Page 4 of Piercing Eyes

“That’s right—you’re writing those kids’ books now.” He raises an eyebrow. “What, all those years in the majors didn’t set you up nice enough?”

I laugh. “The books are a passion project.” I turn to include Rory in the conversation. “Jackson, this is Rory. Rory, Jackson King—former teammate and perpetual pain in my ass.”

Rory offers her hand with a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Jackson shakes her hand, but his eyes dart between us with amusement. “Well damn, you two make a gorgeous couple. How long you been keeping this quiet, Edwards?”

My stomach drops. “Rory’s my assistant,” I say quickly, catching a blush creep across her cheeks.

“Shit.” Jackson winces. “My bad. Let me make it up to you both—drinks on me? There’s this great little place around the corner. Best dirty martinis in Manhattan.”

“Thank you, but I should really get some work done,” Rory says, already putting space between us. “It was nice meeting you, Jackson. Aiden, I’ll check in later about tomorrow’s schedule.”

She disappears into the crowded sidewalk before I can stop her. Part of me wants to go after her, but Jackson’s already steering me toward the bar. And, honestly, I could use a drink and a friend right now.

The bar is exactly what you’d expect—narrow, dark, with decades of stories soaked into the worn wood surfaces. We slide into a booth with our drinks, and Jackson wastes no time cutting to the chase.

“So,” he says, leaning forward. “Want to tell me what’s really going on there?”

I take a long pull of my whiskey. “Nothing’s going on.”

“Bullshit. I saw how you were looking at her. And how quickly you jumped to correct me about the couple thing.” He points an accusatory finger at me. “You’ve got that same look you used to get before a big game. All intense and wound up.”

“It’s complicated.”

“When isn’t it?” He sits back, crossing his arms. “Come on, man. Talk to me.”

Maybe it’s the whiskey, or maybe I just need to tell someone, but I find myself spilling the whole story—how seeing her yesterday knocked me completely off balance, the bomb she dropped this morning about our shared past, the flood of memories about my bad behavior back then.

When I finish, Jackson lets out a low whistle. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

I stare into my glass. “What can I do? I’m her boss now. And after what I did to her as a kid...”

“But she took the job,” Jackson points out. “She must have forgiven you.”

“Or she really needed the work.” I drain my glass instead of dwelling on that possibility.

“Look,” Jackson says, his voice gentler now. “You were a kid. Kids can be cruel. But you’re not that person anymore—anyone who knows you can see that. Hell, you write children’s books about kindness and friendship.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No, it doesn’t. But beating yourself up won’t fix anything either.” He signals the bartender for another round. “As for those other feelings you have for her…sorry, man, but this is clearly one of those situations where you need to just let it be. She’s your employee.”

I know he’s right. The responsible thing is to keep things strictly professional, to focus on being a decent boss and proving I’m not that same thoughtless kid who made her schooldays hell. But getting rid of the desire I feel for her is going to be far easier said than done.

“Another round?” Jackson asks, reading my expression.

I nod, thinking I might need several to get through this. “Keep them coming.”

3

RORY

TWO WEEKS LATER

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