Page 117 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

“Making progress?” She doesn’t even give me a chance to respond. “I have something super fun for you now.”

Funsounds dangerous.

Parker bounces a little and claps her hands. “Are you ready?”

Absolutely not.

Anxiety rolls through me. “Yes?”

She laughs. “I’ll pretend you said that with confidence and excitement. Come on.”

“Do I need my laptop or anything?”

“Oh,” Parker says, like whatever this idea is, she’s so excited about it that logistical details are an afterthought. “Actually, yes.”

I stuff it in my bag, and follow Parker toward the elevators, my unease increasing with each of her bouncy steps.

When did I become so jaded that someone else’s excitement made me wary?

Oh, right—when I started working in the same building as my secret husband.

Parker presses the elevator button no less than six times in quick succession, then spins to face me, her eyes and smile of equal, blinding wattage. “Remember when I said I had a hands-on project coming up?”

I don’t, but the last two days have been a blur. However, hands-on sounds like the opposite of what I want to do right now. Namely, duck into my stairwell until I can breathe normally again.

No! No more stairwells. I need to find a new place to hide.

Parker doesn’t wait for me to answer as we step into the elevator and head down—down as in where the locker rooms and the rink are. My stomach roils with dread.

I am trapped in my own personal Groundhog Day. Except instead of reliving the same events over and over, she’s finding creative new ways to mess with me.

“The first playoff game is in two days, and I had this brilliant idea a while back.” Parker laughs. “I hope it’s okay to say that about my own idea.”

“It is,” I say, hoping she doesn’t notice me sweating. I wipe a hand across my forehead. “What’s the idea?”

Please say it doesn’t involve Van. Please, please,pleasesay it doesn’t involvemeand Van.

The elevator doors open and she bounds out into the hallway, linking her arm through mine when she realizes I’m trailing behind. We’re headed toward a door markedPress.

“Some of the guys have families who are at every game,” Parker says, practically dragging me toward the door. “Locals or family who’s committed to travel. Others, like Logan, don’t have any family support at all.”

Her expression grows somber, but she shakes it off and is back to smiling a moment later. I can’t help but admire the woman’s resilience. I wonder if her bones are made of rubber. At the very least, her spirit is. She has Tigger DNA. And I’m the mopey little Eeyore practically leaving hoofmarks from dragging my feet.

Parker pauses with her hand on the doorknob to the press room, a huge grin on her face. “So … I did a thing.”

She waits. I wait, sweat now congregating on the nape of my neck and my lower back.

“What kind of thing?”

And why do I get the very distinct feeling that I’m going to be a whole lot less excited about thisthing?

“I invited as many family members as I could to come for the first two playoff games, which are both home games. We’re going to surprise the players. We’ll do a series on social media, but I’ll also have you do blog posts. Deep dives on the players, as told by their families. The goal is to get to the heart behind the players. The importance of support off the ice. The backstory.”

That doesn’t sound so bad. I relax—alittle. “It’s totally a brilliant idea.”

“Thank you!” Parker beams at me. “We’re rounding it out with traditional media, and I’ve got a writer here to do an in-depth piece for a big magazine which shall not be named.” Sheleans closer and drops her voice to a whisper. “But a synonym for its name ispersons.” She winks.

Peoplemagazine has a writer coming? That’s … huge. A jolt of excitement zips through me, and I have a brief moment of awe. Two weeks ago, I was set to marry Drew and work at a job with him—one I only tolerated.

---