“Dex, too?”
“Hale can talk to him. It’s his job after all.” Hale Fitzpatrick, the new general manager, would be officially starting January 1. “I love these boys but sometimes the mothering aspect can be a bit much.”
“Yet you do it so well.” Casey grinned. “Speaking of, you should scoot because I’m sure you have stuff to manage for the party.”
“That’s why having a kept man is so useful. Remy’s on site and if anyone knows how to throw a party, it’s him. But I do need to make sure the girls haven’t dirtied their dresses. Knowing my pushover husband, he gave in and let them get gussied up hours ago.” She smiled, seemed to hesitate, then ventured, “Bringing a date tonight?”
“To the party? Oh, God, no!” The notion shouldn’t be ridiculous. Casey was twenty-nine years old, reasonably well-adjusted, and not completely hideous. There was no good reason why she shouldn’t be dating except for the obvious.
Her prick of an ex had left her hollowed out.
“If you ever want me to help set you up …” Harper let that hang before adding the kicker, “I’m pretty good at matchmaking.”
“Funny because Dante insists you’re terrible at it.” Dante Moretti was the former general manager, now married to Cade Burnett, a Rebels D-man. “Said that he’d barely been here a month and you were trying to set him up with people who would never work.”
“While he was seeing one of my players under the radar. Sometimes we only know what the heart wants when faced with what it most certainly does not. That ingrate still refuses to admit how much I helped!” She checked her watch, set in a gorgeous bracelet given to her by Remy. “Okay, I’d better head out. People will be arriving at six but stop by early so we can have a cocktail before it gets crazy.”
That was so sweet of her to include Casey. “Will do.”
Harper swished out, leaving the scent of jasmine in her wake and Casey alone in the empty suite. With only two days to Christmas, everyone else had left early, taking advantage of the boss’s generosity to run errands and buy gifts and prepare for the party.
Casey’s parents would be on a Caribbean cruise over the holiday, something they did every year since they retired to Florida. (Because they didn’t get enough sun all year round.) They had invited Casey but she usually felt like a third wheel around them, so she’d declined. She would take a couple of days in January and visit them then.
Which meant she would be alone again this Christmas. Naturally.
Agh! Don’t be such a Debbie Downer.
Dream job, great apartment, grumpy cat.
An hour and sixteen minutes later, her tasks completed, she headed to the restroom to get ready. She wouldn’t usually spend so extravagantly but this dress had called to her from the rack at Macy’s. A jewel-toned red, it hugged her hips, stopping about ten inches short of her knees. The neckline dipped a little more than she was used to, but hey, she had cleavage she never showed at work. Or ever. Time to give the girls some air.
The privilege of showcasing abundant cleavage had cost two weeks’ salary but she had wanted to treat herself. With her dark, usually unmanageable curly hair up off her neck, she looked unusually glamorous, almost good enough to be on the arm of an associate at Willebrand, Nagle, and Jones LLP.
But not quite. Andrew had worried that their relationship—an up and coming law associate and the woman who worked as paralegal to one of the senior partners—wouldn’t have quite enough cachet to push him to the top. Casey had supported him, emotionally and financially through law school, talked him up to Mr. Willebrand when Andrew came in to interview, and remained resolutely two steps behind so it was clear who was boss in the relationship at the office.
What a dummy she had been.
She had one reason to be grateful. Andrew had encouraged her to seek alternative employment because he thought both of them working at the same law firm “might not look so good.” So she had left a job she enjoyed and taken the position of Harper’s assistant, only to find out a few weeks later that Andrew had been preparing to cut her out of his life in all areas. He’d wanted to ensure no “awkwardness” at work before he brought down the hammer of splitsville just over a year ago.
Eight years together, off and on, and now she was alone—and trying to convince herself she wasn’t lonely.
She had done a good job of blocking out the negative. So she might have checked Andrew’s social media every now and then. They were still friends on BookFace (shout out to Jim Halpert in The Office!), all part of her efforts to maintain a mature attitude to their uncoupling. Sure, we’re all adults here, she’d said over a year ago when he told her their relationship had run its course. Like this was a natural and logical end. Like she hadn’t poured everything she had into it only to be told she no longer fit with his plans for Chicago legal community domination.
Last night had been the law firm holiday party, and one of her old colleagues had shot her a text saying she missed seeing her there. All day, she had sat on her hands, avoiding the temptation to check out pictures from the gathering. It would be the usual glad-handing, photos of dear old Mr. Willebrand looking a little squirrel-eyed after one too many White Russians, and Andrew with first year associate Melanie. Fresh out of law school, fresh on the ladder. Just fresh.
Casey didn’t need the reminder of how she had been so easily discarded and replaced.
She smoothed her lip gloss, and if her finger shook while she did it, she ignored it. Tonight she would have a nice time at the holiday party and enjoy the eve of a few days off.
A final check in the mirror and she was ready to go. She stepped out of the bathroom and ran right into the one person she did not want to see.
Erik Jorgenson.
Worse, Erik Jorgenson in a hot-damn suit.
All the guys looked great on travel days, but there was something about the way the Rebels goalie looked in Hugo Boss that got her engine running.
Overheating.
Kaput.
Right now, he stood tall and oak-solid in front of the elevator bank, defending it like it was the Rebels’ goal, scrolling through his phone. He had yet to see her. Maybe if she backed up a step, she could hide in the restroom until—
“Casey.”
Damn! Why did her pulse give that traitorous little whoop of recognition when he said her name? At this point her mind and body should be on the same page. Lord knew she had discussed her problems enough with only her hormones and her cat to hear her.
“Oh, hi.” She took a step forward, trying gamely not to let any of her senses absorb the vision that was Erik. The blond hair, freshly washed and kissing his broad suited shoulders. The trim beard that shaped his jaw like a layer of angel dust. Those sumptuously blue eyes now staring at her with terrifying intent.
Her senses were having a hard time ignoring the obvious: Erik Jorgenson was a stone-cold hottie. But her brain had yet to raise the white flag. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to take you to the party.”
“What? I didn’t ask you to do that.” Had some part of her subconscious reached out and wished him here?
“Harper told me you needed a ride. I was over at the gym, so I figured I’d stop in and see if you were still here.”
Dante was right. The woman sucked at matchmaking.