Bound (6 page)

I dialed the numbers quickly, before I had a chance to reconsider.

“Ryke.” His voice was curt, and I didn’t know what to say. This was a bad idea.

“Um, hi. It’s Kate Camden, from—”

“Kate. Hi.” His inflection was warmer now, and I relaxed a little.

“I was wondering if . . . maybe we could talk a little more about what you’re looking for in an assistant.”

“Yeah, absolutely. When is a good time for you?”

“I’m fairly open.” Major understatement. My calendar was as blank as a newly painted white wall.

“I’m just hanging out at home tonight. I live on Lake Shore. You can come here or we can meet somewhere.”

“I can come there. I’m in Westchester, so I can be there in maybe half an hour?” My heart was hammering at the possibility of being alone with a hot guy at his apartment, and it was a mix of anxiety and excitement.

Get a grip, Kate. He just wants you to pick up his dry cleaning and make his coffee.

“I’ll text you my address. See you in a bit.”

Hanging up, I glanced down at the grungy white cutoff sweats I wore. I’d need to change for the meeting that was as close as I’d come to a job interview.

***

It ended up being closer to an hour before I was walking up to Ryke’s building. To avoid paying a fortune for parking, I’d had to get a spot on a street more than two blocks away.

A doorman nodded and smiled as he held the large glass door for me, and the cool lobby air washed over my sweaty skin. I’d been in stunning downtown lobbies before, but this was the first time I’d visited someone who lived in a place like this. Gray and white swirled marble covered the floor, and large vases of tall, exotic flowers decorated rich wood tables.

“Miss Camden?” A middle-aged man in a dark uniform that matched the doorman’s approached me. I nodded and he gestured for me to follow him onto the elevator.

“Mr. Ryker asked me to see you up to his floor
,” he explained as he inserted a key and pushed a button on a panel. I smiled tightly and murmured my thanks.

The ride up was smooth
and silent, and I looked over as the doors opened. “Thanks again.”

“Have a nice night, ma’am.”

I’d never been a ma’am in my life, and I tried not to smile. I was in a small lobby, with more marble and fragrant flowers. There was only one door, and I knocked on it tentatively. It was only a couple seconds before Ryke opened it, and I sucked in a nervous breath as I saw him.

He wore black shorts and a red short-sleeved shirt made from the thin, nearly nonexi
stent fabric I knew athletes liked to wear since it was so breathable. His short dark hair looked a little damp.

“Hi
.” He smiled as he stepped aside so I could walk in, and the warm, fresh smell of his cologne kicked up my nerves a notch. “So, this is my place.”

I forced my eyes away from the defined lines of his huge biceps to check out the apartment. It was incredible. All the outside walls were windows from floor to ceiling, offer
ing a stunning view of the lake. Tiny boats dotted the water and the setting sun glowed orange and pink.

Dark wood floors contrasted with ivory walls, which were mostly bare. The furniture screamed bachelor pad: an enormous leather sectional, two leather recliners, a big screen television and a coffee table.

“This is the kitchen,” he said, leading the way though the view was already open to it. It was straight out of a gourmet cooking magazine, with commercial stainless appliances, marble counters and clean white cabinets.

“Wow. This is a little overwhelming,” I said. “I need to be able to make coffee, and what other kinds of stuff?”

“You don’t have to do any cooking. I don’t expect you to make me coffee either.” His voice had a smile in it, and I let myself relax.

“Okay. What would I do?”

“Mostly just help with my schedule. Like keep track of where I am and where I need to be. You can coordinate with Mimi, because sometimes she cooks nice meals and I’m not even home to eat.”

“Is that your girlfriend?”

“No, no.” He smiled and looked amused by the suggestion. “She’s my housekeeper. She’s in her 50s, I think. I should know how old she is because I should know when her birthday is, but I’m lousy with stuff like that. That’s what I need you for.”

I looked around
the sparkling kitchen. “It looks like she does a good job. This place is immaculate.”

“She’s great. You’ll like her.”

“You’re pretty confident I’m taking the job,” I said, arching my brows with amusement.

