Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I nod and turn away, finding Gannon’s number in my missed call log. He answers on the second ring.
“Hey,” I say before he can even say hello. “What’s the plan to replace McCabe again?”
“What?”
“McCabe. What’s the plan?”
“We’re looking for an interim replacement and hope he comes back.”
My jaw tenses. “Stop looking for his replacement.”
I hold my breath and wait for his response. Because if my brothers know that Kelly and Aurora are the same person and that she works for the hockey team, there will be a crack in Gannon’s armor. He’s a brilliant businessman, but he’s a shit liar.
“Excuse me?” he asks, completely confused.
I exhale in relief. They don’t know.
“Let me do it,” I say.
“Let you do what?”
“Let me have his job.”
He laughs. “Stop fucking around.”
“I mean it. I can fill in for him. You said so yourself—you have no leads. You said a few days ago that you need a brother who understands hockey. I’m your guy.”
“You don’t know shit about hockey.”
“Sure, I do.”
I don’t. But things are about to get pucking fun around here.
There’s a pause. “Why? Why do you want to do this?”
“I feel bad for sending you to voicemail this morning.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Just let me do this,” I say. “My degree is in marketing, so it makes sense. And I’ll still travel if you need me to but let me handle this for the time being.”
He groans. “You know what? Fuck it. Fine.”
Score! I balk. Goal, maybe?
“I don’t even care anymore,” Gannon says. “I just don’t want to deal with it. If you want to handle the Raptors, be my guest.”
I turn around and head toward the waiting Raptors employees.
“Thanks, Gan.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
I end the call and then head to the conference room.
Let the fun begin.
Chapter Thirteen
Aurora
“Grab a seat,” Dan says, pulling out a chair at one end of the table. “Mr. Brewer will be with us in just a second.”
Mr. Brewer? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Tally takes a seat beside me in the middle of the long table. Two of our coworkers, Jackson and Derek, take their seats across from us, absorbed in a conversation about hockey stats. Even if I wanted to pay attention to their back-and-forth right now, I couldn’t.
There’s no way. Every brain cell I have is being used.
I force a swallow, ignoring Tally’s curious look. I can’t explain to her right now that Mr. Brewer is none other than Tate Brewer—the Tate that thinks I’m Kelly Kapowski. That of all the days for him to make his first appearance in the Raptors offices and introduce himself, he chose today.
How is this possible? How is this my life right now? I tried one time to have a good time and do what other women do, and this is what I get.
I get fucked every which way, no pun intended.
“Hey, are you okay?” Tally whispers.
My smile feels about as real as this situation does. I shake my head slowly from side to side.
Her face drops. “What’s wrong?”
She’s rightfully confused because just a little while ago, I was as light as a feather. My smile was genuine, and my outlook on life positive. I was floating on a cloud built of memories of mind-blowing orgasms.
Too bad I didn’t know that the giver of said orgasms would be sitting next to me, wondering why everyone is calling me Aurora. Knowing that would’ve dampened my spirits a bit.
“Aurora?” she whispers, prompting me to answer her question.
“Later,” I say softly.
My eyes are glued to the double doors leading to the hallway. Heat stings my cheeks, and I place my hands on my lap so no one can see them shaking.
I have no idea what Tate is thinking. I only know the look in his eye just a moment ago wasn’t precisely the bedroom eyes I saw this weekend. Moreover, I’m unsure how I feel about all of this. Why can’t I have a pause life button to give me a minute to get my thoughts together?
The doors swing open with a flourish, and I jump in my seat. Tally gives me a curious look before trailing my gaze to the man walking into the room like he owns the place.
Because, apparently, he does.
What the fuck?
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Tate says, looking like a snack in dark pants and a green button-up shirt. It’s the same emerald color of his eyes just before he comes.
Now isn’t the time to be thinking about that, Aurora.
I shift in my seat, willing the knot in my stomach to ease.
Air struggles to fill my lungs as Tate’s gaze lands roughly on me. It’s heavy. It’s intentional. And it’s chock-full of questions.
But as I squirm in my seat, feeling guilty as hell about lying to him about my name, and worried he’ll think I tried to pull a fast one over on him by screwing the owner of the company, I realize something: I have questions, too.