Page 67 of Faking it with the Billionaire
Not my finest hour in terms of communication, but at least she’s still speaking to me. I mean, she texts me that everything is as it should be with the house, no new threats, no suspects.
I haven’t received another letter at the arena, but it’s only a matter of time. I doubt the threat is over when he can so easily manipulate me into doing what he wants because I’d do anything to protect Bristol.
We have the food drive today, and I tossed one of my jerseys in Em’s room after our blowout. Not that it was a huge fight or anything. It was more of a standstill. Two steps forward, a thousand steps back.
She gave me the cold shoulder at dinner, focused entirely on Bristol, and then claimed she was tired and went to bed early. Which I know was a lie. Her bedroom light was on past midnight.
I could see she was logged onto the internet and on the tablet doing work, hiding from me.
And I should give Em her space. Clearly, she needs it if she’s avoiding me, but I also don’t like her being mad at me.
I get dressed and head downstairs for a cup of coffee.
Em is standing in the kitchen with her back to me. She’s wearing my jersey with a pair of black leggings, and I can’t help but feel a swell of pride inside.
That’s what I wanted when she came to the game. I won’t make the same mistake twice. She’ll keep the jersey and wear it to every game she attends, so everyone in the stands and on the team will know she belongs to me.
I walk up beside her and grab a mug from the cabinet, pouring myself a steaming cup of coffee. “You look good in my jersey.”
She laughs nervously and spins around, raising an eyebrow.
“Wear it to the next game you attend. And the one after that. And so on.”
“You mean you don’t want me wearing the dick jersey?” she asks with a laugh and shoves her face into her hands. “I can’t believe I had that on. Were there any reporters who took pictures?”
Thankfully, they weren’t aware of who she was until after the proposal, and at that point, I’d already had her change into one of my white undershirts.
“We lucked out. Whose idea was it really to wear it?” I ask. I don’t believe that Em would ever lie to me. Had she thought it would be a funny prank like the guys did when they gifted it to me?
“Your daughter,” she says. “I swear she insisted that I wear it, and I didn’t even think to check the back. I wasn’t even sure it was the team you play for, but Lia assumed it was and that it was one of those old-style jerseys.”
“Throwback?” I ask with a laugh. “Yeah, I probably have one of those around somewhere that would fit Bristol. I don’t usually keep a stack of jerseys on hand at home.”
“You should. For visitors,” Emerson says and grabs a cup of coffee for herself. “Or for any potential dates.”
“I’m not dating anyone else. That would look bad, with us being fake engaged.” I smile at her, hoping that she’ll lighten up.
She sips her coffee and nods. “Right. I should get ready and head out. I don’t want to keep the hockey wives waiting. Are you sure Bristol is okay with Lia today? Can Mitchell keep an eye on them since I have to cover this event?”
“I’ve got it covered. You worry about yourself. Remember, we’re madly in love.” I wrap my arms around her waist, and she freezes. Her body tenses beneath my touch.
At least we don’t have to pretend today in front of others. Although, to be honest, I kind of want to do that with her. Maybe I’ll show up after a couple of hours to see how everyone is treating my fiancée. Then I can steal a kiss from her.
“Right, madly in love,” she says with a heavy sigh. “I should go.” Em slips from my embrace, and it’s like the room dropped several degrees. Her body heat and being pressed against her had warmed me from the inside out.
When the hell did I become a man obsessed with a woman? Let alone my daughter’s bodyguard?
I run a hand through my hair and hurry down the rest of the coffee in my mug. I should be avoiding caffeine with the way that she makes me feel inside, but maybe one small hit isn’t so bad. After all, it’s not like I’m going to see her for at least a couple of hours.
Bristol comes tearing down the stairs, not the least bit quiet. The nanny has today off—I can’t expect her to work a seven-day schedule. Even if she were willing to accommodate the over-time, I don’t want her to burn out.
I should probably give Em more time off too.
“Daddy!” Bristol squeals as she slides across the kitchen in her fluffy pink socks. “Can we go ice skating today?” she asks.
“Let me think about it,” I say teasingly and offer a huge grin. “Yes!”
The kid loves the ice, but I’m not sure if she’s just trying to follow in my footsteps because she thinks that’s what she’s supposed to do. Last year, she joined a hockey team for kids, but she wasn’t too fond of chasing the puck or being competitive.
