Wheeler (Seattle Sharks 8)

“You have to do it,” she said, and I arched a brow at her. “No, seriously. You have to.”

I crunched on more cereal.

“Faith, he’s the biggest diva on the Sharks.”

I snorted and nodded in agreement.

“If you could survive him and he gives you a great review? You’d be renowned for handling anything that comes your way. Because with that one, everything comes his way.”

I sighed. “That’s the part I’m worried about.”

“You’re worried you’ll be jealous?” She scoffed. “That’s so not you. Besides, you already said it was just a kiss, right? A mistake, I think were your exact words.” She eyed me. “Don’t tell me you actually have feelings for him.”

I swallowed hard.

No, I certainly didn’t have serious feelings for the famed lothario of the Seattle Sharks.

It hadn’t affected me at all when he’d given me a ride home all those months ago when I’d been stranded at that ridiculous club by my asshole ex-boyfriend. Didn’t stir a flicker of laughter when he’d played one of my favorite bands, or sang the wrong words to the lyrics. I didn’t have the urge to hug him after the ride either—not after he’d taken a horrible night and turned it into a laugh-fest. A safe place filled with warmth and comfort and trust—something that continued to ripple in the back of my mind whenever I saw those glacial blue eyes of his.

And I definitely didn’t think about how his lips on the seam of my neck had turned my insides into a liquid fire I wanted only him to stoke.

“Faith,” Harper chided. “He’s known more for scoring off the ice than on it.”

That snapped me right out of it. Because it was absolutely true. What had happened that night and the night he’d given me a ride home…it was all a fluke. I’d been there and pursued him, not the other way around.

“No,” I said. “You’re right. I totally can do this.”

She nodded, the concern leaving her eyes.

“Do what?” My other roommate—Sawyer McCoy—asked as he came in through our front door. He dropped his massive gear bag in the mud area we could see from the couch and walked into our living room.

“Dude,” Harper said, her nose wrinkling. “I can smell that bag from here.”

I chuckled, but Sawyer waved her off. His brown hair clung to his forehead from the sweat glistening there, the dark curls complimenting his almost amber-colored eyes. The guy was fit, as most hockey players were, but he also had a killer sense of humor that had helped secure him as our third roommate when Harper and I had started searching.

“Do what?” he asked again, wiping at the sweat on his face with his forearm.

“Faith scored a dream job,” Harper said.

“Oh, nice.” Sawyer reached down to give me a high-five. “Let’s celebrate tonight, yeah?” He glanced between the pair of us. “Burgers? I’m buying.”

“I’m so in. I need the fuel. This particle neutron exploration is giving me one hell of a time,” Harper said, and I nodded like I understood anything she’d said. “But only if you shower first,” she continued.

He rolled his eyes.

“You don’t have to go to your mom’s tonight?” I asked, knowing he spent more than half his time split between being the goalie for the U-Dub hockey team and taking care of his mother. She was chronically ill and nearly every spare ounce of time he had was used to take care of her.

He gave me a soft smile. “Not tonight,” he said. “We’ll celebrate your job properly.”

“It’s not official, yet!” I called to him as he headed up the stairs to hopefully shower. Hockey players and their sweat.

“Don’t care!” he called back. “You’ll nail it. We’re going out.”

I laughed, closing the box of cereal and sighing as I leaned my head against the couch. At least dinner would help distract me from the fact that at noon tomorrow, I’d be alone in a room with the only man who had ever managed to turn my world upside down in the span of a kiss.

I tugged at my black editor slacks, shifting slightly in my chair as I scanned the other interviewees waiting in the room. Surveying the women—all women—with their chic skirts, silk blouses, and perfectly tamed hair, I felt suddenly like the tomboy at the tea party. Eleven years old all over again, showing up to a sleepover in a pair of basketball shorts and a hand-me-down T-shirt of Eric’s when all the other little girls were dressed as fairy princesses with tutus and matching wings.

My blouse was a dark hunter green that made my eyes pop, but it was nothing to the class that vied for the position in that room. God, I was so underqualified. I’m sure it burned on my cheeks. I could see the questioning in their gazes—how did a still-in-college redhead with unruly curls manage to land an interview with the Lukas Vestergaard?

Shame settled in me just a bit, the fact that I was here because of family, but I quickly shoved that shit down. I would work my ass off just as hard as any of them, maybe harder. Because I knew both sides of this dangerous coin called celebrity athlete, and I was determined to make a career out of it.

