren’t, actually, putting down—“withAndre. After everything that happened last year, it must be weird to know that you’ll be working with himagain.”

Do I go for honesty? Play the oblivioustactic?

Not that I think Gwen would fall for the latter. She may sound like she’s interested in my answer as a friend, but her gaze is way too sharp for my liking. So, I do what any woman in my position would do: I play it cool, like seeing my one-time fling hasn’t completely rocked me off my train toHappyLand.

“It’s fine,” I tell her smoothly. “Of course, it’d be better if he showed up for our meeting this morning. But he’s a hotshot hockey player. I’m sure he justforgot.”

It’s unlikely Andre has forgottenanything.

All morning I’ve toyed with a new suspicion—that he didn’t show because hewantsme to be fired. If that’s the case, he’s got another thing coming to him. Because I’m not going anywhere. If this is my last chance at a career in my chosen field, then I’m going down with fistsflying.

Andre Beaumont won’t even know whathithim.

Seeing that she isn’t likely to get any information out of me, Gwen gives me a smile that verges on pitying. She knows. She knows that I’m a half-step away from stalking Andre down and forcing him to do my non-sexualbidding.

“If you want to take off for the day, feel free,” she tells me, her gaze falling to the fancy, rose-gold watch encircling her wrist. “You can’t really shape up Beaumont’s career without Beaumont, so you might as well head home and prepare forbattle.”

My fingers twitch at that. I feel like I’ve been in battle for the good bit of a year, but this is something different. I need to be strategic. I need to get my ducks in a row and start my plan to wipe Andre’s stained reputationclean.

He doesn’t want to lose hissponsorships.

I don’t want to losethisjob.

In theory, we should be on the same page. In theory, the next twenty-nine days shouldbeeasy.

In theory, I shouldn’t feel the least bit tempted to want another taste of Andre Beaumont after a year of radio-silence, but I do. What they say about thin lines between love and hate? Well, the line between lust and hate is even thinner, and as I stuff my laptop into my work bag, and stuff my feet back into my stilettos, I’m horrified to realize that I’m just as annoyed that Andre didn’t show professionally as I am at the sinking thought that he didn’t showforme.

And the latter justwon’tdo.

No way am I letting lust get the betterofme.

Not even for AndreBeaumont.

ChapterSix

ZOE

Ibarely getmy foot over the threshold at home before my dad comes flying down the stairs. In his arms, he juggles his striped chef pants, coat, and a set of large-as-my-forearm menus. The moment he sees me, his terse expression breaks like he’s seen the SecondComing.

“Zoe! ThankfuckingGod.”

It’s Thursday and a school week, which means that Tia is in class and Shelby is at work, but I nevertheless glance over my shoulder. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching the languagething?”

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