Beck slides into the chair beside me, still grinning like the demon he is.
"That," he whispers, low enough for only me to hear, "was fuckingpriceless."
I shoot him a glare that would make lesser men wet themselves. My prick of a brother just winks. Mason sits on my other side, giving me awhat the hell is wrong with youlook. I ignore him too.
Is it that obvious? Can the whole damn room see how fucking awkward this is?!
Across the table, Josie—Josie Whitfield, Jesus Christ—sits down. She straightens her spine and folds her hands neatly in front of her with the prim composure of a woman who absolutely did not have her ankles hooked behind my neck thirty-six hours ago.
She looks completely professional. Composed.
Christ.
How the hell can she sit there looking like a woman in complete control? Yet all I can think about is how she sounded when she lost it?! About the way her thighs clamped around my head when I made her come the first time. The way she whisperedmorebefore I'd even caught my breath.
I pick up the nearest pen and starting hammering the button, forcing the images from my brain.
Click. Click. Click.
It's the only thing keeping my hands from doing something stupid. Like reaching across the table and dragging her out of that chair and away from my perfectly peaceful life.
Colin clears his throat, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table. "Alright, now that we're all here—and by 'here,' I mean forty-five minutes after the scheduled start time—let's get started."
Beck snorts. "Traffic was a bitch."
"Traffic is two surfers and a stray golden retriever that won't go home, Morrison," Colin deadpans. "Try to do better."
Beck shrugs, unbothered.
"Right," Colin continues, squeezing his eyes like he's already got a headache. "As I was saying before the Morrison brothers decided to grace us with their presence, we've brought Josie on to overhaul our public image. And byourpublic image, I mean you three."
He glares at each of us separately, like we're back in the living room of our parents' house, being scalded for the time Beck convinced us the neighbor's inflatable pool was a free water park and we ended up flooding their entire backyard.
That little stunt earned us a summer's worth of chores and a lecture on 'personal property' that Mom still brings up every Thanksgiving.
Beck shifts beside me, and I can feel him gearing up to say something stupid. Something that'll make this worse. So I kick his ankle under the table. He grunts, but the words stay locked behind his teeth.
For now.
"We all know the deal by now…" Colin continues. "Attendance is down. Media buzz is non-existent.Blah, blah, blah."
A murmurofbeen-there-done-thatfloods the room.
"Point is, the league is breathing down our necks, and Josie's job is to make people care about this team again. And to do that? We need our stars to shine. So boys, listen up, and listen good."
Click. Click.
"Thanks, Colin." Josie’s voice cuts through the room, steady and confident as she stands on the other side of the table. It’s the same voice that whispereddon't stopagainst my lips, but now it's all business.
Just like her damn outfit.
That polo is doingwork. Dark blue, fitted, tucked just enough to show off the curve of her waist before it disappears intothose jeans. The fabric pulls across her tits in a way that feels intentional, like the universe is personally testing my restraint.
She's got a ponytail, all business, but I know what's underneath.
Fuck me.
"I've been reviewing the numbers while we waited, and the good news is there's a lot of untapped potential in this market. I think Beachside loves the idea of their own hockey team, and I think using your sibling angle as the highlight is a great idea. We just need to make them love you."
