My luck most certainly ran out.
I have no doubt her client plays for the one and only Colorado IceHawks. My father’s favorite team. It takes everything in me to tamp down on the anger that rises when I think of him.
Clearing my throat, I change the topic. “Do you mind if I take this home with me to look over?”
“Yes! Please do. The legal paperwork goes on for miles. I can give you emails and numbers if you want a lawyer to review it.”
“That’s all right, I know someone who can help me.” I offer her a warm smile as I pick up my purse. “Thank you, though.”
She places her phone, keys, and bottle in a large black purse. “Very well, then. I hope this means you’ll take the position.”
Following her lead, we stride down the hallway toward the front door. Sliding my coat on, I get ready to step out into the cold afternoon air. “Yes. As long as the contract doesn’t ask me to sign away my life, I’ll take the position.”
Her eyes spark. “Perfect, I have a good feeling about this. Please feel free to reach out to me if you have any questions. My number is on the top of the paperwork.”
“No worries. Thank you, Lucy.”
As I back out and travel down the long winding driveway with the mountains and my dream house peering back at me through my rearview mirror, there is just one thing that fills my mind.
The large number printed in my contract that is now my salary.
Chapter 5
Bella
LAYLA
I can’t believe my best friend is going to live out my hockey dreams before I do
BELLA
hockey dreams? Since when??
LAYLA
since books
BELLA
what do your books have to do with Ice Hockey?
LAYLA
you have no idea what you’re missing out on
By the time I drop off the hefty manilla envelope to Layla’s father, who luckily in my case is a lawyer for the city council, I’m half an hour late to dinner with my mom.
The dinner she anxiously called me over.
Through all the excitement of today with the house—or should I say mansion—my new job offer, and the dozens of pieces of paperwork stating what I can and cannot talk about publicly and what my duties are, I’m ashamed to admit that the worry in my mom’s voice took a back seat in my mind.
Yet when I pull into her driveway to find her sitting on the veranda in her favorite rocking chair, sipping on a steaming cup of tea, the nest of anxious bees that had settled in my chest rises once again, swarming around my heart and lungs.
Once I put the car in park and collect my bag, my mom’s already standing in the open doorway, her arms open to welcome me home.
“Sorry I’m late, Mom. I had to stop at Layla’s quickly,” I explain by way of greeting.
As her arms wrap around me, my hands feel the protruding bones of her body and I can’t help but shiver.
