My breath caught in my throat, and I cleared it, remembering my father was still on the phone. “I’m sorry if I disappointed you. It won’t happen again.” I cut my father off mid-lecture, forcing my voice not to reveal the breathlessness caused by Rory’s presence.

“I just need you to be aware of the incredible responsibility you’re taking on in three months. It’s not just the company’s reputation at stake. It’s our employee’s livelihoods.”

Good lord, it was just a dress! And it had worked. “I understand. Excuse me, father, but I have to go.”

“Right. I’ll see you on Monday. Unless I can convince you to change your mind about your mother’s dinner party?”

“Too much work to do.”

And one Shark to avoid like the plague he obviously thinks I am.

“Of course.”

I hung up the phone and set it on the table, my eyes never leaving Rory’s back. I know I’d had more scotch and sodas than I normally ever would’ve indulged in that night, but I remembered every single moment of his hands on my skin, his mouth on my core. I was certain I’d never told him about where I lived or where I liked to pass my time. This shop had been one of my best-kept secrets since I bought property a few blocks away over a year ago. And I’d never seen a Shark just wander in.

Anne giggled as she handed Rory a large, white paper cup. I quickly returned my eyes to the financial reports in front of me. Part of me hoped he’d walk out without seeing me, the other part—the lower portion of me that throbbed with a near painful pulse—begged to be seen.

“Paige?”

Oh good Lord, did he have to say my name like that? I couldn’t hide the blush flushing my cheeks as I slowly brought my gaze up from the laptop.

“Rory.”

He grabbed the chair opposite me with his free hand and dropped into it. His blue eyes sparked with a heat I recognized in my core, and the damn smirk he sported said he knew how much of an effect he had on me. I might as well be wearing a neon sign that said Property of Rory. “Good to see you.”

I tried to return his smile. I’d crushed on the hockey star ever since he’d been drafted to the Sharks five years ago—how was it he’d rarely said more than two sentences to me all the times we’d seen each other at Bailey and Gage’s, and now he acted like we were old friends? Seemed like the dirty-girl bucket list came with a set of karmic conditions—ones that made me face my own forwardness and the embarrassment over it.

Honestly, what had I been thinking making him a business proposition that included using him to check off every item I had on the list for the next three months? Of course, I knew it wouldn’t hurt his reputation to be attached to me—the pristine Paige Turner—for three months, either, but still. I shouldn’t have been so bold. I’d blame Jeannine, but I knew deep down why I did it.

Because you knew you would never get another chance like it even if you lived to be one-hundred. The reality of the fact had the fluttering butterflies dropping in my stomach like lead weights. I’d offered myself, and he’d decided the sample had been more than enough.

“They don’t have coffee at the rink?” I asked, more upset with myself for wanting what I absolutely couldn’t have.

“Ouch. Aren’t you a tad bit happy to see me?” A crease formed between his eyebrows, the same one I’d glimpsed in the limo on the way to the Four Seasons last week. I sighed, my fingers twitching in my lap with the need to touch his face.

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right.” He waved me off, and the strained look was instantly replaced by the cool, confident face I was more used to seeing. “I’m not stalking you...” he arched a perfect eyebrow at me. “Unless that makes you hot?”

I sputtered around the sip of Americano I’d just taken, the joke cracking the wire-tight tension around the table that now seemed incredibly small with his form taking up the other half. “No, that doesn’t do it for me.”

He tilted his head, a few loose strands of blond hair falling on his forehead. He licked his lips, and I stopped breathing for a few seconds. He leaned back in his chair, smiling. “Bailey told me where you’d be.”

Traitor. Best friend ever. Jury was still out.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Jackson?” I adopted the voice I used in the boardroom, knowing from our brief moments together he liked the idea of controlling a woman who was used to being in control.

“Careful, Red.” He took a slow sip of his coffee. “Keep talking to me like that and I won’t be so careful with you in public.”

My eyes widened. “Are you threatening me with PDA?” He cracked a grin, and I shook my head. “No, of course not,” I continued. “Rory Jackson is a renowned playboy. Affection would be the last thing on his mind.” The fact came out sharper than I’d intended and I parted my lips to apologize, but he held his hand up to stop me.

“You think you know me so well.” He shook his head. “Read a few articles. Watch a few documentaries, and everyone is an expert on who I am and what I want.”

I chuckled.

“What’s so funny, Red?”

My heart raced every time he used his adopted nickname for me. I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to be as confident and calm as he was. “You forget I’m not just any fan.”

“Oh? Are you the stalker now?”

“Hardly.” I openly looked him up and down. “Though I do have eyes. And have been privy to your moves on more than one occasion while at Gage’s.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never once tried anything with you there.”

I sank back in my chair, suddenly giving too much thought to the reasoning behind that fact. “True,” I said, ignoring the insecurities I had no point digging up. “But I was never the only woman there. In fact, I believe I’ve personally seen, and sometimes heard, you with five different women on five separate occasions.” Not that I had counted.

He hissed, looking down at his cup and swirling the contents inside.

“Don’t be ashamed,” I said, reaching out and touching his wrist. “I wouldn’t be. I find it refreshing when someone can own who they really are and not give a shit who sees it.”

He looked up at me, his eyes lighting up like he’d never seen me before. I pulled my hand back and grinned. “So,” I continued. “No, I’m not the typical fan, but I do know you a little better than you think.”