So This Is War

“What did you make her do last night?” Coach Wood asks, staring down at me.

Yup, this is my early morning meeting. A recap on my first day with Wylie. And when I say the last thing I wanted to do was wake up early and come to this meeting, I mean it. I stayed up all fucking night, my stomach churning from the errand I sent Wylie on. It wasn’t until I heard her put the bagels in the freezer that I could actually shut my eyes. Even at that, though, I probably got an hour of sleep.

Guilt consumed me.

So much guilt that I actually felt nauseous at one point and sat on the edge of my bed with a trash can in hand.

Yeah, this guy, hovering over a trash can, ready to puke.

Probably not the image you want of me, right? Well, fuck, I don’t want it either. It’s humiliating. That’s not the man I am. That’s something Eli would do.

Or perhaps Pacey.

I don’t throw up.

Yet, there I was last night, ready to hurl over making Wylie run the stupidest errand ever.

Fucking different water. I don’t even know if that’s a thing. I was flying by the seat of my pants on that one. I actually got the idea by looking up stupid tasks personal assistants had to do. It was a Buzzfeed article providing outrageous stories from assistants. I couldn’t believe the amount of insane tasks humans make other humans do.

But because my coach has my balls in a vise grip, I don’t have much choice.

I shift in my seat and try to conjure up the image of Coach Wood blessing his underwear this morning so he seems less intimidating. If it wasn’t for the throbbing vein in his bald head drawing my attention, the underwear blessing might have worked.

“I had her grab me bagels from a place forty-five minutes away . . . at one in the morning.”

Coach Wood smiles. Sick bastard. “Did she do it?”

“She did, and then . . . well, I didn’t have one of the bagels this morning.” Not because I was being an ass, but because I didn’t think I could bring myself to even look at the bagels. That’s how guilty I felt.

Coach lets out a short but deep chuckle. “Made her get bagels at one in the morning and didn’t even eat one. What a fucking dick.”

Nerves shoot up my arms as I say, “That’s what you wanted, though, right? You wanted me to be a dick?”

“Yes. That’s perfect. There’s no doubt in my mind that she was cursing your name this morning.”

Great, just what I want.

Although, I would prefer the cursing to be in the context of, “Oh God, Levi, oh fuck . . .”

But we all know that’s not going to happen.

“Yeah, she seemed pretty tired. Felt kind of bad.”

The smile fades from his face as he stares me down. “Don’t feel bad for her. Don’t feel anything for her. This is a job. This isn’t personal. You do the job, and you move on. Don’t feel any sort of emotion toward my daughter, understood?”

I gulp. “Yup. No emotion. Completely emotionless. No need to worry about emotions with me. I don’t even know what they are. I’m an empty⁠—”

“Shut up.”

“Right. Yup.” I grip the chair’s arms, trying to keep calm.

“What else have you done? Has she started on the rewrite of the book?”

“Yes, I gave it to her this morning. Presented her with the stain to get out. Told her about the pencils and the Skittles. She has also been assigned my social media, calendar, fan mail, and all of that admin stuff. On top of that, she’s getting me food, stocking up, and I think I’ll have her food prep for me as well. Oh, and I tasked her with getting me a plant.”

“A plant?”

I nod. “To add more life to my apartment. You see, there’s a certain balance you need when it comes to your living space . . .” My voice fades when I see his jaw tense.

He doesn’t want to hear about living space balance, you moron.

“Let me guess, you want me to shut up?” I ask.

He shifts in his seat and folds his hands together. “Keep her fucking busy. Run her ragged. Make her regret she ever took this position. I’ll put together another list and email it to you. Continue to be demanding. I talked to her last night, and her hopes seemed high. I didn’t like it.”

Why? Doesn’t he want his daughter to be happy?

I don’t understand this entire ruse.

If I had a child, I’d want what’s best for them, and what’s best for them is their happiness. Why doesn’t Coach Wood want that?

Maybe he’s unaware of what happiness is. He’s just an old crotch of a man with beefy shoulders and a bald head.

Perhaps he needs a little love in his life. Maybe I’m the one to help him find that love. My success rate is at one hundred percent right now, so I could help him find a lady friend—or man friend if that’s where he’s headed. Who knows. I’ve never gotten that personal with him. Either way, I’m the key to him finding love, and I’m up for the challenge.

“You know, Coach Wood, have you ever considered dating?”

He points at his door and yells, “Get the fuck out.”

I wince as I scurry out of my chair. “Sure . . . yup.”

I duck out of his office. “I’m going to take that as a no on the dating thing.”

His loss.

I head down the hallway toward the locker room just as I receive a text. I pull out my phone and see that it’s from Wylie.

