“This is Rose Kasper.” Babette’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of a tunnel.
Sammy Rose.A fierce competitor with a heart of gold. Not intimidated by much of anything. Gorgeous. Clever. Smart.
Yeah, that’s her.
“Dude, you sure you’re good?” Ned knocks his fist against my shoulder, and the contact snaps me out of my trance.
“What? Yeah. Fine.”
Rose is still looking at me, but she blinks and reaches out a hand to Scott.
“Happy to have you on board for this project, Ms. Kasper,” he says.
“It’s my pleasure.” Rose’s voice is low and as silky smooth as I remember. Where’s the nearest snow bank? I may as well go ram my head into it. Again. My entire body feels like it’s on fire…and not in a good way. How in the world am I ever going to handle this? And since when is Rose a journalist?
I guess a lot can change when you block a person out of your life for five years. Obviously she’s made good use of her time if she’s who the team is pulling in for this article. Writing forSports Magazineis no small feat. And if she passed muster with the palace in Penwick, that’s saying something.
“Bates, here, is a pro, so I’m sure he’ll make your job as easy as possible. He’s been fully briefed on the scope of the article and given specific instructions that he’s to give you insight into all aspects of his life.” Roger shoots me a raised-eyebrow look. He’s waiting for me to confirm that I’m in agreement with all of this.
I mean, Iwasin agreement. But that was before I knew I’d be giving an all-access pass to Rose—the woman who had that once before and proceeded to take a hacksaw to it.
Rose looks as calm as can be. A classy professional. Like she’s totally unaffected by being in the same room as me. Makes sense. She’s the one who ended it between us. Why would she care if I’m her subject?
Meanwhile, I can’t stop thinking about how gosh darn good she looks in the red pantsuit she’s wearing. It screamspower.She may as well be a Power Ranger, for crying out loud. All the power is on her side. In this moment, I don’t stand a chance.
I shove my chair back and rise to my full height. “Yep, fully briefed. I need to run, so…” I say something about circling back and my people being in touch with her people, all without making eye contact with Rose. Truthfully, I sound like I’m talking in gibberish, and I keep making indeterminate noises that are like a mix between a horse’s whinny and an automated answering machine.
Then I flee the room.
5
The Elevator Scene
Rose
Anton abruptly leaves, and the rest of us sit in silence for a few seconds. Scott and Roger have matching bewildered looks on their faces. Ned is eyeing me with curiosity, and the guy seems about two pieces away from putting together the puzzle that is my history with Anton. He must be the perceptive one in the group. As for me, I’m trying not to take it personally that Anton was so intent on getting out of my presence that he tripped over a mini trash can on his way out the door.
Add that to the fact that he rammed his bike into a snow pile when I saw him outside, and it’s obvious I have a terrible influence on the guy. He avoids three-hundred-pound linemen and angry linebackers for a living, and yet one glance from me, and he’s a bumbling, stumbling oaf.
“Sorry about that, Ms. Kasper.” Scott draws me from my thoughts. “He must be having a bad day. I’m sure he’ll come around. Do you have any questions for us about the assignment? It seems like Babette got you taken care of.”
I spend the next ten minutes chatting with the River Foxes’ head honchos before leaving.
Scott asks me to close the door on my way out, so I swing it shut behind me and grab my cell phone from my pocket. I’m scrolling through emails as I wait for the elevator, trying not to dwell on how good Anton looks these days. I need to get over that—and quickly. I’m going to be spending a lot of time with him, and I can’t have his appearance do funny things to my head.
Not just his physical appearance, either, though the mesmerizing eyes, broad shoulders, and amazing hair would be enough to slay me. Seriously, that curly lock that falls over his forehead nearly ends me every time I see it.
But it’s more than his good looks.
Anton is and always has been so…so…cool. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like he has an intangible aura of confidence and swagger. Case in point: he made plowing into a snow bank on a bike and tripping over a trash can look sexy.
I’ve stayed up to date on his career, read the articles written about him, and watched his interviews. They all land on one point over and over again: Anton is a leader, and he makes everyone around him feel like they matter and they’re cool too. By association to him, sure. But also because of who they are. I don’t know how he does it. He’s a prince and a professional athlete. He shouldn’t come across as relatable. But he does. He is.
Everyone loves Anton Bates.
The elevator dings, and I step inside, nose in my phone, trying not to think about how I could have loved him forever.
Until a throat clears.
