Page 43 of He Has Charm

We are roommates and he’s saying everything I wanted to hear from him. That’s why I don’t trust the return of his too easy familiarity. I’ve learned today that his good nature and attention come and go. And it’ll all disappear the second the season is over when I’m no longer his handler, living in his space, and we go back to agent-client.

Of course that’s the way it should be. I’m not thinking it should be anything more. He’s giving me exactly what I want. Easy camaraderie while we’re sharing a townhouse, on a mission together. I don’t want any more than that.

He’s a client and a difficult one at that. He’s childish and silly. And sure, maybe he’s fun and hardworking, but—what the hell difference does it make what he is? He’s off the table for anything more than a friendly business relationship. So no need to worry whether he’s childish or serious. I should be thrilled. I am thrilled.

“We’re all business.” I hold my line by folding my arms across my chest.

His gaze follows my movement, scalding me with those brash blue eyes. Doubling down on my scowl, I refuse to blush, but when that doesn’t work, I turn away. And we’re back to square one. He comes up behind me. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he gently turns me around and I let him because apparently I’m like putty in his hands.

“It’s not the end of the world if we’re friends is it? That can’t be against agency policy. I count Jett as a friend, so you may as well be one too.” He lets out a deep sigh. “Though you’d be a first.”

“Your first female friend? May as well,” I mutter. His idea of friends and mine seem to be very different. Still refusing to look at him, I pull away. “Good luck. With the game.” I wave my hand, annoyed that I’m flustered, that my chest is tightening because he’s leaving and I’m still confused about where we stand. Though I shouldn’t be because he made it perfectly clear that we’re friends. “Play your best and score big for the fans.”

“Are you a fan?”

“I’m one of the biggest Brawlers fans because—” He doesn’t give me a chance to explain that it’s because our agency has three clients on the team. He flashes that infectious grin and the warm crinkles surround his eyes, making me feel it’s authentic, more than automatic reflex, not thoughtless or meaningless.

“Done and done, sugar buns. Next goal is for you.” He salutes me and adds, “I’ll text you when I get there.” He leaves, thank god, without touching me again, without another flirtatious innuendo. Though he’s back to calling me sugar buns again. I think I’m just about immune to it now and it’s a good thing. Because it’s hard to withstand his flirting and not think there’s something to it, that there might be a real attraction between us. I mean more than the obvious physical pull any sane female and any healthy adult male would have.

But my attraction doesn’t feel very sane right now. It feels obscenely insane because I can’t wait for him to come back and do some cooking—in the kitchen. And I can’t help picturing him at the stove wearing nothing but an apron. Shit.

I need to take care of my starving lady parts problem and I’m afraid my vibrator—who I should name Knight—wouldn’t be enough, even if I’d brought it with me.

***

A couple hours later, after I’ve seriously dented my to-do list for the day, making calls to Mamma Regina’s and the children’s hospital, I call Shelly. Unable to keep the problem to myself, I tell her all about my Maddox Knight obsession. According to her, my problem is nothing that a fling with a man who is not my client won’t cure. And I might just go along with her suggestion tonight if I manage to finalize the details of Mamma Regina’s promotional deal at a reasonable hour. We have the commercial shoot tentatively scheduled for two weeks from today.

“So what do you say, hot pants?” Shelly says. “Is it a date?”

“It’s sugar buns.”

Shelly cackles in my ear. “Whatever. I think it’s adorable and I can’t for the life of me figure why he’s so out of bounds. No one’s going to know what you do behind closed doors in that fabulous Beacon Hill townhouse. You really scored big staying there for the next few months. You’re going to be spoiled for when you return to your New York closet you call an apartment.”

“You have no idea how spoiled,” I say half to myself. But I shove the future aside because there’s a lot I need to do between now and the end of the season. First and foremost is to survive my time with Maddox Knight, lady killer extraordinaire, the man with too much charm for my own good. How do I explain to Shelly that there’s even more at stake than my job and that what we do behind closed doors at our townhouse could lose me my heart?

“So you’ll go out? I know a place where you can meet plenty of guys. Me too.”

“Fine, I’ll go out to watch the game. But we have to go somewhere we can find a business-suit type, not a gym shorts or sweatpants kind of guy. I don’t want to substitute one jock for another. I need to get my head away from athletes. Especially professional ones. Attention is too easy for them. Money is too easy. Everything is too easy. Easy come, easy go.”

“Since when are you anti-jock? Isn’t the reason you got into the sports agent profession because you’re a diehard jock yourself and a certified jock lover? And you don’t believe a word of that shit you just spouted off about easy come, easy go. You of all people know how hard professional athletes work. You and I worked hard just to stay competitive at the college level in women’s hockey, for crap’s sake. What’s with you?”

“I told you. I’m obsessed and I’m trying to figure out how to get un-obsessed.” I pause. “Know a good exorcist?” She cracks up and I breathe in a huge gulp of her welcome laughter.

“Never mind. Just wear your sexiest outfit tonight and we’ll get you exorcised somehow. You need to find someone else to take your mind off Mr. Hot and Untouchable.” She laughs again and we make a plan to meet at Smith & Wolensky’s bar on Atlantic Wharf at eight p.m. She’ll get there early to hold us a table and I’m hoping I can make it in time for the puck drop.

***

Later in the afternoon, I’m out for a power walk through the hilly neighborhood, carefully navigating the uneven brick sidewalks, when my phone pings. It’s Delaney calling me back. Pulling my glove off with my teeth, I tap on the call button with one hand and lift my earmuffs with the other, then press the phone to my ear. I’ve been checking the Brawlers’ social media accounts and googling Knight to assess any changes in his cyber reputation. To me the streams don’t look bad. No crazy commentary and no viral videos or IG posts or Tweets. I point this out to her.

“True, but we can’t afford another close call like what happened in the restaurant again. We were lucky to manage the photos Nora Olak posted on social media. Management doesn’t want any media kerfuffle distracting the team as we make our cup run. You need to avoid any further random photos in the future at all costs. No more appearing in public with Knight.” My first reaction is to tell her I don’t work for her, but that would be splitting hairs. Technically our agency works for Maddox, but we all get paid by the Brawlers, so… I need to pay attention to the ballbuster. Shit. Now I really get her nickname.

“According to the contract,” I say, officially in my element, “where he goes, I go, with the only exception being away games.”

“Fine, but you don’t need to sit at the same table with him next time. Keep an eye on him from a distance if he has to go out.” Her words feel like a medicine ball to my chest, like I’ve been demoted from warden to pet sitter, like I’m not good enough to share the same space with the likes of Maddox Knight, hockey star. Technically she didn’t mean it that way, but that’s how her words hit me.

“I’ll do my best,” I say attempting to keep my voice even. “We won’t be going out in public much I suspect anyway except for charitable events.”

“Great. Keep him busy and off the street. But while you’re keeping him busy and out of trouble with puck bunnies, you watch out for yourself too, Harper. I have it on good authority that Knight really is a player of epic proportions.” She surprises me, because I think she’s seriously worried.