Wylie: Here with your smoothie. Where should I meet you?

Levi: I’ll come to you. Where are you?

Wylie: Third level, going to meet with Blakely who caught me in the hallway.

Levi: Be right there.

I pocket my phone and head toward the elevators, where I find Eli as well.

“Hey man, you’re here early,” Eli says.

“Yeah, had to meet with Coach.”

“About what?” Eli asks.

“Uh . . . payment for his daughter,” I answer. “He wanted to make sure I was being fair.”

“Oh, sure,” he says, buying it . . . thankfully.

“What are you up to?” I ask.

“Just dropped off Holden. Penny has breakfast, so I was going to eat with her in her office.”

Holden is Penny and Eli’s baby boy. We have full-time daycare here in the arena, so they’re able to do what they need to do for their jobs while visiting Holden throughout the day. I know they love the convenience. Especially Eli, who likes to visit between practices, warm-ups, and training sessions.

The elevator opens, and we both walk in. He pushes the button for the third floor, where Penny and Blakely work. “How’s the new assistant anyway?”

“It’s been a day,” I say. “Not even a full day. It’s fine. Nothing special.”

“So she hasn’t given you any problems?”

“No,” I say. “Why would she give me problems? You make it seem like she’s difficult, and I haven’t seen anything to indicate that.”

“Not difficult. She’s just strong-willed is all. She knows what she likes, and when she likes it, she goes after it. And I know you . . .”

“What about me?” I ask.

The doors part, and we step off the elevator. “Dude, you like to fuck. She’s an attractive girl. I could see something there.”

Little does he know.

There’s more than just something.

There’s a fucking semi-truck full of lust.

“Yeah, but she’s Coach Wood’s daughter. Do you really think I’d get even close to that?”

“I mean . . . I could see it. You let your dick do the thinking a lot. I’ve had to get you out of a few mishaps.”

Everyone seems to remember the little favors they’ve done for me here and there, but heaven forbid they give me any fucking credit for the ginormous favors I’ve done for them—found them love.

“Trust me when I say nothing will be happening between us. First of all, she’s fucking young, like ten years younger.”

“Silas is ten years older than Ollie.”

“Yeah, and there are times when she calls him granddad. Do you really think I want that for my life?”

Eli chuckles. “No.”

“And second. If I even think about going near her, Coach Wood will find out somehow and chop off my dick, douse it in gold, and then keep it as a trophy on his desk as a prized possession.”

Eli nods. “Yup, that pretty much sums it up.”

“Oh, there you are,” Penny says as she spots us in the hallway. “How did Holden do?” She takes Eli by the hand, and he leans down and kisses her. I look away because I’m so fucking hard up at this point that a light peck on the cheek could get me revved up and ready.

“He did great,” Eli says in his sweet voice made only for Penny.

“Wonderful. Ready for breakfast?”

He wiggles his brows. “More than ready.”

Looks like Penny is on the menu.

They take off and slip into her office without even having the decency of saying goodbye. Fucking rude. They shut the door behind them with a click of the lock. Yup, it’s a do-not-disturb situation over there.

I head down the hallway and poke my head in Blakely’s office. She’s sitting across from Wylie, and Wylie’s back is toward me. For a second, I take in the long slope of her neck and the poise in her shoulders as she speaks with Blakely.

This morning, when she walked into the kitchen, makeup-free, I had to keep myself from getting close, tugging her into my chest, and lifting her onto the counter so I could personally count every freckle on her cheeks. It was a monumental feat, and when I remained stoic and in place, I inwardly said I’d reward myself later for such strength.

Even now, though, I feel the pull with her a few feet away.

My body wants to gravitate toward her like Eli gravitated toward Penny. And I’m sure if Halsey was here right now, he’d be doing the same with⁠—

“Hey, can I interrupt?”

Speak of the devil.

Blakely looks up at the doorframe and catches me and Halsey standing there, but whereas I’m empty-handed, looking for my protein shake, Halsey has a box of donuts for his wife.

Wow, I look like a real fucking asshole.

“Did you bring me donuts?” Blakely asks as she stands from her chair.

“I did,” Halsey says as he walks into the office.

And painfully, I watch as they meet in the middle. Blakely slides her hand up Halsey’s chest as he wraps his free arm around her waist, and they kiss.

These motherfuckers. All around me, they’re in love because of me. Rubbing it in my goddamn face while I’m over here living a fucking nightmare of blue balls and semi-hard-ons with no relief. Not to mention, a live-in assistant who I can’t fuck. A girl so fucking hot, so fucking perfect for me that the night I met her, I wept myself to sleep from not being able to bury myself between her legs.

