Page 29 of Check the Halls
Sam winces with what feels like real sympathy. “That’s shitty.”
I nod. “Real shitty.”
CHAPTER 10
MADDY
Hockeyboi17: Hey. What’s the dress code for the meeting tomorrow?
Maddy: No dress code. Wear whatever you like!
Hockeyboi17: Suit?
Maddy: Sure
Hockeyboi17: Jeans?
Maddy: Sure
Hockeyboi17: Loincloth?
Maddy: …
Maddy: Wear a suit
Hockeyboi17:
“Damn,” Ivan says on an exhale. “He’s even hotter in person.”
I don’t bother looking up from my phone, my fingers moving quickly across the screen as I fire off a response to my third urgent email of the day. Somehow, the venue coordinator thought that we wanted to switch to a different ballroom. Not only is it not large enough, the Gala has been held in the Governor General’s Room for the past six years. It’s clearly stated in the contract we signed back in February. She says she was told to change the booking, though she can’t remember by whom.
My entire week has been a mess of mix-ups like this. Countless miscommunications, oversights, careless errors that need to be untangled. Every time I make progress on my ever-growing to-do list, another issue lands in my lap demanding immediate attention. At this point, I feel less like a director and more like a firefighter, putting out one small blaze after another before they have the chance to spiral into full-blown infernos.
“Seriously.” Ivan is gaping like a parched man who’s just spotted a very tall drink of water. His blond hair looks more coiffed than usual and I find myself wondering if he got a haircut for today’s function. “Look. At. Him.”
I don’t need to look at Ben. I already know exactly how hot he is. I know the way his jaw tenses when he’s irritated, the way his lips twitch at the corners when he’s fighting back a laugh. I know the weight of his gaze, and the strength of his hands when he—no.
Do not go there.
Not after all these years. Not when we’re still figuring out how to exist in the same space as just friends. Not when I have a fiancé.
I keep my focus on my screen, my thumbs typing furiously as I will away the inappropriate thoughts. Only when I hit send on the email do I let myself steal a glance toward the entrance.
Grinning, effortlessly charming, shaking hands like he owns the damn room. His dark suit fits him too well, tailored to the broad lines of his shoulders and tapered at his waist.
Don’t even get me started on his face.
It’s all hard angles and sharp edges—high cheekbones, a strong, chiseled jaw, and a perfectly straight nose that looks like it’s never lost a fight. Smooth skin that I swear I can still feel against mine.
For all the sharpness in his features, his gaze is something else entirely. It’s soft and warm, drawing in those around him with ease.
I swallow hard.
This is fine. This is completely fine.
Chanda materializes at my side looking positively giddy. “Do you think he’ll sign a jersey for my son?”
“I’m sure he’d be happy to,” I tell her. She gives my arm a squeeze before making her way in his direction. The moment she’s out of earshot, Ivan leans in close.
