Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 53233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
“How many billions do I need to get that kind of attention?” Brian jokes, laughing.
Jill gives him an icy glare.
“It was a joke, babe,” he says, putting his hands up. “You know you’re the most beautiful woman in the world to me.”
Jill is still fuming, though. “If she worked for me, we’d be having a talk right now.”
“Based on what?” I ask. “She didn’t say anything inappropriate.”
“The innuendo was there, and all three of us know it. I know you get it all the time, Olivier, but it’s infuriating for me as a woman to see other women sexualize themselves in the workplace.”
I nod, because she’s not wrong. “I get what you’re saying.”
“Other men aren’t as noble as you,” she says. “They take advantage.”
Jill’s strong opinion on this reminds me so much of something Daphne would say that I feel a physical pang of longing for her. And Jill referring to her as my girlfriend earlier gave me a similar feeling.
Now that Twitter users have collectively decided we’re a couple, the attention has actually died down. They seem to be satisfied that we rode off into the sunset together, as they were all lobbying for.
It’s far from the truth, though. Even though I made my intentions clear during our lunch date, Daphne left things up in the air. She asked for time to think about things, which I thought would be a day or two, but it’s been a week and she hasn’t said anything about making a decision.
Is it really that much to think about? I can tell she has feelings for me. The fact that she’s genuinely thinking about whether we should move forward excites and aggravates me at the same time.
She’s the opposite of the women who throw themselves at me. Daphne’s making me work for it, and even then, she’s sure as hell not a sure thing.
Maybe it’s time to write another check to Safe Harbor. Of all the charities Daphne cares about, surely none are as close to her heart as the one she works for. She doesn’t want to be wooed with jewelry or exotic trips—supporting the causes she cares about is the key to making Daphne weak in the knees.
I promised myself I wouldn’t use my money to score points with her, but I’m not sure I can help myself. I want her to know that what matters to her matters to me, too. And with her decision about us still unmade, I need to try everything I can to win her over.
Daphne’s too damn stubborn for her own good. If she would just let go of her doubts and give in to the way it feels for us to be together, she’d be here beside me right now.
I glance at the empty chair and exhale hard, rubbing my forehead.
The arena darkens, and the roar of the crowd dulls. The synchronized light, music and video show begins, images of the players and coaches projected onto the ice.
Jill leans over and says, “This is fantastic, Olivier. I see why you like your Chicago office better.”
I chuckle, because she’s right. It’s a drag to go back to New York anymore. Chicago is home to me and Giselle, and that’s partly because the Blaze players and staff are like family.
Fans cheer wildly for their team, especially Jonah West, our goalie, and Anton Petrov, our team captain and first line center. Those two have always been the most popular.
Seeing the team together on the ice, raising their sticks in greeting to the fans, fills me with a sense of pride.
I may not be out there playing the game, but I’m still invested in every win and loss. There are many perks to being wealthy, but nothing compares to owning the Blaze.
Once the puck drops, I excuse myself and go to the bathroom. I’m careful to never let a camera catch me looking at my phone when I’m in my box during a game. I think that would be disrespectful to the players out there playing their hearts out.
But Daphne is on my mind. I text her from the hallway outside my box.
Me: How was your nephew’s party?
Daphne: It was nice. He loves caramel so his cake had a layer of caramel filling and it was amazing. And he loved his gifts. He promised to make me lots of pictures with the art supplies I got him.
Me: Glad you had a good time.
I hesitate before sending the next text, because while it’s true, it makes me feel like a pathetic bastard. But fuck it. I’m going out of my mind.
Me: I miss you.
Daphne: Me too. Maybe we can have lunch this week?
I want to ask her if we can have a three-hour lunch at my place, with about fifteen minutes dedicated to eating and the rest spent in bed, but I hold back.