How is this fair?

“Oh, here is your protein shake, Mr. Posey,” Wylie says as she hands me my shake.

“You make her call you Mr. Posey?” Halsey asks with a disgusted look.

“No,” I say and then glance down at Wylie, who now has a coat of mascara on her lashes, making her light gray eyes stand out even more. “We went over this. You can call me Levi.”

“Ooo, Levi, that seems so personal,” Blakely says while her arm is still wrapped around Halsey.

“She didn’t want to call me Posey. I didn’t want her to call me Mr. Posey. So we settled on Levi.”

“I don’t know anyone who calls you that,” Blakely says.

“Only when he’s in trouble,” Halsey says.

When it comes to Wylie Wood, I’m in a whole lot of trouble.

“I didn’t want to seem disrespectful at work,” Wylie says.

“Call me Levi at all times. There’s no need to be fancy around these guys.”

“What does that mean?” Blakely asks. “Are we not upper crust enough for you?”

“Not even a little.” I take my protein shake from Wylie. “Thanks for this.”

“Do you really have her fetching you drinks, Posey?” Halsey asks. “You’re better than that, dude.”

Yeah, I fucking know!

If it were up to me, Wylie would be sitting pretty in my guest room, playing around with her art while casually making social media posts for me. But thanks to her dictator father, I have no choice but to have her fetch me things. If the way her dad pulled me into the office today isn’t an indication of the tightrope he has me on, I don’t know what is.

“I don’t mind,” Wylie says. “I’m here to help Levi with whatever he needs. Which, by the way, when you get a chance, will you send me access to all the team photos and video clips?” she asks Blakely.

“Yes, I’ll talk to the team and get you a login this morning.”

“That’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Blakely says. “There are some clips of Posey I’ve never used, but they’re solid gold. Have fun.”

“Just don’t embarrass me,” I say, wanting to clarify that.

“You embarrass yourself on your own terms,” Halsey says. Look at this motherfucker, coming out of his shell now that he’s found happiness. He wouldn’t have even said two words to Wylie a year ago, but now he’s making jokes at my expense.

See what I’m talking about? Ungrateful friends.

“And with that, I’m taking off. You coming, Wylie? Lord knows these two want to share a donut Lady and the Tramp style.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Blakely says as she leans into Halsey.

Rolling my eyes, I leave the office with Wylie trailing. Once we’re down the hallway, she says, “They’re really cute together. They got married this past summer, right? I think I remember seeing a picture from their wedding.”

“Yeah. This summer. It was an intimate wedding in Banff.”

Halsey and Blakely kept the guest list to a minimum and celebrated the wedding at Silas’s cabin in the Canadian Rockies, where they said their vows in the backyard. Silas’s private chef catered the event.

I offered up the great idea to have bologna sliders as an appetizer, but they didn’t take the suggestion, nor did they listen to me about bringing Sherman—their bonsai tree—to the wedding, which I thought was flat-out irreverent. That tree was one of the main reasons—besides me—that they got together. Because of those two huge misses in their event planning, I knocked their wedding score a full point. They didn’t care when I told them.

Fucking rude.

“So you’re close with Halsey, right? And from what I can tell, Eli Hornsby. And perhaps Silas Taters?”

“Yeah. And Pacey Lawes. Oden O’Connor is in the mix now too, as well as Ian Rivers, but with his injury that still has him out, I’m not sure he’s going to return. He seems to keep having complications.”

“And Oden is new to the team from last season?”

I nod and press the elevator button. “Yes. Surprised you even have to ask, given who your father is.”

“Shockingly, we don’t talk hockey, like ever. Anything I know is from what I’ve seen. He’s sort of closed off when it comes to the job. When he’s home, he asks me how school is going and talks to me about the future. That’s about it.”

Sounds pretty sad.

“But he’s never really been a talker,” she adds, probably to make him seem like less of an ass.

She doesn’t need to pretend. I know the type of man he is. One sneer will make any private part shrivel up.

“Not much of a talker? You don’t say,” I joke, which makes her smile.

“Yeah, he’s always kept to himself.” The elevator doors open, and we head down the hallway, but I stop right before the locker room to keep talking to her.

“Was he like that when you were growing up too?”

“Yes,” she answers. “He never talks about my mom, ever. He acts like she doesn’t even exist. He doesn’t talk about his feelings. Doesn’t talk about the wins or the losses. After you guys won everything last year and I congratulated him, he just nodded and kissed the top of my head. That night, we had dinner in front of the TV and watched Miracle. It’s the one movie we’ve both loved over time. I tried to get him into The Mighty Ducks franchise, but he wasn’t having any of it.”

