Oh no.
“He had become pathetic, really. A grown man reduced to desperate measures, purchasing every book she had ever touched simply to imagine her reading them aloud. His study was filled with volumes he would never open, bought for no other reason than knowing her hands had once turned their pages.”
Oh no no no.
“‘You’ve gone mad,’ his valet observed one evening, watching the Duke arrange yet another shipment of books. ‘Completely, utterly mad over a woman who doesn’t even know you exist.’”
I slam the laptop shut so hard I probably broke something.
I am the Duke.
I am the pathetic, obsessed Duke who buys books just to hear a woman’s voice. The Duke whose friends think he’s lost hismind. The Duke who’s “completely, utterly mad over a woman who doesn’t even know he exists.”
Golda Adler just narrated my entire life back to me.
I grab my phone and scroll through my audiobook library. Seventeen purchases. Seventeen romance novels bought for the sole purpose of hearing one woman’s voice. Just like the fictional Duke with his study full of unread poetry books.
The worst part? The absolute worst part?
The Duke probably gets the girl in the end.
7
GOLDA
“And if youcould just sign here, Ms. Adler.” Kyla slides another form across her desk. “This confirms the usage rights for the player introduction videos and any additional promotional material for the remainder of the season.”
I scan the paperwork carefully, checking for any clauses that might require public appearances. After last month’s anthem disaster, I’m being extra cautious about what I’m agreeing to.
“Recording sessions can be scheduled at your convenience,” Kyla continues, “and we can coordinate with your home studio setup if that’s easier.”
“Home studio would be perfect,” I say, signing the contract. “Better sound quality, and I won’t have to arrange childcare.”
The money from this contract will cover Tyson’s hockey fees for the next three months, plus Blythe’s skating lessons. Kyla kept her word about making me her first call for team projects.
“Your payment will be processed within forty-eight hours,” she says, gathering the forms. “Is there anything else you need from me today?”
“Actually, there is one small thing.” She pulls out another folder. “We’re updating our media guidelines. Since you’ll bedoing regular work for us, we need you to review and sign the confidentiality agreement.”
The contract is dense with legal language about privacy expectations and media protocols. I settle in to read it properly, trying not to think about the fact that Dex is probably somewhere in this building right now, doing whatever professional hockey players do on Thursday afternoons.
I’m halfway through the confidentiality clauses when there’s a knock on Kyla’s door.
“Come in,” Kyla calls.
“Kyla, do you have those— Oh!” Elliot stops in the doorway, her face lighting up with genuine surprise. “Golda! What are you doing here?”
“Voice-over work,” I say, gesturing at the contracts. “Just finishing up paperwork.”
“That’s wonderful! More projects with the team?” Elliot steps into the office like she belongs there, which she probably does. “I’m here for photos with Brody, and desperately needed better coffee than whatever they serve in the player lounge.”
“The facilities here are definitely nicer than our usual rink,” I agree.
“Much.” She grins. “Listen, I was just about to grab lunch, and I hate eating alone. Any chance you’re free? There’s a great place just down the street.”
I glance at the contracts still spread across Kyla’s desk. “I should probably finish?—”
“Take the confidentiality agreement with you,” Kyla waves a hand. “You can bring it back next week when you come in for recording.”
