Page 9 of Game Misconduct
Her stare flicks down, slow, deliberate. Skimming my tattoos and lingering a heartbeat too long on my exposed chest.
When her eyes meet mine again, she doesn’t look the least bit apologetic.
“How the hell did you even get in?”
She shrugs, unbothered. “Your doorman likes ambitious women in heels.”
I make a mental note to have a talk with Carlos.
Leaning against the doorframe, I cross my arms, feigning indifference I don’t feel. Pulse hammering, I mask my reaction beneath carefully crafted sarcasm.
One elegant brow raises. “Are you going to let me in?”
She holds up a manila folder that I know contains my contract. “I'm delivering your future.”
I huff out a laugh. “Dramatic much, princess?”
Her eyes narrow but her voice is velvet-soft, razor-sharp beneath. “We need to talk.”
“Do we?” My tone drips mockery, defiance. “Don’t recall inviting you.”
“I wouldn’t be at your door uninvited if you’d answer your phone.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“Oh, I’m sure there is, but that doesn’t stop me.” Her chin lifts, defiance blazing brighter as she steps past me, her coat brushing my bare chest.
The residual heat that momentary contact leaves behind can fuck all the way off.
Her perfume lingers—a clean, expensive scent at odds with the turmoil inside me. It’s a sharp contrast to my stark apartment.
“You've got thirty seconds.” I shove the door shut with unnecessary force, sound vibrating through my spine. She doesn't flinch, unperturbed as she tosses a contract onto the coffee table. The paper lands with a soft slap, like a gauntlet.
She turns to face me. “You’ve got forty-eight hours.” Her voice remains unwavering, as if stating the obvious.
“You came all the way here just to deliver a contract I didn’t ask for?”
“I came here because you matter.”
I blink. The words hit in a place I thought I’d boarded up a long time ago.
For a second, we just stare. The air between us tightens, shifts. Something electric moves through it.
Not just tension—acharge.
“And if I don’t sign?” I snap, contempt masking the vulnerability causing my muscles to tense up.
She doesn’t say anything, just continues to study me curiously with those forest green eyes.
I smirk, an irresistible urge to press her buttons. To rattle that unshakeable composure. “Maybe I’ll retire. Coach high school hockey.”
She steps forward, boldness radiating with each decisive move. I brace against the heated flush her proximity brings, my pulse traitorously quickening.
“You won’t retire,” she murmurs, conviction heavy in her tone. “You’re not ready to fade into obscurity.”
I lean closer, jaw clenched, challenging her head-on. Her scent invades my senses, and heat crackles between us, electric, unwanted.
“You think you know me.” Low, harsh words escape, a veiled threat beneath them. “Princess, you know nothing.”