“What?” I ask, shocked. “Not a fan of Gordon Bombay?”

“Not even a little. Nor was he a fan of the flying V.”

“Oh bullshit,” I say. “We have a very similar play to the flying V. Maybe he’s a secret fan, and you don’t know it. He doesn’t want to tell you out of fear of people thinking he’s copying Gordon.” I take a sip of my protein smoothie, enjoying the chocolate peanut butter flavor that floats over my tongue. So fucking good.

“Ooo, you know, I never thought about that,” she says. “What if he’s a secret fan? Perhaps he has an homage to him in his closet, behind some coats. After blessing his underwear, he says a prayer to the great Bombay before taking off.”

I let out a loud laugh. “Fuck, that would be amazing.” I take another sip of my smoothie. “Thanks for this, by the way. I know you were out late last night and the last thing you wanted to do was grab me something else for breakfast. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” She smiles that beautiful smile up at me. “That’s why I’m here.”

And then she leans against the wall, staring up at me, those stunning eyes sucking me in, making me want to reach out and touch her face, stroke her cheek, pull her in close.

If things were different and she met me in my kitchen, I would have scooped her up and carried her to the couch.

I would have held her and played with her hair while I talked to her about the day ahead.

She would have laughed at some joke I said.

I would have kissed the tip of her nose.

And then, when I slid my hand under her shirt, she would have⁠—

“Posey!” Coach Wood yells from down the hallway, puckering my balls into a sunflower seed.

Jesus Christ.

I turn just in time to catch the fury in his eyes. “Yes, hey, hello. Howdy, uh . . . what’s up, Coach?” I try to act as casual as possible despite just daydreaming about his daughter.

“What the hell are you doing? Get in the locker room.”

“Right, yup, just finishing up some tasks over here.” I turn back to Wylie. “So get that stain out. Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” She smirks. “Good luck tonight. I’ll be watching.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” I swallow hard, feeling Coach Wood staring me down. “Okay. Bye.”

I move away from her and head into the locker room where Coach Wood stands, staring me down. I offer him a nervous smile and scoot past him, clenching my ass the entire time.

Yup, having a great fucking time.

“HEARD you made your new assistant fetch you a smoothie this morning,” Pacey says as he pulls his socks up. “You really going to be that boss?”

I look over at Halsey, who’s happily in his own little world, texting Blakely, I assume. So now he’s just going to tell everyone my business, then not participate in the discussion?

He’s changed, and I’m not sure I like it.

“It’s called helping your employee fulfill their job responsibilities.”

“It’s called being a douche,” Silas says. “Get your own damn smoothie, man.”

“She wants stuff to do.” I will defend myself here. “There’s nothing wrong with giving her tasks so she feels like she’s aiding in the success of my life.”

“Is that how you’re really going to put it?” Eli says. “The success of your life?”

“I think it has a nice ring,” OC says.

All the boys turn toward OC, who sheepishly picks up his socks and puts them on.

“Dude, just tell us what the hell is going on with Grace so we don’t have to watch you pathetically suck up to Posey all the time,” Silas says. “You’re starting to lose our respect.”

“Don’t listen to them,” I say to OC. “You just write up that synopsis for me, and we’ll figure out what to do. Trust me when I say these morons have no idea how to handle a budding relationship.”

“Not this again,” Eli says with a groan. “If you’re so good, then why the fuck aren’t you with someone?”

“Great point,” Pacey says. “Explain to us why you aren’t the master of your own heart.”

Silas presses his palm to his chest. “That’s a nice way to put it, man.”

Pacey nods. “Thanks, it felt like it had a nice ring to it. Something in one of Halsey’s books.”

Halsey doesn’t even look up from his phone, where he’s smiling largely now.

I can see that the honeymoon phase hasn’t passed yet.

“I don’t even think he’s been with anyone in a while,” Silas adds. “I haven’t seen Posey with a girl in, I don’t know . . . a few months.”

“Unless he’s been hooking up at home,” Eli says.

Pacey shakes his head. “No, you can always tell when Posey is backed up. He gets this tic in his jaw whenever he sees us around our girls.”

My jaw ticks right at that moment, and Eli points it out. “You mean that tic right there, where it pops out like a heartbeat?”

“That exact one,” Pacey says.

“Can you stop looking at my jaw, you perverts,” I say. “Staring at a man’s jaw is like staring at a pair of tits, and I don’t appreciate the ogling.” I press both of my hands to my jaw.

“Not the same thing.” Eli shakes his head.

“Not even a little,” Silas adds.

“Not even close.”

