Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
I threw my purse on the low coffee table in the center of the office and took a seat on the couch. My father came over and sat just across from me.
“So are you settling in well?” he asked since I moved into a Brooklyn brownstone he bought for me without my consent or knowledge.
“Dad, you bought me a brownstone,” I told him, “not a small apartment like you said. It’s a flipping brownstone.” I had never lacked for anything. I had about four trust funds set up for me, yet I still attended a public school and hung around with ‘normal’ people, as they put it.
“It was an investment.” He smiled at me. “Besides, I’m still not talking to you for paying your tuition all through school, so call it even.” Not only had I paid for it myself, I actually got a job. My father was so proud of me, even if it was just at the coffee shop. “Now, I asked you to come here for a reason.” His voice got very formal, which made my eyebrows pinch together. “I have a job offer for you.”
“Dad,” I huffed out, about to get off the couch. “We discussed this. I’m going to get my own job. I have a master’s in communication and public relations. Surely that will get me somewhere.” I had been a nerd in high school, so much so I graduated a year ahead of everyone my age and I was no different having completed my master’s degree in just under two years.
“Listen to me before you start, Karrie.” He got up, going to his desk where he took a folder in his hands. “We’ve just acquired Matthew Grant,” he started, and I looked at him, not sure if I should have known who this was or not.
He placed the file down in front of me, and I opened it up and came face to face with the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life. His hair looked like he’d just run his hands through it. His face had a well-trimmed beard, his eyes chestnut brown, the same color as his hair. But what got me was the dimple on one side of his face. His smirk had melted many hearts as well as panties for sure. He was dressed in a suit with his hands in his pockets.
“He had been drafted number one over all when he was seventeen.”
I started to go through the file he had given me, taking in all his stats.
“He’s got a bad rep.” My father started, but I put my hand up.
“Bad rep. He got sent down after a couple of years for partying too much. It says”—I looked back—“and I quote, that he slept through a whole game before he realized he missed it.” I threw the file on the table. “How could you have actually signed him? He has trouble stamped all over him in big bold letters.” I waited for his answer.
“His stepfather is Cooper Stone.”
My eyebrows shot up. You couldn’t be a hockey fan and not know Cooper Stone.
“Plus, the new coach wanted him”—he looked down and blew out a breath—“and I agreed, but only if he would have a chaperone.”
All the pieces started clicking into play. “You are not serious!” I asked, “You want me to babysit him?”
“No,” he replied, “I want you to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble, and all his publicity will be handled by you. I want you to feed stories to the press. I want to make sure by the end this guy looks like a reformed monk.”
“Dad”—I shook my head—“you can spin this however you want to spin it. You want me to make sure he doesn’t get in trouble. You want me to watch him and hold his hand. It’s a babysitter.”
“You are the perfect person for the job. Besides, it’s an entry-level position, so no one is giving you anything. You would also have to travel with him to every single game, as well as let him have a room in the brownstone.” His eyes moved to the floor while he said the last part.
I flew off the couch. “Are you insane? You want me to live with a menace to society? What if he’s a serial killer and we don’t know? What if he’s a cross dresser? What if he brings home hookers, or better yet drugs, and I’m stuck in the middle?” My voice rose. “You can’t honestly think this is a good idea.” My hands went to my waist while I waited for him to say something, anything, that he agreed this plan was insane, but instead of agreeing with me he leaned further into the couch and smiled at me.
“Honey, you are over-exaggerating. I would never put you in any danger. You know this. And besides”—he hugged the back of the couch—“we do random drug screening.”