Ten minutes past noon, the wide double doors of the office area swung open, and Lukas sauntered in like he didn’t have a care in the world. A suit of black fit his sculpted body like a glove. A warm chill shot straight through the middle of me at the sight of him, so lithe and confident, and completely unaware. He didn’t spare the room of bombshells a glance. Not one look in our direction, his cell to his ear, his lips shaping perfect Swedish, as he walked into the office at the other end of the room—Erin, Langley’s assistant, trailing after him.

She came back out a few minutes later, calling for the first candidate.

My heart sank like a stone into my stomach.

I don’t know why I’d hoped to be the first person he wanted to see.

Chapter 3

Lukas

Eleven interviews in, and I was ready to jump out of the glass window to get away from the flood of women who’d applied to be my assistant. Not that they hadn’t been qualified—one had even spoken Swedish, but they’d been far more interested in getting on my social calendar than organizing it.

This launch of Adrenaline, my first clothing line—and my last if this didn’t go well—was my only concern at the moment, and until I found someone who felt the same way, I wasn’t hiring. Maybe I needed to have Langley put out a call for male assistants only.

At least they wouldn’t be out for my ring finger.

I walked the eleventh interview to the door and thanked her for her time, telling her we’d be in touch.

We wouldn’t.

The blonde batted fake eyelashes at me as she left, swinging her ass a little too hard for it to be her natural walk.

“Erin!” I called out without bothering to look around the waiting room, where there were another ten women left to interview.

Langley’s assistant scurried from the receptionist’s desk, her cheeks flushed.

“Are you ready for the next?” she asked, her voice just as small as she was. Jesus, I had gear bags bigger than this woman.

“Might as well,” I answered, rubbing the skin between my eyebrows as I headed toward the waiting room.

“Do you want to take a phone call first?” she asked, scrambling to keep up. “I know you said not to put anyone through, but there’s a woman who insisted on holding. She said her name was Mormor?”

I halted at the threshold, women sitting up straighter in my periphery. “You left Mormor holding for me?”

“Yes?” Erin answered with her own question.

“For how long?” My voice rose as I pivoted, heading back to my office.

“Ten minutes?”

“For fuck’s sake!” I barked. “Give me a couple of minutes and then bring in the next applicant.” My foot connected with the frosted glass door, closing my office off. I hit the blinking phone line and brought it to my ear. “Mormor,” my voice softened as I switched to Swedish. “Why would you hold? Why wouldn’t you just call my c

ell phone?”

“Because you’ve never had an office. I thought it would be fun to hold for my famous Lukas.” Her voice zapped my temper like nothing else could.

“You seriously called me at ten o’clock at night your time so you could hold?” I laughed.

“Well, no. I was reading an article that said you were looking to take your name off the most eligible bachelor list and my curiosity got the best of me,” she admitted. The sound of crinkling paper came through the phone line. She was reading tabloids again.

“You have two degrees in literature and still favor the tabloids?” I turned to look out my office window at the Seattle skyline.

“Guilty pleasure,” she answered. “Now tell me the truth. Has someone caught your eye? Or are you looking for someone to catch it? Because there are plenty of good Swedish girls—”

The door to my office opened, and I turned to see Erin’s face peeking through the gap. “Ready?” she whispered.

I nodded, motioning for her to lead in the next applicant.

“No, Mormor, I’m not seeing anyone.” My stomach still twisted at the way I’d left things with Faith months ago. We’d seen each other since then, of course. It was hard not to run into each other when her brother was my best friend, but we’d said nothing of that night. Acted like it had never happened.

But I sure-as-fuck remembered every scorching moment of it.

“Well, we’ll just have to see if anyone grabs your attention while you’re home,” she suggested, and I could almost see her wiggle her eyebrows across the nearly five thousand miles that separated us.

I laughed softly. “You don’t have to do that. There’s someone I’m interested in, she just doesn’t return the sentiment.”

“Och! I can hardly believe that’s true. I’ve never seen a woman keep her wits around you.”

The door opened again, and Erin ushered in the next applicant.

I nearly dropped the phone.

The same green eyes that haunted my dreams stared back at me, her smile anything but steady.

“Trust me; she’s like no woman you’ve ever met,” I said, my eyes still locked with Faith’s. “In fact, she just walked into my office. How about I give you a call tomorrow?”