OC holds up his finger. “You know, I actually think a man’s jaw⁠—”

“Shut up,” Silas, Pacey, and Eli say at the same time, and OC clams right up.

I turn to him and say, “Don’t let them treat you like that. You go ahead and compliment me. I’ll be sure to add it to the running tally of reasons I like you and why I’ll help you with your love life.”

“Jesus Christ,” Silas says on a groan. “Yeah, have fun, OC, working with a real wizard. The guy has zero credentials. No love of his own. No girlfriend. Not even a recent one-night stand.”

“You don’t fucking know that,” I shout, losing my cool. We can thank the makeup-free face of Wylie Wood this morning for that and the restricted access to her.

“From the sounds of the outburst,” Pacey says, “we do.”

“Seems odd, though,” Eli says. “Being that he’s the guy who always has a girl with him, even secretly. What has changed?”

I look over at Silas, who now studies me, his hand to his chin. “You know, ever since last year, it seems like he’s paid more attention to us and less attention to himself, and then there was that girl he was crushing on that OC told us about.”

“I, uh . . . I was lying,” OC says. “I didn’t say anything. I was drunk. Medicated. Mistaken. Anything you heard from me was a fabrication.”

Silas just rolls his eyes and looks back at me. “He’s hiding something. All of this tension, all of this backup, it has to do with that girl.” I look down at my skates, and that’s all Silas needs. He snaps his fingers. “That’s it. He’s going through girl troubles, and he won’t tell us.”

“Is he really?” Pacey asks.

“That can’t be right,” Eli says while bending at the waist to try to look me in the eyes. “Are you having girl troubles?”

“No,” I growl as I stand. “I’m not having girl troubles. I’m having . . . fuck, I’m having bologna withdrawals.” I grip my hair, ready to lie right through my teeth because I can’t fathom telling them anything else. “I’m trying to quit cold turkey because Grace said it wasn’t good for me. So yeah, I’m crushing. You’re right. I’m crushing hard on lady bologna, so if you all don’t mind, I’d prefer for you to leave me the fuck alone so I can deal with my anxiety and heartache in private.”

With that, I stomp toward the bathroom, locking myself in a stall and leaving the tension, anger, irritation, and frustration to bottle up in my shoulders.

It’s not going to be a good game tonight.

I know it already.

Sending well wishes to the opposing players . . .

“YOU SEEM TENSE,” Eli says over the roar of the crowd while I squirt some water into my mouth.

“Not tense,” I reply, eyeing Vladmir Popov out on the ice. He’s been fucking with me all night, and when our line is called in, I’m going to do something about it.

“Uh-huh. You have a snarl in your lip. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say as I slam my water down and grip my stick tightly.

“Yeah, I’m not going to take that as a response. What’s going on?”

“Dude, we’re in the middle of a fucking game. This isn’t a therapy session,” I snap, just waiting for the moment we’re called out on the ice.

“Yeah, and I’m afraid you’ll do something stupid if we don’t discuss it.”

“I’m not going to do something⁠—”

“Change it up,” Coach Wood yells, and I’m off the bench and out on the ice in seconds. I spot Vladmir, who has the puck, and I charge after him with one thing on my mind.

Slamming him into the boards.

I sprint toward him, only hearing Eli briefly in the background, and with his back toward me, I slam into Vladmir, sending him right into the boards and freeing the puck to toss it down to Holmes.

“Fuck,” Vladmir shouts as he pushes off the plexiglass and then turns toward me. Immediately, he drops his stick, wraps his arm around my neck, and starts punching me in the ribs.

Perfect. Just what I wanted.

A way to release my frustration.

The crowd erupts, and whistles are blown as I spin out of his grasp just enough to cock my arm back and clock him in the head, sending him down to the ice. I free my gloves, ready to take this further, when I’m grabbed from behind by one of my teammates, stopping me from getting out the rest of my aggression and pent-up irritation.

I’m sent straight to the penalty box with a five-minute penalty, leaving the team short-handed, but thankfully, Vladmir is serving as well because he started the fight.

“Think you needed that therapy session,” Eli says as he skates past.

Yeah, maybe, but at least I got one good punch in before it was broken up.

Of course the fans love it. They erupt around me, calling out my name and cheering for me. Sometimes I wonder if they’re fans of my hockey skills or my right hook. I think some more for my right hook. Regardless, it was fucking satisfying.

I glance over at Vladmir, who spits out a chunk of blood. Maybe stop slashing me with your stick, and I won’t slam you into the boards next time, you fuck.

I lean back and let out a deep breath. That’s when I catch Coach Wood out of the corner of my eye. His arms are crossed, and he’s staring me down.

Can’t tell if he’s pleased with what I did or angry.

