A beautiful blush appears on his cheeks as he smiles at that and finally sits. Not as close as I suspect we both want, but close enough.
“I love it every time you call me that.”
“I know,” I whisper, then suck in a fortifying breath and brace myself. “I want to hear you out, Eli. But first just let me say that something like this cannot happen again.” It comes out with a finality that leaves no room for argument, and I don’t regret it. “You can’t manipulate the world around me without at least letting me know first, and if you’re going to mess with my career, I need you to believe—to trust me enough to know that my opinion simply matters more there.”
He sits up and nods vehemently.
“It does. Always.”
His quick agreement is enough to have me sighing in relief.
He closes his eyes, and clearly takes his time to choose his next words carefully—I appreciate that.
“I know now that you were right, Lex.” When he opens his eyes and looks right at me, those blue orbs hit me right in the chest, even while I’m surprised that that’s the first thing he says. “Ididn’tunderstand, and I can’t be sure that I’ll ever understand the hockey world as you do, but I spent a few hours last night researching.”
A smile tugs on my cheek as Lottie’s words echo in my mind, then I reach over and grab his hand, finally feeling like the contact will soothe instead of sting.
“Of course you did, angel.”
He smiles before launching into his recounting.
“I learned a lot, but mostly I learned how much weight you already have on your shoulders. I thought I knew before but now I think I really understand. And I can tell you that I already have a few ideas of how I can help there. Not only on social media, or like you said, manipulating some perceptions, but also just everyday stuff. I want to learn more so you can come to me whenever a journalist is too much of an asshole or if things with your new team become too much. I want to tell you my ideas so we can talk them through, but I promise I won’t do anything unless you knowandhave okayed it.”
I sigh again and sink further into the cushions, but I also bring his hand with me and raise it to kiss his knuckles.
“That’s the most Eli thing ever,” I murmur, but my adoration for him comes through loud and clear. There’s no way for me to hide it even if I wanted to. Even when I’m still reeling from all the changes to my reality in the last ten days.
His face falls suddenly and I see the regret painted all over every beautiful inch of it. “I just wanted to help.” He lowers his eyes to our intertwined fingers.
“I know, angel. Good thing is now you know a better way to help.”
That coaxes a small smile from him even as he sniffles softly. The redness in his eyes does nothing to stop me from being floored by his beauty.
I lean in. The sudden need to taste that smile, to own it, is something I can’t and frankly don’t want to resist.
When he parts his lips invitingly, I realize that now that I know he’s not perfect, I somehow love him more than I did yesterday.
January 12
Early Tuesday morning, Austin and I pick up Patrick on the curb of the Certon Hotel where he’ll be staying for a week. He’s here to help me with the transition to the Demons, yeah, but he also has a bunch of other athletes he represents who play for teams in the tri-state area.
Since it’s still too early to formally hire any of the bodyguards Troy and Austin recommended to Michael—who I gave my full permission to last night to pick someone for me—Eli decided to go to work from his father’s offices today so Troy can keep an eye on them both.
That means Mom still has her two bodyguards and Dad with her—which is needed since she’s not only a supermodel known worldwide worth millions, but also the wife of a guy who regularly pisses off dictators.
Patrick climbs in quickly and nods Austin’s way when he’s buckled in.
“Hi.” He sits sideways to look directly at me. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.” I nod. “Pain’s almost gone now, though I still look like shit.” I motion unnecessarily to my mostly purple face.
“You’ll be back to being pretty as ever in no time,” he teases, and it’s weird how it doesn’t sting at all coming from him—the reminder of my pretty face—because he doesn’t use it as aweapon. To him it’s just something about my appearance, not something that affects my skills or my fame.
“You’re just jealous,” I snarl back and smirk at his bark of laughter.
“Speaking of, around twenty million brands want to sign you.”
I throw my head back against the headrest and groan. There’s no use in fighting the inevitable, so I take a moment to really think about what I want.
