Me: Once, yes.
Olivier: I’m glad my poem gave you a smile. Will you reconsider on dinner?
I think it over, and realize I actually want to. Gah. I’m letting myself be charmed.
Me: If I do, I want to be upfront. I’m not looking for anything serious. I just got out of a long relationship. Can we just hang out?
Olivier: Of course. Just dinner. Saturday night?
Me: Okay.
Olivier: Great, I’ll make a reservation. Send me your address and I’ll pick you up. I’ll let you know on the time.
“Ray! No, Ray stop! Oh shit. Daphne!” Nina yells from the lobby.
Crap. I type out a quick reply to Olivier.
Me: Sounds good, see you Saturday night.
I jump up from my office chair and run into the lobby just in time to see Ray, naked as the day he was born, dripping all over the floor as he runs across it. He stops, grins at me and shakes his hips, making his penis flop from thigh to thigh while spraying more water across the floor, and then keeps running toward the door.
“Ray, no! You can’t go outside, it’s freezing!” I say.
Ty comes running from the back room, a couple of clean towels tucked under one arm.
“Nina, stay here. Daphne and I will get him!” he says.
And then we race out the front door and chase Ray down the icy sidewalk, pedestrians parting to make way for him, and then us.
Just another day at the office.
Chapter Nine
Olivier
I’m yelling as loud as anyone in the stands at the Carson Center when Luca Campbell slides the puck into the net and ties the game at 2–2. From the owner’s box or the nosebleed seats, the excitement is the same.
It’s a Friday night home game, and even though I’m wearing a charcoal suit and white dress shirt, I have my Chicago Blaze red tie on to show my spirit. I wear Blaze hoodies and T-shirts at home, but when I’m here, I always have a suit on.
“Hell yeah!” Corey Zimmerman says, fist pumping.
He’s an investor I work with, and a big Blaze fan. I always fill up my box with friends and colleagues, or I host families who have seriously ill children. There’s nothing like sharing the game I love with people who are seeing it live for the first time or simply enjoy it as much as I do. The excitement in the Carson Center—both the excitement and the red sea of shirts in the stands—is incomparable.
These days, there’s often an empty seat in my box—the one right beside me. It’s reserved for Giselle, who comes to about half of the home games with me. When she was younger, she wouldn’t have dreamed of missing a Blaze game. Now she prefers to be with friends or alone in her room.
We had a good time in Paris. Despite missing the text from Daphne, I know leaving our phones behind was the right choice. I took her for a quick tour of Sorbonne University while we were there, and she loved it. It’s still a bit early for college campus visits, but I wanted to show her that there’s a big world outside of Chicago, where she can do and be anything she wants.
Corey leans over to say something in my ear. “Hey, I saw that you’re not trending on Twitter anymore. What’s up with that?”
I smile and shrug. “I guess everyone figured out I’m not all that exciting.”
“Do you ever talk to the woman you rescued? Was that all just a bunch of bullshit about you guys getting together, or is it a thing?”
I’m doing my damnedest to make it a thing, but I don’t let Corey know. I only share my private life with my closest friends.
“You know how Twitter is,” I say dismissively.
“Yeah.” He takes a long drink of his beer. “She’s hot, though, from the pictures I saw. You should at least get some action out of the whole thing.”
I ignore his comment, because that’s actually the last thing I want. I hit my stride with my first business when I was twenty-four, and every woman I’ve been with since has been attracted to my money. They don’t have to say it for me to know. Renee spent money like it was her job when we were together. She wanted it all—vacation homes in exotic places, a yacht, and of course, chefs, housekeepers and other staff at her disposal no matter which property she was staying at.
I’m intrigued by Daphne for many reasons, and her disdain for my money is actually one of them. But even though she’s not after my money, I don’t want her to give me a chance just because I saved her life.
I want Daphne to see who I am, not what I did or how much I have. How do I accomplish that, though? I’ve racked my brain trying to decide where to take her for dinner tomorrow night. Hassan made reservations at five places and I’m going to cancel four of them when I make up my mind.
The place needs to be nice, but not too fancy. Romantic, but not obviously so. Low-key, but still private.
I considered taking her to Madeleine, the restaurant attached to the homeless shelter I funded. Reese Deveraux runs it, and the chefs who work there train homeless people for careers in the food industry.
If Daphne doesn’t already know I’m affiliated with Madeleine, though, I don’t want to call myself out. I’ll never know if she likes me for who I am if I’m trying to impress her with what I do. So our first dinner will just be the two of us talking over a good meal…but not too good.
My gaze is trained on the ice, but my mind is on Daphne. I’m pretty sure I’ll know the moment I lay eyes on her if she’s only going out with me so she can say she tried and there was no chemistry or if she actually likes me, too. Even a little. I just need something to build on.
She’s a strong woman who clearly doesn’t need a man. But she can want one. Preferably one in particular.
A St. Louis player scores a goal and I look away from the game. I can be competitive, and I want my team to win.
It’s what I do with my work, too—I try to win every day in ways big and small.
I buy companies that are on the verge of bankruptcy and make them run better, saving the jobs of the employees. I take eyesore buildings and breathe new life into them through renovation. I run the Blaze organization to be a team Chicago is proud of. A team with a fighting chance at the cup every year and happy coaches and players who get to do their jobs without me micromanaging.
I’m a lot more than a man sitting on top of a big pile of money. Tomorrow night, I have to make sure Daphne sees that.
Chapter Ten
Daphne
“It’s not a date,” I tell Julia as I shimmy out of a pair of jeans.
“You mentioned that about thirty times already.”
“It’s not.”
“Thirty-one.”
I glare at her. “Try to be helpful, will you? Pass me that black dress.”
My sister shakes her head. “You’re not wearing that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it covers every inch of you but your face and hands. Save it for the next funeral you attend.”
I groan with frustration. “What am I going to wear?”
She reaches into the suitcase she brought over to my apartment.
“My black leggings and booties, your purple cami and this gray cardigan I haven’t even worn yet. And some long silver earrings. Go take a shower and I’ll do your hair and makeup.”