Either way, I’m probably going to hear about it.

I PUSH my hand through my hair as I move toward the apartment elevator and push the up button.

We suffered a loss tonight. Not because of my penalty, but because we couldn’t pull together any goals. It was a zero-one game. We were all off, and of course Coach Wood let us hear it while throwing a chair across the locker room.

If anyone needs a therapy session, I think it’s that dude. Talk about blue balls. He needs to get laid. No one talked to each other. Halsey was pissed at himself for not scoring at least one goal. Silas was off as well with his passes, making it harder for Halsey to score. And OC seemed to be somewhere else. It was the first time we didn’t work together. And that’s bound to happen. You can’t be perfect every game, but you can sure as hell learn from it.

My phone dings with a text as the elevator door opens, and I press the button for my floor.

Eli: Want to have that therapy session now?

This guy. Christ. He’s been more involved in my life in the past few days than ever before. He has a lady and a baby. He needs to focus on them, not me.

Levi: Seriously, I’m good, dude.

Eli: You sure? Because it seems like all this pent-up aggression you had tonight could be directed toward the new change in your life. Perhaps the hot redhead who’s working for you?

Levi: If you think I’m angry because I can’t fuck her, you couldn’t be more wrong.

Eli: I didn’t say it. You did.

Clever fuck.

Levi: Just some built-up aggression. Nothing you need to worry about.

Eli: I do need to worry about it. You’re my second half out there on the ice. We’ll be off if your head isn’t in the right spot. Lawes worked his ass off tonight, blocking shots left and right. We have to do a better job.

Levi: I know. But I promise, it was just an off day. It will be better next game. We’ll get the dub.

Eli: Okay, but promise you’ll talk to me if you need to.

Levi: Promise.

Yeah, I don’t mean that. No chance in hell am I going to bring this up to the guys. Nope. They give the worst advice. I’ve lived through it. They’re lucky they had me to get them through their girl problems. Nope, I can solve this on my own.

I unlock my door and move into my apartment, flipping on the light only to find Wylie sitting at the island, waiting for me.

“Jesus Christ,” I say, hand to heart. “Fuck, what are you doing here sitting in the dark?”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I was working on your placemat stain and then got tired and started doing social media. It turned dark, and before I realized it, you arrived home. I hope you don’t mind that I was in here. I know you said it’s not a hang-out space. But I needed the room and counter for the stain.”

“It’s fine,” I say, shutting the door behind me. Compose yourself, Posey. Be cool. Steady.

“Sorry about the loss. Also, saw that you got in a brawl. Did you get hurt?”

“No.” I set down my keys and wallet on my console table, then take off my shoes. “Vlad punched me in my padding, but I got him in the face.”

“So he’s the one who got hurt?”

“That seems to always be the case.” I move over toward her and glance down at the placemat. The stain is now larger than it was before, spread out and only partially faded. I don’t believe she’s made it better but worse.

“Yeah, don’t look at that,” she says as she takes the placemat away and sets it on her lap. “I was trying to go for a non-toxic chemical route, but it seems that won’t do the trick. I’ll do more research and see how to remove this. In the meantime, please direct your attention to the corner of the room to meet your new fiddle leaf fig tree.”

Oh, fuck yeah.

The time has come.

Dreams are coming true after a shit of a day.

Come to Papa . . .

I turn toward the corner of the living room, expecting to see a well-nourished, thriving fiddle leaf fig, but to my dismay, a small pot sits on the floor with three leaves sprouting from it instead.

My brow pinches together. “What’s that?”

“I know what you must be thinking.” She gets off her stool and walks over to the plant. “It’s small now, but with lots of love and devotion to its growth, this fiddle leaf fig will soon be a blooming fiend taking over this very space.”

Those three leaves will need a lot more than some love and devotion.

She got me the Charlie Brown version of a fiddle leaf fig tree, not the monstrous, girthy log of a tree I expected.

“It’s incredibly small,” I say. “Especially for the space. I was thinking of something that would be bigger, more . . . mature.”

“And I thought that too, but Cahutta at the nursery said it would feel more satisfying to build a connection with a plant at such a young stage in its journey and watch it flourish throughout its life and yours.”

“Cahutta?” I ask with a quirked brow.

“Yes, he was amazing. I spent about an hour and a half just walking through the nursery with him, talking about different plants. He offered to meet up with me later to go over the intricacies of taking care of a fiddle leaf fig, but I told him I was busy. Gave him my number, though, so he could call later and fill me in.”

Well, Cahutta is fucking dead.

“Call later? Wylie, you realize he was hitting on you, right?”

She pauses and thinks about it. “God, you think so?”

