Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Well?” Darcy says when I arrive at her desk. Then she takes one look at my face. “Oh my God, did you just get fired?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s almost worse than that.”
She glances at her bank of phones and then grabs her pocketbook off the desk. “Okay, emergency snack break. Sharp can’t possibly get any grumpier, so I might as well.” She grabs her jacket off a coat tree and steers me toward the door. “Spill,” she says as we ride the first escalator downward.
I explain about Chase’s lost sponsorships, and she makes all the right noises of dismay.
“This is all my fault,” I tell her. “My impulse was to help, but I cost him at least a million dollars instead.”
“That is a lot of money,” she says solemnly. We get off the escalator, and she steers me toward the staff locker corridor. “Get your coat, it’s freezing outside.”
“How can I ever make this up to him?”
“Oh, buddy, I don’t know. Did Bess say those sponsors had cut ties already?” she asks. “Or were they just worried?”
“I’m not sure,” I say miserably. “But it sounded bad.” I type in the code for my locker, but then I open the door only an inch or two and quickly peek inside. If there’s another nasty note, I don’t want Darcy seeing it.
But no. I grab my coat and pull it on, then follow her down to the street level. When we push open the doors to West Twenty-First Street, a bracing January wind scours our faces.
“Where are we going?” I ask, hugging my coat more closely to my body.
“This is the kind of crisis that requires cake,” Darcy says. “Have you been to Billy’s Bakery yet?”
“That place on Ninth? I’ve walked past it.” The most amazing smells come from that place.
She gives me a look of incredulity. “You walked right past? I didn’t even know that was possible. Follow me, please.”
I’m about to do that when I see another figure standing a ways down the sidewalk, his hands jammed into his coat pockets for warmth. My heart leaps before my brain even catches up.
Chase.
“Just a minute,” I say. “There’s something I have to do.”
“Uh-oh,” Darcy mutters as I jog away from her.
“Chase, wait!” I say before he can step off the curb.
He turns, his handsome face flashing with irritation. “What now, Zoe? I’m late for an appointment, and my head is killing me.”
“Look,” I gasp. “I meant what I said in there. I’m sorry I was impulsive. Again. I’m sorry I stepped in front of that fan when I should’ve just stayed home…” He eyes the street again, planning his getaway, and the words tumble out of me even faster. “I cannot cost you a million dollars, because this coaching gig doesn’t pay that well. I promise I won’t be your big orange fireball anymore.”
“My what?”
I fling my arms out to the sides. “You said it last night—that I was like a big orange fireball in your life.”
His expression turns thoughtful. “Not bad for a drunk man. But forget it, okay? It doesn’t matter what I said last night.”
“Oh, it does,” I insist. “And blowing up your life was never my intention, okay? I loved you like you were the last slice of mushroom-free pizza on Earth. You were the only person who ever liked me just for me, which is why I gave you everything. Like my heart. And my virginity…”
He stares at me, his blue eyes shocked. “Jesus, Zoe.”
“I know, I know. Too much.” But I’ve been waiting years to tell him how hurt I was, and I can’t seem to shut up. “Just trying to be honest here. And the honest truth is that I want to help you get your game back. For purely professional reasons.” I pause. “Okay, it’s also an ego thing. But I’m really good at what I do.”
He sighs. “I have no doubt. But let’s just keep a little distance, m’kay? I was already having a hellacious year before last night’s disaster.”
“Chase, I can help,” I insist. “Please work with me. Even if it’s only ten minutes at Sailor’s pony show.”
His blue eyes flash with irritation. “I said I’d be there, didn’t I?”
“You agreed to a publicity stunt. But it could be more than that, if you’re willing to try. I have a theory about your skating.”
“Everyone does. Take a number.”
“But what if I’m right? You’ll score more goals, you might keep your sponsors, and everyone will stop being mad at you. Then it won’t matter if the two-asshole rule is true.”
He snorts, and the corners of his mouth twitch, and I feel a zing of victory.
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
His eyebrows lift. “Besides public humiliation?”
“Please. You’re wearing a five-thousand-dollar coat. You can handle a little humiliation. And maybe this never occurred to you, but you were a fireball in my life, too. Then you left town and blocked my number.”