Page 72 of Tainted Love

I take a deep breath, looking at myself one more time, cocking my head to the side as I examine my hair, makeup, and wardrobe. It’s not my best work, and the effects of poor sleep are evident on my face, but it will have to do.

The ride is only ten minutes, and I hastily approach the building after thanking my driver. The cold air bites at my ears and cheeks before I’m granted a reprieve from the warm air circulating inside.

Setting my bag in the conference room, which will now serve as my temporary work home for the next few days, I go in search of coffee. I find a small kitchenette around the corner from the conference room with a pot of freshly brewed coffee. My senses tingle at the aroma. I’m a coffee girl. I drank it a bit in high school but became addicted in college. Thankfully, the refrigerator has half and half and whole milk.

I grab my morning tonic and walk back to the room. As I pass by, people look up and smile courteously, and I make a mental note to find the art department people to begin working on some ideas later.

It turns out that’s unnecessary because when I return to the conference room, I find a man sitting at the table, his brows drawn together in concentration as he shades in something on a sketch pad.

The woosh of air that accompanies me when I enter the room causes him to look up, and our eyes meet. My breath catches in my throat. Christ on a cracker, he’s attractive. Piercing ocean-blue eyes peek out at me from under dark-framed glasses. His eyes starkly contrast his inky black hair and olive skin tone. A slow smile spreads across his face as he takes in my appearance.

In one swift movement, he rises from his chair and strides toward me, his hand outstretched in greeting. “Hi. You must be Sascha. I’m Derek.” His voice is warm and friendly, his handshake firm and inviting. I can’t help but stare momentarily as I take in his perfectly tailored black suit pants that hug his muscular thighs and the white dress shirt that stretches across his broad chest.

He’s an undeniably attractive man, yet I feel nothing beyond an initial fleeting attraction. This turn of events annoys me with Taz. His re-emergence in my life has me unsettled.

“Hi. It’s nice to meet you,” I respond, quickly pulling my hand away. I walk to the nearby table and set down my coffee while Derek follows behind with his megawatt smile. “So, Derek,” I start, “What can I help you with?”

Furrowing his brows in confusion, he responds, “I’m from the art department. Didn’t Jerry inform you we’d collaborate on this project?”

“He did mention it,” I stumble over my words. “He didn’t mention that I’d be working with someone. I wasn’t sure when that would happen.”

Derek’s lips curl into a knowing smile. “Sorry for catching you off guard.”

“I have some initial ideas, but I’m still working them out. Can we meet after lunch?”

“Of course,” he agrees easily. “I’ll swing by and check in with you later.” He leaves the room and takes his woodsy, masculine scent with him, allowing me a moment to clear my head and drink some coffee before getting into my work.

I could use a break from thinking about hockey apparel as lunchtime approaches. Just as I’m about to ask Jerry’s secretary, Pam, for a recommendation on where to grab food, a burst of warm air and the scent of fresh soap fills my workspace as Michael charges in. His broad frame takes up most of the doorway, and I can’t help but notice how good he smells.

“Hey,” he says, his voice deep and rich.

I look up from my work to meet his gaze. “Hi,” I reply. “What are you doing here?”

“I finished practice and thought I’d check if you’ve had lunch,” he replies with a charming smile.

“I haven’t,” I admit, feeling a pang of hunger at the mention of food. “I was about to go grab something and bring it back here. I don’t have a lot of time to go out.”

“I knew that would be the case,” he says casually. “So, I asked Pam to order something. It should be here soon.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “You did?”

He nods, still smiling. “Yes. I wanted to do something nice for you. You still like Chinese food?”

“I love it,” I reply, my stomach grumbling at the thought of moo goo gai pan.

Michael saunters over to where I’m working, taking in the scattered papers on the table with interest. My heart races as I quickly move to block his view, not wanting him to view my sketches yet. His presence is distracting enough as it is without adding in the possibility of judgment on my work. Watching him play last night ignited something within me. He’s so good when he’s in his element, and it was impressive to watch him command the ice. Now, it’s my turn to show him what I can do in my element. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about it, but I want to do well for him and me.

Our food arrives ten minutes later as Pam brings in the fragrant containers and sets them on the table. The tangy aroma of meat and vegetables fills the room, and we both sigh, satisfied. We continue chatting casually as we eat, but I can’t help but sneak glimpses of Michael. He’s happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this way. Not in a long time, at least.

He smiles warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he talks animatedly about life here and some of his teammates.

“Hey,” I interrupt, holding up a piece of cashew chicken with my chopsticks. “Can I ask you a question?”

A sly grin tugs at the corners of his mouth before he speaks, “Shoot.” His eyes meet mine with a playful wink.

“What did you do to land yourself in trouble here?” I ask, unable to resist my own curiosity.

His expression changes suddenly, shifting from relaxed and carefree to a stormy anger that crackles in the air around us.