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I know nothing about ice hockey. No one has asked me about my hockey expertise either, so I assume sports knowledge isn’t a prerequisite for the job. But since I’ve never watched a full game, I have no idea who my boss—Mr. York—is. I’ve heard the stereotypes about hockey players. Hockey’s a physical game, and a lot of the players are missing teeth. There’s lots of facial hair, too, if I’m not mistaken. I wrinkle my nose.
My search turns up Emmett York. Ms. Raybourne is still at the printer, so I click on the first entry.
I wasn’t wrong—there’s facial hair. But as I zoom in on the picture, it’s not straight mountain man grizzly style but more of a sexy stubble. I find light eyes and a chiseled jaw that even a five o’clock shadow can’t hide. Pretty attractive, actually. I click through, and there are action shots of him playing. He’s on skates, holding a stick. There’s a letter C stitched on his shoulder. Does that mean he’s the captain?
“The camera adds ten pounds, they say.”
My head twists. Behind me, the tallest man I’ve ever seen leans against the doorjamb. In a red Tyrants hoodie and black sweats, Emmett York takes up the entire opening. His wet hair falls in his eyes, and there’s that stubble on his jaw. The camera wouldn’t dare add a thing to this man. If anything, it doesn’t do him justice. The picture doesn’t hint at the stubborn tilt to his chin or the piercing intensity of his eyes. It definitely doesn’t give away how hot he is.
I scurry to my feet as heat blooms on my face. “Um…” I tuck the hand clutching the phone behind my back. “I was just…” Again, words fail. Attempting a bright smile, I square my shoulders and hold out my hand. “Mr. York. Hi. I’m June Harlow.”
My hand stays outstretched between us. He grunts, pushing away from the doorjamb, ignoring my gesture. I guess we aren’t shaking hands. My hand drops to my side. I start again. “I was just doing some light research.”
He stands, legs apart, with his arms crossed. His face is unreadable. “What did you find out?”
“Not much.” Reluctantly, I lift my phone and show him the face. “Emmett York. Captain?” My face is still on fire, but I force myself to meet his eyes and lift my eyebrows in question. He nods. “Thought that was what the C meant.”
“That’s it?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Nothing more interesting?”
“I only had a minute.” I click the screen black. “It’s just… I don’t know anything about hockey or who you are, so I was—”
Ms. Raybourne appears at the door, sifting through a stack of paper. “Here we are. This shouldn’t take long… Oh.” She stops when she sees Emmett York. “Duke. There you are.”
“Yes. Just introducing myself to Ms. Harlow.”
“I’m June.” I throw in, doing my best to hold my sunniest smile. He gives no noticeable response.
Ms. Raybourne glances between us, obviously sensing the tension, but at a loss to understand what’s going on. That makes two of us. Finally, she rallies. “I was about to go through the paperwork with her.”
“She agrees to the NDA?” He asks Ms. Raybourne the question, like I’m not in the room.
“I do,” I add, because it’s rude to talk over people.
He takes the stack of papers from her, still ignoring me. Shuffling through them, he finally nods. “And you realize that this is only for this year?” As I nod, he continues. “And that this is strictly professional. You’ll be my daughter’s nanny. That’s it.” He raises his eyebrows at me.
My jaw hurts from clenching. This again? “Yes,” I grit out, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
Ms. Raybourne narrows her eyes. “So… you both agree to the arrangement?” She glares pointedly at Emmett York.
He studies me longer than necessary. Finally, he raps his knuckles on her desk. “She’ll do.” Turning to the door, he dismisses me. “Email me the paperwork when you’re done,” he fires over his shoulder as he strides out the door, leaving us both staring at the empty doorway.
“It was nice to meet you. Can’t wait to get started,” I mutter under my breath. Of all the arrogant, stubble-covered, mouth-breathing jocks I’ve ever met, Emmett York definitely takes the cake. I’ve met guys like him before, though. Guys who think they’re God’s gift to women, topped off by a healthy dose of overactive testosterone. What girl hasn’t? My mom got derailed by men like that. I steer clear.
But this particular jerk is going to be my boss. Part of me considers thanking Ms. Raybourne and excusing myself from this entire process. Except I need a place to live, and the money is the answer to all of Mama Lily’s problems. This is full-time work, better than any server job I could get, with better hours. Besides, Emmett York plays hockey. He’ll travel, train, and do whatever else is involved with being a professional athlete. Stuff that will keep him away from me. Wasn’t that why he was hiring me to care for his daughter? Because he wouldn’t be around much?
Surely, this won’t be that bad. We just got off to a rough start, that’s all. It’ll be fine.
“Did you say something, Ms. Harlow?” Ms. Raybourne stares hard at me.
“Nope,” I finally say, gritting my teeth as I smile again. “I’m good.”
“Great. And you agree to the arrangement?” she asks.
“Yes. I do.” This job is the answer to my prayers. I plan to succeed at it, and I’ve never failed when I’ve set my mind to something.
“Great.” She nods, then launches into the paperwork. The next half hour is a whirlwind of background checks, health insurance options, and tax forms. Finally, I head to the parking lot. The key fob on my old car doesn’t work, so I unlock it manually and slide in. I drop the folder of information about Tabatha York on the passenger seat.
Tonight, I’m going to read through the file and get acquainted with my charge. I’ll also need to brainstorm ways to take on Emmett York. We didn’t get off to a great start, but a challenge has never stopped me. I like people, and being likable is a cornerstone to my personality. With some work and after a brief adjustment period, I’m sure this job is going to be just the right fit for me.
