The pink in her cheeks went darker, but she fixed him with a glare. “Watch it, buddy. I may need the money, but you try to sexually harass me and your balls will be in some serious danger.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Let me point out that you were the one who brought up taking off your clothes, not me. Still, I apologize. I’m not really known for saying the right thing at the right time.” No, Dan Sharpe had a habit of always doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. Funny, none of his teammates had cared until last year. Probably because until then, hockey was the only thing he’d never screwed up.
Guess there was a first time for everything.
Which was why he was here. Hiding out. Couldn’t say the wrong thing to the press if they weren’t around. Couldn’t mess it up more, make everyone’s life harder if he was far, far away.
That was the hope anyway. His hope, his agent’s hope, and though Dad hadn’t been anything but encouraging, Dan had a feeling he was really hoping his son didn’t screw up his chances at a front office promotion.
Besides, Grandpa had once said this place had meaning. Dan might be needing some of that meaning in his life if hockey evaporated.
Damn, but he needed to get his shit together. He turned back into the kitchen, leaving the door open for Mel. “Coffee?”
“Please tell me you didn’t just roll out of bed.” She stepped inside, eyes immediately assessing the kitchen as she took off her hat and placed it on the counter. She looked even younger without the hat, with freckles, a fresh face, and her dark hair pulled back into a serviceable braid.
But his eyes kept falling to her mouth. It made him think of a different kind of servicing.
Which was super douchey, even for him.
“I’m still working on the time change,” he offered by way of sad excuse. Bottom line, he had no idea what time it was. The clocks in this place were all wrong. His phone had died last night, and he hadn’t felt much like charging it—not when all the calls seemed to be more bad news.
“Yeah, that one-hour difference must be a real bitch.”
He snorted in surprise. Mel Shaw was an interesting development. He’d been expecting some crusty old stodger to yell orders at him while he slaved over menial tasks. Truthfully, there had been some appeal in that.
There was some appeal in Mel doing the same, though. Anything to keep his mind occupied was A-OK in his book. Since he couldn’t skate to clear his thoughts like he usually did, this was the only other thing he could think to do.
“All right. First, you need to get dressed. Into clothes you can actually do some serious work in. You’re also going to need a different vehicle. I’m assuming money’s no object for you, and you’ll need something with hauling capabilities. Besides, that bike will get eaten up driving around out here.”
She said it with such obvious disdain, like he hadn’t worked hard for his money. Sure, he wasn’t saving the world one blown Stanley Cup game at a time, but he was sacrificing his body and possibly a healthy old age for the fans’ enjoyment. He wasn’t exactly sitting on his ass having gold coins thrown at him.
“You’re giving a lot of orders to a guy who’s your boss.”
She kept her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re not my boss. Consultant means my job is telling you what to do.”
“I’m paying you.”
“You’re paying me to teach you how to run this place. That means I’m in charge and you listen to what I say. Basically, you’re paying me to be your boss. Keep that in mind. Now, go get dressed so we can actually get some work done around here.” She gestured to the back of the house. “I’ll make the coffee.”
He didn’t move or say anything at first—just watched her. She certainly looked like Ms. Tough Guy, but she also didn’t meet his gaze, and she looked uncomfortable, maybe even restless. Like this job was the last thing she wanted to be doing with her time.
Interesting.
So, he gave a little nod. “Can’t say no to that. I like mine with cream.”
She snorted, turning to the coffeepot. “Of course you do,” she muttered.
He had to chuckle. Three months of going toe-to-toe with some cowgirl with an attitude problem sounded a hell of a lot better than flashbulbs, veiled and not-so-veiled accusations.
And who knew? It could even be fun.
Chapter 2
Mel stared at the coffeepot, watching dark liquid trickle into the glass carafe. She didn’t like the jittery feeling in her gut. Nerves. But not quite like the nerves she got when she had to go talk to the bank or miss a payment on something. These were different nerves.
Crap-he’s-hot nerves. She’d googled the guy. She’d seen some pictures of magazine shoots he’d done, but she figured Photoshop had gone a long way toward making him look like some kind of hot celebrity.