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“Oh hush, Via. Don’t be crude.” She shakes her head, dropping the magazine down onto the countertop with a triumphant plop. The front page is a crappy picture of Reese, half-naked, with a woman pressed against a set of lockers. The image is fuzzy, but you can see most of the important things.
The headline reads: HOCKEY HUNK REESE DALTON WARMS UP IN LOCKERS WITH FIERY NEW FLING.
I roll my eyes at the melodrama. Still… even with the trash film quality, Reese Dalton does have a nice body. I didn’t realize hockey players could get—what’s the phrase? Swole? Reese Dalton is definitely that. Muscles for days and a V-cut leading to something that the woman in the photo was obviously trying to?—
I slide the magazine back to my mother before my mind can go any further with that thought.
“Okay, so he’s a playboy. Big deal.”
“He’s the playboy, Via. He’s in and out of the magazines like this almost every week. He has a new woman as often as they smooth down hockey ice, I tell you.”
“I have no idea how often they smooth down hockey ice, and neither do you. I also don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“I don’t want you getting into another situation where your employer is a womanizer, Via. It’s one thing when it’s a little bit of entertainment—but you’re going to be alone with him.”
I exhale. When she says it like that…
It sounds like trouble.
I can feel myself receding inward. After all the trouble I’ve gone through to get here, the excitement that I felt in getting this job, I’m starting to feel the weight of her doubts dragging me back to earth.
Does Reese really just go through women like that? The article seems to say so.
I whip out my phone. Maybe Mom is wrong. This must be just a one-off thing. Aren’t the paparazzi always inserting themselves in the business of athletes, making mountains out of molehills? Everyone knows that these magazines are nothing but rag news. Nothing of substance ever gets printed.
But as I run a search on Reese Dalton, all I pull up is article after article about a new woman, a new sex scandal, a new raunchy nightclub outing, all dotted with Reese’s own quoted admissions that he’s not a one-woman kind of man.
Shit.
Maybe Mom’s right.
I shut the thought down. He’s my boss and I’m his employee. There’s nothing in here that says anything about him hiring someone and then having sex with them.
If he was sleeping with the help, surely that tidbit would have made the papers, too?
“Via?”
Mom’s voice pulls me from my amateur sleuthing. I pocket my phone and give her a generous smile that says, Nothing to worry about here. I don’t want her to fret over something that isn’t even a problem.
“It’s all gonna be fine.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because all these stories are about just, like, random women. Not anyone that works for him. I won’t even be alone with him like that; he has assistants and house staff and all that stuff.” I roll my eyes like I’m not bothered in the least. All this fuss over something that’s one hundred percent never gonna happen. “Besides, shouldn’t he be more busy playing hockey than trying to seduce me? I have better things to do than even give him the time of day—like look after his niece, for starters.”
Mom opens her mouth like she’s going to say something. Whatever it is, I don’t get to hear it. She hugs me instead. Her soft scent and frail warmth envelops me and I let it.
I don’t want to argue with my mother. I don’t have time for Reese Dalton—and I don’t have time to waste on silly disagreements with my mother, either.
“I love you, Via,” she says. “I just want you to be safe and happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
10
OLIVIA
Chicken parm bakes away in my oven, filling my apartment up with the aroma of saucy, cheesy goodness. I even made my own sauce instead of buying from the jar. My nonni would be proud, may she rest in peace.
I think about what Mom said about Reese while I cook. About him being a player, about being worried about me. I can’t help but picture him and that woman from the tabloid picture.
