Page 63

She was joking now, but she had no idea how serious I was about making that threat a reality.

TWENTY-EIGHT

ARIELLA

THE CARDS SAY, YOU SHOULD FIGHT YOUR FATHER.

What the fuck was I doing?

I’d been in my office for the last hour, attempting to finalize athlete profiles. Ice practices were already ramping up, and I liked to tailor my programs to emphasize athlete recovery while still building strength.

Hockey season was grueling on the body. Not only the game itself, but the schedule. Throw in potential injuries…all the planning on what I could do to prepare my players kept me busy. Problem was, work wasn’t the only thing occupying my mind this Thursday evening.

Dalton and I had spent all day Saturday together, and then I’d avoided him like the plague on Sunday because I still had no damn clue how to sort out my feelings about him or whatever it was we were supposed to be.

Why face your emotions and work through things when you could ignore them and pretend there weren’t Dalton-sized holes starting to form in the wall you’d built around your heart?

I could only patch them up so quickly.

Hot asshole? That I could walk away from easily.

But an attentive man who seemed to know me like the back of his hand? Fuck, that was harder to keep at bay.

Even after my radio silence, he’d still showed up Monday morning, leaning against Betty’s pale blue body with a coffee and a smile. A smile that quickly turned into a frown when he saw that my breakfast was a protein bar.

Then Tuesday, and every day after, he was waiting with a breakfast burrito in hand, purchased from the spot I’d taken him to that first night.

It wasn’t just him showing up, though. The man managed to touch me every chance he got when we were together, almost like he was making sure I was still there. A hand at my lower back, his arm brushing mine, even his fingers grazing any bare skin they could find.

I shook off the thoughts, trying to focus back on the notes. Lost in the quiet, I didn’t even notice someone standing at my office door until a smooth voice cut through my concentration.

“Ms. Contreras, hard at work, I see.”

I glanced up to find Vincent Langley leaning against the doorframe. I was struck by how different he was from his son. Sure, there were similarities, looks-wise, between him and Dalton, but the dead-eyed smile he gave me made them look worlds different. Thanks to Gracie’s FBI-level deep-dive research on the man, I’d seen his photos online, but meeting him in person had me instinctively straightening in my seat, slipping into full professionalism mode.

“Mr. Langley,” I replied, standing and extending a hand. “So nice to meet you. And yes, there’s a lot to prepare before the preseason ramps up.”

He strode in, glancing around my office with a gaze that felt too assessing, too sharp. I clocked the power move right away when he made me wait there with my arm extended, taking his time to accept the gesture. It took everything in me not to roll my eyes and to keep the polite smile plastered on my face when he wrapped his hand around mine, squeezing it as if we were doing a grip strength test.

I was a fan of a firm shake as much as the next person, but at some point you were overcompensating for something if you felt the need to squeeze the shit out of the other person’s hand.

His jaw ticked when I didn’t react or relent, but he let go, and I sat back down.

You’re trying to keep your job, not lose it faster, Ari.

“I can see why Dalton’s been talking so much about you. Very dedicated. Committed.” The words were complimentary, but something about them felt like a hidden barb. “Not many people around here put in the same level of work ethic. It's refreshing to see.”

I kept my expression neutral, but a prickle of unease crawled up my spine. Dalton never spoke poorly of his father, and the rest of the team didn’t speak about Mr. Langley period, so I had no reason to have my guard up. Still, the unease was there, and I knew better than to ignore my intuition.

Something told me Vincent Langley didn’t make casual visits to employees’ offices. I’d been here three weeks, and he hadn’t once bothered to meet me. For days, I’d expected to be called into his office after the HR incident, or at the very least after the news spread of Dalton and I dating, but nada. Yet here he was now?

“Thank you. My priority is that the team has the best support possible off the ice so they can perform on the ice as needed.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he agreed, leaning on the edge of my desk in a way that felt too close. “It’s admirable, really. You remind me of myself, determined to get things done right.” I nearly suffocated under the charisma he had dialed up as he peered down at me.

What the hell was going on?

“Thank you, sir. I’m honored to be a part of the Desperados organization and to showcase what I can bring to the team.”