“Uh, yeah. Who the fuck spends that much time talking about a plant?”

“I just thought he was being nice. Huh.” She taps her chin. “Well, I hope he was. This girl could use a wild night.” She clears her throat and picks up the minuscule plant. I swear, it’s smaller than Sherman. And here I was, about to brag about my giant tree in my apartment, and this is what I have to work with? Christ. “I think we should set him on the coffee table for now. Don’t need him getting trampled.”

“Yeah, don’t want that,” I say while grabbing the back of my neck. What a disappointment.

And to add salt to the wound, apparently, she’s fishing for a wild night.

Step into my bedroom, and I’ll give you exactly what you’re looking for.

“I’m sorry it’s not bigger. I can see your disappointment. I can go back and talk to Cahutta, let him know we’re looking for something more mature and not necessarily a human/plant bonding experience.”

“Nope, this works,” I say, not wanting her to go back to that nursery. Fucking Cahutta. Last thing I need is for her to speak to some romanticizing plant man who she brings back to her nanny hole.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind going back.”

“No, don’t. Let’s just focus on the tasks you need to complete. Because I have more. And you need to pack for me.”

“Don’t worry, I already did that. You’re all set to go.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Even took it upon myself to pack you some condoms and a vibrator, in case you wanted to go solo.” Jesus. “Wasn’t sure how many condoms you’d need. I figured one a night because I wasn’t sure how long you could go⁠—”

“All night,” I say, that irritation clawing up me once again. “I can go all fucking night.”

With a surprised expression, she says, “Oh, good for you. With your age, I wasn’t sure what your stamina was like.”

“I’m not that goddamn old,” I say in a snappier tone, which of course only makes her smile more. Seems like my pain is her pleasure.

“Well, either way. I can add more if you’d like.”

“Don’t plan on fucking anyone while I’m away,” I say as I move down toward my bedroom to find my suitcase on the bed with the packing cubes spread out and full.

“Don’t plan on fucking anyone?” she asks. “I don’t think that’s a very good decision.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Well, not to point out the obvious, but it seems like you’re very tense at the moment. Your shoulders are practically kissing your ears. Whenever I see that much tension in a man, I know they need to let loose.”

“I’m fine.”

“Ehhh, once again, not to overstep here, but I care to disagree. Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

Uh, yeah, there is.

Take your shirt off.

Take your pants off.

Disrobe everything and get on your fucking knees.

Let me wrap your hair around my fist and guide that sweet mouth over my cock.

Let me fuck your mouth until you gag.

That’s what you can fucking do.

“I’m fine,” I say, turning away from her. I look at all the packing cubes and sift through them. “Why did you pack so many boxer briefs?” Focus on something else other than her plump and pouty lips.

“Because you can never have enough underwear. Plus you like to sleep in them, so I figured you would want to have extras on hand.”

Smart. Didn’t think about that.

I pick up a matching sweatsuit. “What’s this?”

“A sweatsuit,” she replies.

“I see that, but why did you pack it?”

“Because I thought you could use a style update.” How dare she. My style is impeccable. “I was going through your social media videos, and some of the casual outfits you wear lack some modern Gen Z appeal.”

Is she talking about tucking my sweatpants into my tube socks? Because I fucking refuse.

REFUSE!

“That’s because I’m a millennial,” I say.

“Yes, I know. It’s obvious.” Uh, pardon me? “I thought I’d spice it up a bit. Give you something to wear that the kids can relate to. Also, how do you feel about a bolo tie?”

“Not a fan,” I say.

“Oof, good thing I asked,” she says as she reaches into one of the packing cubes and pulls it out.

Where the hell did she even get that?

“You know, maybe I should just pack myself.”

“No,” she says quickly. “I can handle it.” She places her hand on my arm, and I nearly come. Yeah, you read that correctly. COME! “This is what we call a teachable lesson. I’ve learned to pack lots of condoms because you can go all night, bravo to you, and no bolo tie. See, making mental notes now. But look at what else I packed. I think I did a great job with the rest. Your toiletry bag is in the bathroom ready to go, but I left out your toothbrush because you still need to use that as well as your deodorant and cologne, which I might have sniffed. It smells good, in case you were wondering. From the lady’s perspective, great choice.”

Pheromones will do that.

“Thanks,” I say. Feeling awkward—again—I move into the bathroom and check out the toiletry bag, which seems to be all packed up correctly.

“See, I can do this. Just give me a chance. I know working with an assistant might be weird, but this is my first time, and I’m still learning. I promise I can do this for you.”

