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CHAPTER1
Calista shivered in the snowball-covered bikini as if the cottony puffs were made of real snow instead of fluff. How had she gotten here?
Dahlia jiggled an alternative puck-covered swimsuit. The three-inch black rubber spheres clanked together, warning of worse indignities to come. “You own the team. You pick the dancers’ new costumes.”
No. Frustration combined with the room’s broken heater made Calista cringe. This was exactly the type of day-to-day operations she wanted to avoid. Not that she could have imagined this exact moment. Ownership wasn’t finalized yet, and besides, wearing a dance team outfit couldn’t be normal for any owner. The snowball-covered cups and bikini bottoms barely concealed her privates, and chill bumps rose everywhere else.
Why didn’t the heat work in this conference room? She needed to take a look at the HVAC unit. Calista bounced up and down and tried to rub the cold from her arms. The snowballs shifted in an inappropriate direction, showing too much skin. She stilled, wanting nothing more than to change back into her own clothes. Hello, jeans and jersey on the end of the table, miss you. Calista fixed her gaze on her cousin. “You have Snowers shares too. You pick the dancers’ costumes.” She wasn’t ashamed of the plea in her voice.
Dahlia looked from Calista dressed in last season’s costume to the mass of black ribbons and plastic she threaded between her fingers—the proposed new suit. “It’s complicated.”
Really? There was a choice of two bikinis on the line. Calista arched her eyebrows. “Cotton or puck. Not that complicated.”
Dahlia grimaced. “Willow will think I vetoed her puck costume because she came up with the idea. Going with the snowballs will make me look petty. Like I’m overturning her business ideas because she stole my fiancé.” Dahlia’s voice rose as suppressed emotions bubbled to the surface like an overheated Bunsen burner.
Calista nodded slowly. That was the best she could do to express sympathy at the moment because Dahlia’s ex-fiancé, Dodo Applebaum, had never deserved her cousin. She couldn’t decide what was making her more uncomfortable, pretending sorrow for their broken engagement or the puffy cotton snowballs bouncing against her C-cups.
Compassion made her stay, but her gaze slipped again to her clothes on the end of the conference room table. How much longer would she have to linger to show appropriate support? Calista fidgeted with her halter strap and eyed the door leading to the hallway.
Dahlia crossed her arms over her waist, hugging herself. “The executive office situation is straight up awkward. My new office is miniscule, but I don’t want to have a desk outside Dodo’s corner suite anymore.” Dahlia blew out a breath. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.” She checked her slim platinum wristwatch. “I need to go meet Piper, sure you can’t join?”
Love for her cousin and sister almost prodded her into going, but the thought of chatting about the costumes and the Applebaums for two more hours was more than her brain could handle. Calista held open her palms. “I have class.” That fact was so embarrassing. She was supposed to have graduated in December, but she had to take one more class, a six-week intensive, before she could get her diploma.
She had only stopped by the stadium to watch the ice hockey team practice. Instead, she’d run into Dahlia and was now freezing her bits off. She should have refused to act as costume model, but when Dahlia had played the cheated-on, no longer bride-to-be card, she couldn’t refuse.
Dahlia wadded up the black bikini and discarded it on the table. The pucks swooshed across the smooth surface with a speed that revealed her suppressed anger. “Thanks for modeling for me. I’ve decided I don’t like either costume.” Dahlia gestured in front of her chest. “Too immodest.” She moved toward the door with a bounce in her steps, as if putting off the choice had lightened her mood. “Later, sweetie.” She was out of there in a wave of her signature floral perfume.
The second the conference room door clicked shut behind her cousin, Calista let her smile drop. That was the thing with insincere smiles, they were hard to maintain. Missing practice to pretend sympathy had been difficult, because escaping an Applebaum wasn’t a reason to mourn, but was a cause to celebrate, over a good game of hockey.
Were any of the players still on the ice? Was her favorite, Captain Ronan Stromkin? A giddy quiver shook her body. If she rushed and changed fast, she could watch him play for a few minutes before she had to jet to campus. Seeing Ronan would make for a wonderful day. Calista yanked at the bow behind her back and reached for her sporty blue bra.
The sound of a door opening came from the other side of the room, followed by a masculine voice, “Oh, eh. This isn’t the women’s locker room.”
Calista froze. Right, because she was in a hurry and hadn’t gone back to the ladies’ room to change, she’d made an impulsive bad decision. She was standing in the team’s conference room in itty bitty bottoms and a half-off bikini top. The cotton balls swung across her nipples, held up only by the strap behind her neck.
There were no words. No excuses.
Heat flushed her face, and Calista scrambled to throw her hockey jersey over her head. She tugged on the hem, stretching the fabric as low as possible. She was not decent, but she was covered. She lifted her gaze to see who had entered the room.
Captain Ronan Stromkin!
