Samantha Leigh

The boardroom door crashes open, and a woman falls through, righting herself and blushing brightly when she notices that everyone is staring. She’s tall and attractive but swimming inside baggy beige trousers that cinch in at her small waist and an open matching blazer that’s at least two sizes too big. Her dark-rimmed glasses are too large for her pretty, heart-shaped face, framed by strands of dark hair that have pulled free of her long ponytail, and she’s balancing a cardboard tray in each hand, both loaded with drinks.

My drinks.

Her big, anxious eyes land on me and widen briefly before she drops her chin and hurries down the length of the room

I watch with mild curiosity as she avoids looking at me, fumbling a little as she pulls at the drinks, and once the six paper cups are lined up in front of me, she practically bolts for the doors.

Around the table, the Fury team ignores her, which annoys me. Even an intern deserves a nod of acknowledgment.

I choose the iced water and take a long draw, but before the mysterious brunette can make her escape from the big, bad Chord Davenport,

With each new room, I find myself anticipating Violet’s small sounds of admiration, and it’s weird how her opinion, which shouldn’t matter, makes me feel a little better after what just happened with Charlie.

She’s right there when I turn to go and we’re close—too close—but one look at the frost in my gaze and she takes a quick step back before glancing at her notebook.

“I’ll go out for groceries now,” she says quietly. “Then I’ll start making inquiries about an apartment in the city. Coach Campbell asked me to call and set up those training sessions
with the team, and after that I’ll see about having your personal items shipped from Calgary.”

The reminder about Coach’s training plans for the summer sends my mood further south

She drops her arms as a small smile—a hint of potential ease and confidence—flits across her mouth. “Of course. Who doesn’t like flowers?”

Why the fuck does it feel so good to see her open up a little?

Violet drops her eyes with a small smile and walks past me. I breathe in the sweet, floral air she leaves in her wake and, without thinking, brush the base of her back to usher her inside. My hand presses against the fabric of her hoodie, her hip just out of reach of my fingertips and the top of her ass only a short fall away from my palm.

She freezes at my touch, and so do I, but whatever this is lasts only a moment before Violet inhales deeply, drops her chin, and hurries into the house.

I stare at her ass as she moves down the hall, losing a chunk of time in exchange for the memory of white spandex hugging her curves when she walks. But when she turns a corner and is out of my sight, I straighten from my stupor.

Fuck me.

Chord and I don’t need to be friendly for me to do my job, and after all, professional distance was always my plan. Keep my head down. Do my job. Survive the summer without making a fool of myself or getting fired

I scramble to feel even a shred of irritation that Violet is once again in my way, but the only feelings within reach are curiosity and expectation as I listen to her move about inside.

The fridge opens and closes. A saucepan is retrieved from a cupboard and, a moment later, lands on the stovetop. A gas burner jumps to life with a click-click-click before she rustles in the pantry. A spoon hits the inside of a mug.

I debate the wisdom of going in to… What? Say hello? Tell her I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about her? Ask her if she’ll lift her chin for me, just once, because I’d like to get a better look at her pretty pink blush?

But the moment comes and goes before I’ve made a decision. The light goes out again and I blink to adjust my vision, bristling at the unwelcome disappointment.

“Take the rest of the day off, Wallflower, because starting tomorrow, you’re all mine.”

Violet’s cheeks flame the prettiest shade of pink, and the color does things to me. Things that heat my blood and make my heart race faster than it does on the ice. Things I want to feel over and over. A high I’m going to crave all summer long.

Chord is quiet for a moment, and I start to feel insecure about how much I’ve shared. Perhaps he wasn’t angling for my life story. Maybe he was just trying to be polite. I misread the situation, and now I look stupid.