I can see the desperation in her eyes, hear it in her voice, and it makes me feel that much worse because I know that she wants this to prove to her dad that she can handle everything. Meanwhile, I’m in an epic battle of keeping my hands to myself and trying to sabotage her simultaneously by being her dad’s puppet. Guilt consumes me all over again.

“Yeah, you did a great job with the toiletry bag,” I say and move back into the bedroom, wanting to make her feel better. “And yeah, this sweatsuit outfit might look good.” I look through the cubes and see the vibrator that she chose, a simple flat-faced one that works great against my balls. “And my favorite vibrator,” I say. “Good job.”

“That’s your favorite?” she asks. “Interesting. I thought it might be, but I was just guessing. And I know what you’re thinking. Is it weird that I know what vibrator my male boss might like? The answer is no. I think personal assistants have to get on up there.” She motions her hands in an upward motion. “Really know everything about their boss to make sure to please them as best as possible. So I’m glad I know about your condoms and vibrators. Aren’t you glad?”

Oh yeah, really fucking glad. It makes me so goddamn happy.

Especially since I’m not allowed to use any of it on you.

Couldn’t be happier.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I reply uncomfortably.

“Okay, so this was a great learning moment.” She clasps her hands together. “I also set up your backpack in your office, but I wasn’t sure what you needed.”

I walk out of the bedroom and into the office, where I see a few Post-it notes from her on my desk.

The first reads a social media schedule that she must have written down for both of us.

The second one is a note that just says highlighters.

The third is one name: Patty Ford.

Confused, I point at the Post-it and say, “What’s this?”

She glances down, and then I watch her cheeks blush as she picks it up and crumples it in her hand. “Uh, nothing. Just a note to myself that I forgot to pick up. Oh, and here’s my highlighter one. Sorry about that. I wasn’t working here if you were wondering. I was just writing you a note and realized I forgot to grab my two notes.”

“Not a problem,” I reply, wanting to know who the hell Patty Ford is. I make a mental note to look it up when she leaves.

“Anyway, I have everything ready to go in your backpack and added some snacks. I know you get them from the team, but just in case you get hungry.”

“Great. Thanks.” I turn toward her and say, “Good job, Wylie.”

With pride, she puffs her gorgeous chest. “Thank you.” She follows that with a yawn and says, “Well, if that’s all, I need to get to bed. I’m exhausted.”

Actually, I could use you in the bedroom for a moment. Won’t take too long. Just need to suck on your tits is all.

“Yeah, sure.” I shift on my feet. “That’s it.”

“Great. Well, good luck on your away trip. Text me if you need anything, and I’ll keep working hard over here on your behalf.” She smiles brightly. “Good night . . . Mr. Posey.”

I roll my eyes, causing her to laugh. “Good night, Miss Wood.”

“Ooo.” She pretends to shiver. “I like the sound of that.” Chuckling, she takes off, and I follow her into the kitchen, listening for the click of her door before I turn out all the lights and head into my bedroom, where I quickly get ready for bed.

I’ll pack the cubes in my suitcase in the morning, so I set them to the side and strip out of my clothes to nothing before slipping under my sheets. I open my Google search on my phone and type in the name Patty Ford.

Maybe it’s a long-lost friend or maybe a travel blogger. Maybe someone she . . .

The Google results pop up, and all of them are X-rated.

No fucking way.

I click on the website under Patty Ford, and I’m immediately met with a hot brunette with huge tits and a curvy ass.

The banner picture on the website is of who I’m going to assume is Patty, completely naked and on her knees. Her hand and arm cover all the important parts, but fuck, is she hot. I scroll down and find videos of her masturbating and live sessions where you can get off with her.

Holy shit.

I wet my lips and explore the website a little more, feeling myself go hard with every picture and video I come across.

And sure, she’s hot.

But what’s really getting me hard is the idea that Wylie was interested in this website as well.

And there could be two reasons why: for her own personal pleasure, or for research. Either way, I fucking like it a lot.

I settle into my pillow and run my hand down my stomach, ready to grip my cock just as a text appears on my phone.

Fuck.

Talk about a cock block and an instant way to deflate things.

Coach Wood: Make her get bagels again tonight.

My stomach clenches, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

Fuck. That’s the last thing I want to ask her to do, especially since I didn’t eat any of them today.

Levi: But she already got some, and I didn’t eat any.

Coach Wood: Does it look like I care, Posey? Make her get the bagels again.

Jesus Christ, why is he being such a dick?

Coach Wood: Don’t let me down, Posey.

Yeah, hearing you loud and clear, you ass.

Levi: Okay.

Groaning inwardly and completely out of the mood now, I pull up my text thread with Wylie.

If she didn’t think I was an asshole before, she sure as hell is going to think it now.