Skate the Line: A Single Dad Hockey Romance (Blue Devils Hockey Book 2)

“I can assure you the women we hire are highly professional, Mr. Volkova. I personally know each one and can vouch for them. Out of the many years I’ve run a nanny business, I have rarely had any complaints.”

I grunt. “Meaning you’ve had complaints.”

The woman on the other end of the phone pauses. There’s a sigh, and I raise an eyebrow. I click through the list of nannies for the hundredth time while I wait for her to form some misleading response to my obvious dig.

“I wouldn’t necessarily call them complaints. In order to respect the privacy of my employees, I will just say that if there were any complaints, they did not come from the clients. They came from the nannies themselves, which forced me to drop a client or place the nanny elsewhere due to their wishes.”

What the fuck does that mean?

After a few seconds of heavy silence, she clears her throat. “Are there any that you are interested in? Do you have any questions? Would you like to set up an interview with any of the women?”

Not really, no.

“I’m still looking.”

And I’m slowly running out of time.

“I have one that I think will be a good fit for you.”

I lean back in my chair and rap my knuckles on my counter. I say nothing and thankfully the woman, Jillian, means business, because she jumps right to it.

“I just sent a link to her profile to your email.”

I’ve already clicked the link by the time she starts her spiel.

“She’s one of my more private employees. She doesn’t like to be in the spotlight, which should be perfect considering one of your stipulations is that your daughter stays away from the media.”

I nod to myself.

“She’s in her mid-twenties, but she’s very mature. She’s from Washington and used to work for my other nanny agency out there. There has never been a complaint from any of the clients she’s worked with.”

“Is she married?” I ask.

It’s unlikely, but a man can hope.

Jillian clears throat. “Um, no. But if you’re suggesting that she’d⁠—”

“I am,” I interrupt. “I want to know if she’s the type of woman who will try to climb into bed with me.”

She laughs, and it throws me off. I know I sound like a cocky asshole, but when you’ve been burned so many times, you’ve gotta ask these sorts of questions.

“Mr. Volkova, listen. I know you’ve been through the wringer with some of your past nannies. I’ve heard it from you, your manager, and the gossip. I don’t know the ins and outs of what has happened in the past, but I can assure you that Sunny Edwards is not that type of woman. That’s why I’m suggesting her to you.”

I click on her profile. No picture? Does that mean she’s ugly? All the other nannies have their photos posted above their bio.

“Is she a lesbian?” I ask.

There’s a loud gasp on the other end of the phone. “The sexual preferences of my employees are none of your business.”

I hum under my breath. “I disagree.”

A beep comes in through the line, and I see that Ellie’s school is calling. I mumble a curse.

“Fine,” I snap. “Set up an interview. Email me with the details. I have to go.”

After hanging up on Jillian, I answer the number that I really hate to see on my screen.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Volkova, hello. This is Principal Kelley.”

“Is Ellie okay?” I stand up from my kitchen island. I begin looking for my keys because from the sound of Principal Kelley’s voice, I know something is up.

“Ellie is fine, but we are having a behavioral issue today.”

Fucking fantastic. I lift up the pile of construction paper on the kitchen table, sending glitter flying into the air and all over my shirt.

“Okay?”

Where the fuck are my keys?

In the middle of searching for my keys and holding the phone up to my ear, I rip my shirt off and throw it toward the living room. Glitter is everywhere. Ellie’s markers roll onto the floor. I bend down to pick them up and quickly swipe my keys that are somehow under the table.

“She won’t stop speaking in Russian.”

God damnit, Ellie.

It’s not funny. It really isn’t.

But it’s never, “Wow, your daughter is bilingual!” It’s always, “Can you please tell her to stop speaking in a foreign language?”

“Put her on the phone,” I say.

The principal sighs. “Yes, sir.”

Ellie’s childish voice hits my year. “Privet?”

“Ellie.”

“Chto?” she says innocently.

This is what we’re doing now?

“Tebe skuchno?” I ask her if she’s bored in Russian, and I like to state the fact that my voice is nowhere near as playful as hers.

My Russian isn’t the smoothest now that I rarely speak it. My father was the one who mostly spoke the language, but after his quick departure from my and my mother’s life, I abruptly stopped. When I turned eighteen, I added an A to Volkov, just for one more final fuck you to him.

However, my clever daughter loves to use the language ever since my mother sent her old Russian translating tapes, hoping that Ellie will at least speak the language.

I’m still cursing her.

Ellie doesn’t answer me, and I smirk.

“Not so clever now, are you?” I ask. “Why are you speaking Russian when you know very well that neither your teacher nor any of your classmates know the language? Are you that bored, Printsessa?”

That is the only term I use in Russian. The first time I laid eyes on her, some hidden part of me emerged, and I whispered the word under my breath. It’s stayed ever since.

“Da.”

I roll my eyes at her response.

“If you don’t stop, you won’t be going to my game this weekend.”

I swear I can hear her pout through the phone.

“Fine. I’ll stop, Daddy,” she relents.

Ellie has me wrapped around her finger, but she knows when I’m serious and when she’s able to push my buttons a little further. Right now, I’m fully fed up, and it has a lot to do with my nanny situation and less about her behavior.

“And I want you to apologize to your teacher”—my tone deepens—“in English.”

Her little sigh makes my lips twitch. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you after school. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Principal Kelley comes back onto the phone, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, knowing she’s judging the hell out of me.

“Thank you, Mr. Volkova,” she says. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, but it seems she really only responds to you.”

Ellie has trust issues, just like me.

“It’s not a problem. I apologize that this behavior is occurring.”

I’m doing the best I can.

“Ellie speaking Russian isn’t troublesome behavior. It’s just inconvenient. She isn’t a bad kid.”

“I know she isn’t,” I say as monotoned as it gets. “We will work on her attention-seeking behavior.”

Part of me wants to reprimand the principal and her teacher for not stimulating her enough in class to keep her occupied, but I know it isn’t the real problem.

After getting off the phone with the principal, I down the rest of my coffee and quickly type a text to Jillian.

Tell her to keep her legs closed too.