When my gaze finds Castro, though, I experience a cascade of reactions. First up is OMG how can one man be so hot? He wears his traditional black tux as impeccably as an Oscar nominee. The perfect starched collar of his shirt stands out against his shapely, olive-toned jaw.
He’s holding a glass in those long fingers—the ones I still haven’t experienced on my body. Or at least not in the way that I want to. The man did hold me while I fell asleep last night. While I was too drunk to appreciate it. Or even remember it properly.
In the grand scheme of things, last night doesn’t qualify as an actual tragedy. But I feel bereft nonetheless.
He must feel me watching him, because he turns his head and catches me staring. My face reddens, which seems to happen a lot when I’m looking at him. But just as the embarrassment kicks in, something unexpected happens. Castro’s eyes heat. And he makes a slow sweep of my dress.
Lordy. It’s a good thing I’m wearing a lined bra under this gown because otherwise I’d have to blame the ocean breezes for the way my nipples are suddenly tight and sensitive. That man’s gaze could be sold as a weapon of female destruction.
His slow perusal of me ends when we lock eyes. And then he actually scowls before looking away.
“Heidi Jo?”
I look back toward Rebecca so fast it’s a good thing I don’t snap my neck. “Evening,” I say quickly. “How are you both?”
“Just fine!” Becca says with a smile, her diamond ring glinting in the fairy lights. “How are you holding up?”
“I feel terrific,” I say quickly. And it’s almost true. My headache has finally receded into the background. I take the tiniest sip of champagne, but it doesn’t appeal to me right now. “Are you excited for the golf tournament tomorrow?” I ask her.
“I don’t know if ‘excited’ and ‘golf’ belong in the same sentence,” Becca says.
“That’s my girl!” Nate toasts her.
“But we’re going to raise a lot of money for charity. And I get to drive the cart,” she says with a smile.
“Good plan. What can I do to help?” I’m fixing to ask that question seventeen times a day until she realizes the new assistant’s job belongs to me.
Becca shrugs. “Just be ready at eight thirty, okay? I’m sure something will come up for us to worry about. Something always does.” Becca’s gaze focuses on someone entering the party. “Heidi Jo, your father has arrived.”
“Here?” Even as the word comes out of my mouth, I know I shouldn’t be surprised. Money, golf, and hockey are his favorite things. So what if we’re a hundred miles from midtown? His driver brought him. Or else he took a helicopter.
I should have known.
A few seconds later, he arrives at my side. I open my mouth to greet him when he removes the champagne glass from my hand. “You won’t be needing this, sweetheart,” he says, his voice grim. “Good evening, Nate. Rebecca.”
“Evening, commissioner,” Nate says. “Are you ready to raise some money for adaptive sports?”
“Anytime.” My father chuckles.
“I didn’t see your check, though,” Nate adds.
My father scowls. “Maybe it got lost in the mail.”
Nate grins. “Just teasing you. I don’t ever see the checks. It’s probably on Becca’s desk.”
I’m not even listening, because my face is on fire. Daddy took that glass out of my hand as though I were a naughty teen. I’m used to him treating me like that, but usually it happens in private.
“Hello, Daddy,” I say as he turns to me, taking a deep drink of my bubbly. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I’m invited every year,” he says, glancing around the crowd. “And since you haven’t returned my calls today, I did not have the opportunity to tell you.”
Yep. I walked right into that one. My face burns even more brightly.
“But since we’re all here,” Daddy continues, “let’s spend a few moments talking about Heidi Jo’s internship.”
“She’s been a big help so far,” Nate Kattenberger puts in. “If you’ll excuse me—I have a few hands to shake.” He slips off, the way I wish I could, too.
“What did you have in mind?” Rebecca asks. So I guess we’re doing this now.
My father removes a piece of paper from his pocket. “There won’t be any desk jobs this year. I’ve made a list of the more utilitarian jobs at the rink—the ones you end up in when you don’t finish college. Take a look at this.”
“Oh,” Rebecca says slowly. “That’s an interesting approach.”
I want to kick him in the knees with my sparkly shoes. But I won’t make a scene. I look up at him with clear eyes, even if I’m dying inside.
Rebecca takes the list from my father’s hand and skims it. “These are the jobs you think Heidi Jo could do?”
“No—these are all the jobs she will do. All of them. One job a week for ten weeks,” he says.
“Hmm.” Rebecca flashes me a quick look of sympathy. “Covering the stadium ice is a union job,” Rebecca says. “She can’t work with those guys.”
“Then cross that one off.” My father smiles cheerfully. “There’s more than ten things on that list. She’s going to be paid exactly like everyone else who does those jobs—on the payroll—and I’ll personally reimburse each business unit. My assistant is ready to tackle the paperwork for those weeks when she’s…”
“Selling hotdogs for the stadium vendor?” Becca clarifies, still studying the list. “Cleaning locker rooms with the maintenance crew?”
Oh Lord, deliver me.
“For starters,” my father chirps.
“All right,” Rebecca says. “We can work with this. For now. A little later in the season, though, there may be an entry-level job that Heidi Jo can apply for—”
“No,” my father says immediately. Because interrupting people is his favorite pastime. “She will complete at least ten of the tasks on that sheet, or there will be financial consequences for her.”
My heart sinks again. I don’t have to ask what he means, either. My father is the trustee of the trust fund my grandfather left me. He can vest me any time after I turn twenty-one in a few weeks. But he doesn’t have to vest me. He can wait if he chooses.
And Daddy’s been hinting that college dropouts don’t deserve Grandpa’s legacy.
But ten jobs? Ten weeks? The job I want will be long gone by then. Rage bubbles up inside me, and I have to take a deep cleansing breath just to keep it inside.
“In fact we’ll start now,” my father says, crossing his burly arms. “Heidi Jo will be parking cars for the rest of the evening. Please go outside and report to the bell captain. They’re waiting for you.”
“Parking cars?” I squeak. “What does that have to do with hockey?”
“Nothing,” he barks. “But it has a hell of a lot to do with real life. It pays minimum wage. Do you know how much that is?”
I swallow hard. “No, sir,” I say softly. Please don’t make a scene.
“Eleven seventy-five in the New York suburbs. Thirteen-fifty when you’re inside city limits. Now go on. The bell captain’s name is Roger. Don’t keep him waiting.”
There is a horrible awkward pause. I can feel sympathy radiating from Rebecca. Her expression is stunned, with a side dish of appalled. She opens her mouth and then closes it again. My father’s antics are putting her in a very awkward position right now.
The last thing I need is for my future boss to be stressed out over something to do with me. And a well-raised Southern girl always knows how to do the graceful thing that puts everyone at ease. There’s one clear option open to me, and I take it.
I lift my chin as if I own the whole resort. “Good evening, then,” I say to Rebecca. And—without a glance at Daddy—I leave the party to go park some cars in an evening dress and sparkly shoes.
7
Jason
There have been nights when I’ve regretted my life choices. But this really isn’t one of them. I won’t hide from the league commissioner, because I’ve done nothing wrong.
I stand my ground, shaking hands with fans and nursing a beer that would probably taste better from the bottle than from the stuffy goblet the bartender handed me.