“Do you think you could get them to cooperate for promo spots?” She asked me, and I blinked a few times, wondering if she’d intended the question for Persephone.
“Me?”
Langley laughed. “You know them better than we do,” she said, motioning to Persephone.
“Sterling was traded before I got a proper chance to truly know him,” Persephone said. “But I know Cannon is so thrilled he’s back.”
“Can you do it?” Langley asked, and the weight of the question punched me in the chest. The panic was nothing like when I’d been trapped in that elevator, or any other small, confined space. That panic was ice-cold and debilitating. This panic? It crackled with an adrenaline-fueled challenge.
Because that’s what this was.
A massive, fuck-all of a challenge.
Getting two brothers who hated each other to smile pretty for the camera? Locking myself in a closet seemed an easier feat.
“I’ll make it happen,” I said, hoping like hell I was telling the truth.
Langley and Persephone smiled at me before they shared another silent, secret look.
“Good,” Langley said. “Keep me posted on your progress with them.”
I nodded and pushed back from my chair, heading toward her door. She’d given me a chance to prove myself as the new employee on the docket, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to let her down.
Even if it meant I had to tie the brothers together and yank their asses into submission, I would.
I suppressed another laugh as I headed out of the arena. The idea of willing either of those hulking, delicious men into submission was ridiculous enough to have my head spinning.
I was so screwed.
“Caz?” I called as I pushed opened the unlocked front door to his brand-new home in Reaper Village. Had to hand it to Silas, the man was a business genius. And herding his players into one easily monitored yet secluded location? Totally brilliant. Not only did it boost morale for the team, it gave them a sense of privacy in a world desperate to expose them. And since my big brother was one of those celebrity athletes subject to stalkers, overzealous puck bunnies, and bloodthirsty paparazzi, I was super grateful for it.
“Back here!” Caspian hollered, and I walked down the hallway, dodging unpacked boxes until I ended up in the kitchen. The space was all clean white cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and a giant marble island in the middle.
The same marble island that Maxim Zolotov leaned against.
“What are you doing here, sis?” Caz asked as he unloaded groceries into his bare fridge. “And why didn’t you bring those scone things with you?”
I huffed out a laugh, sitting my purse on the clean island. “One, I’ve barely settled into my apartment, let alone have time to bake for you.” I shook my head. I loved my brother and often went out of my way to make his favorite treat—maple cinnamon scones—but I was here in a business capacity. “And two,” I said, motioning to his glorious kitchen. “You have all the tools necessary to make them yourself now.”
He glared at me in faux shock before returning his groceries.
“You didn’t answer the first question,” Maxim said, his strong arms folded over his chest as he looked down at me. He had that tiny lilt of an accent to his words, something I’d grown used to over the two years I’d known him.
I looked up at him, narrowing my gaze. “Whenever you talked about Sterling before, you said he was a selfish, playboy of an asshole. Why didn’t you ever mention that he happened to be your brother?” Not that he owed me any explanation, he was my brother’s best friend, not mine. We were friendly, sure, but not on a level where I deserved to know every detail of his life. But…why hide a brother?
“Did you ask him the same thing?” he asked, the hard line of his jaw popping just a fraction.
Oh, there was a nerve there. Well, I’d guessed that but seeing it was totally different. Not that Maxim didn’t always look…intimidating. He did. The NHL shape—all muscles and strength and dominance—didn’t help, but there was something in his eyes. A kind of guarded anger that threatened to spill out any second. And mentioning Sterling as his brother? You’d think I’d called him an awful skater or something.
“I haven’t spoken to Sterling yet,” I said, not at all deterred by his sharp tone. I’d been around him and Caz long enough to hear more than my fair share of bro-vent sessions. “He’s next on my list,” I said. If I was being honest, I was delaying speaking to Jansen. Not only because of his reaction at Scythe, but because of the way he’d snuck into my thoughts on more than one occasion.
The idea of seeing him again? Catching that scent, staring into those crushing-blue eyes, peeking those whorls of black ink that teased above the collar of any shirt he wore? Warm shivers danced down my spine. I wanted to know where those tattoos led beneath the fabric—