Page 15 of Relationship Goals

I’ll wine and dine Abigail Hunt. Anything to get back to Seattle. It’s not a real relationship or a real date—it’ll be easy to forget her. Hell, she’ll probably forget me by the time her IFF movie starts shooting.

Everyone already knows I’m a jackass, so what’s one more person who thinks so?

Chapter Three

Abigail

Luke Wolfe isnot what I expected.

Not one bit.

Rough around the edges, yes, but also staggeringly handsome in person. Between his icy blue eyes and dark hair, he’s unforgettable. His attitude put me off at first, but I must be a glutton for punishment, because I sense something…better under that hard shell surrounding him. Something soft and gooey.

Or maybe it’s just that he said he thinks I’m pretty and I needed to hear something nice after sweating through my pits in the meeting with the owners.

I’ll have to unpack that in therapy.

I’m so lost in thought I glide right past the door markedMichelle Oxford: Director of Operations.

I pivot, turning back toward the office, voices growing louder as I reapproach.

“Not interested, Mr. Gold,” a woman’s voice says, every syllable hard and no-nonsense.

“Michelle—”

“It’s Ms. Oxford to you,” she says crisply. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

My eyes go wide, my brain churning with scenarios. Should I beata hasty retreat and leave her to whatever…is going on in there? Should I knock on the door and interrupt? Should I—

The door swings open, saving me from making a decision. Like a deer in the headlights, I freeze, my hand still outstretched toward the handle, and I come face-to-face with Tristan Gold, who’s frown immediately smooths out as he recognizes me.

“Michelle, your new shadow is here,” he booms.

Behind him, a woman stands, her arms crossed over her chest. A smattering of golden-brown freckles dust over her nose and cheeks, her shining dark brown hair tied up in a chic knot at the base of her neck. A smart pencil dress clings to her athletic shape, the asymmetric neckline setting off her bare collarbone.

“Hi, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say hesitantly, completely caught off guard.

“You’re timing is perfect, actually. Mr. Gold was just leaving. He might be the team goalie, but there’s no saving this conversation.” To my surprise, the woman, Michelle, practically shoves him out the door, causing him to rumble with laughter as he makes his way past me.

“We’re not done here, Michelle,” the goalie tells her, a sly grin on his face.

“You don’t get to decide that,” she replies crisply. “Come in, Ms. Hunt.”

“Abigail, please,” I say, my gaze darting between Tristan and Michelle and the strange…energy between them.

“Call me Michelle,” she says. “Have a seat.”

“As the team captain, I think I do get to decide—” Tristan Gold starts.

Michelle closes the door on Tristan’s face, cutting off whatever else he was about to say.

I blink, slightly shocked. For a split second, her smile cracks, and she closes her eyes, leaning against the door as she inhales deeply.

“That bad, huh?” I ask sympathetically, the question out of my mouth before I have time to think it over.

“What?” Her eyes fly open. “No, Tristan, er, Mr. Gold, just has one of those personalities that can’t resist trying to befriend everyone in the building.” She clicks her tongue. “Even when I’ve made it clear I’m not…interested. In being friends. With him.”

I squint at her, but her professional mask slips seamlessly back into place, and then she’s repositioning herself behind her desk, her hands clasped in front of her.

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