My responding smile is lined with grief. “Thanks. It’s just my mom now, my father died a few years ago.”
“Damn. I’m sorry.”
I wave off his apology. “Please, don’t apologize. Honestly, I shouldn’t have said anything, you’re my boss, not my friend. You don’t need to know all my trauma.”
“I don’t want you to see me as just your boss, Isla. I hate the idea of being different, or somehow more important than anyone else here. Just because I pay the bills doesn’t mean I don’t care about everyone here. So if you want to talk about anything, I’m here. Okay?”
My tongue darts out to moisten my suddenly dry lips. And I nod. “Okay.”
Luca exhales, his face relaxing from his intense expression. “And at the risk of being inappropriate again, I have to say one thing. You’re an impressive woman. Certainly a talented marketer, and with the way you clearly care about your job and the team, I can only assume a great mom, also. Charlie is a lucky kid.”
There’s a heated moment of silence after his quiet compliment. It’s not that I’ve never had someone praise me. But a man like Luca, who obviously has high standards and the drive to reach them, calling me talented and a good mother? It’s hard to hold back from throwing my arms around his neck and hugging him in thanks.
Nowthatwould be inappropriate.
Just then, my phone buzzes with an incoming call. We both glance down at the same time and see Charlie’s name on the caller ID.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Isla, enjoy the tea,” Luca says quietly before stepping out of the room.
I exhale.
He’s my boss.
And the only man I have room for in my life is calling me.
“Hey kid, what’s up?”
8
LUCA
“I swear to fucking God,your upper body is deceiving,” Dom gripes as he swipes a towel over his face.
It’s late, but we decided to stay after everyone else had gone home and take advantage of the newly finished fitness facilities at the stadium. Dom thought I was insane putting a state-of-the-art gym into a minor league baseball stadium, but now he’s whistling a different tune.
“It’s okay to just admit you’re jealous,” I tease, earning a shove that is not quite strong enough to make me trip. He’s known me long enough to know the limits of my balance. And that upper body strength he’s talking about? Comes from years of using crutches and years of needing that extra core and back strength just to walk around and perform normal activities. Things that others don’t think twice about take me so much longer.
Yeah, I’m strong. Except for when I’m not.
We walk out onto the field, lit up by the also newly replaced stadium lights. Things are starting to cometogether after several months of hard work—and plenty of money.
“You think you can still hit off my curveball?” Dom shouts as he jogs out to the pitcher’s mound.
I grin. “Depends on if you can still throw like you did when we were sixteen.”
“If you mean deadly fast and accurate, then fuck yeah, I can.” He rotates his shoulder while I get into position, making sure my prosthetic is firmly planted. It’s been a long time since I swung a bat, but it feels good.
“If you hit this, I’ll let you spend whatever you want on merch design.”
My eyes widen and I nod enthusiastically. “You’re on.” The possibility of getting an unlimited budget to design new merchandise? Hell yeah, I’m gonna hit it.
He winds up, and my gaze zeros in on his arm. The ball leaves his glove, and thank fuck, he’s just as rusty as I am because it moves slow enough for me to track the path it’ll take and adjust.
I swing. And make contact. Not great, as the ball only goes a little past first, but there’s contact.
“That was pathetic, Calloway,” Dom jeers from the mound.
I scoff, taking a couple of practice swings. “Your pitch? Yeah, I know it was. Try harder.”