Ryke looked away, seeming embarrassed as he laughed lightly.

“What kind of hours do you want me?” I asked.

“Uh . . .”

There was a hint of a flush on his dark cheeks, and I cringed at my wording.

“Let’s see,” he said, running a hand through his ha
ir. “I’m just doing offseason training, and I usually do that from nine to three. So if you could maybe come over at eight, and we can touch base before I leave? And then again when I’m done?”

I nodded, wondering how I would keep busy at this job.

“And sometimes I’ll need you evenings or weekends. We can work that out as we go.” His big brown eyes were expectant as he looked at me. “What do you think?”

“If you’re sure you want me, I’m up for it.”

“I’m sure.” He smiled and I admired his perfect white teeth.

“So . . . do you want me to start Monday?”

“Sure. Or sooner. Do you want to start tomorrow? Mimi doesn’t work weekends, so I cook for myself. You want to come to the farmer’s market with me?”

I knew it was lame that I had no plans on Friday night or Saturday, but why hide it? He’d know I was a social zero soon enough anyway. “Sure.”

“Great. I can pick you up if you give me your address.”

“I’ll text it to you. And I guess you already know I’ll need Tuesday nights off.”

“I’d never keep you away from Trace.”

I laughed as I walked to the door. “Until tomorrow, Mr. Ryker.”

“Ryke.”

“Until tomorrow, Ryke.”

“I look forward to it.”

Chapter 4

Kylie’s greeting on the other end of the phone was more like a groan than an actual word, which was what I deserved for calling her at 7:30 on a Saturday morning.

“Hey,” I said. “I know it’s early, but I need some wardrobe advice. If you were going to the farmer’s market with a pro hockey player, you’d wear . . .
?”

“What?” She was awake now.

“I have a job! I’m the assistant of a hockey player. And we’re going to the farmer’s market. I’m not sure if I should wear a sleeveless tunic and leggings or jeans and a t-shirt.”

“Back up,” she said. “You’re the assistant of who?”

“His name’s Jason Ryker.”

“Holy shit, Kate! He’s famous. He does tons of endorsements. He was on the list of most eligible bachelors in Chicago last year.” Kylie was my polar opposite when it came to gossip and pop culture; she stayed up on everything.

“And he’s gonna pick me up in like 15 minutes, so . . . the jeans or the leggings?”

The squeal on the other end of the line was so loud I had to pull the phone back from my ear. “You’re going to a farmer’s market with Jason Ryker? Take p
ictures of him, okay? And when are you gonna introduce me?”

“Kylie.”

“Wear the leggings. And send me a picture!”

“Bye.” I rolled my eyes as I hung up to slide on my cropped black leggings and pink tunic. I’d blown out my hair the night before.

Mom looked at me over the top of her reading glasses at the kitchen table as I poured myself some coffee. Reading the newspaper had always been part of her morning ritual.

“You look nice, honey.”

“Thanks. I decided to take that job after all, and I’m starting today.” I took the coffee to the living room, where I peeked through the front curtain as I drank.

“You aren’t driving?”

“No, Ryke’s picking me up.” I looked up and down the street. Not a car in sight.

“His name is Ryke? That’s different.”

I said nothing, just sipping and staring. Glancing down at my flip flops, I wrinkled my face when I saw my toenails were painted red. I wished I’d changed them to pink.

“I’d like to meet him, so don’t run out the door when he pulls up.”

“It’s not like that, Mom. It’s not a date.”

A red Jeep slowed and turned into the driveway, and I called a hurried goodbye over my shoulder as I ran out.

When I saw Ryke grinning at me from the driver’s side of the Jeep, I wished I’d packed extra panties in my purse. He wore a backwards black baseball cap, dark sunglasses, and a gray t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, the tear extending all the way down to his waistline so I could see the cuts of his toned muscles.

I needed a cold shower and a slap across the face. This was my new boss.

“Hey,” he said. “I’d open your door, but . . .” The Jeep’s doors had been taken off, and I could see it would be a breezy trip since the top was off, too.

He backed out of the driveway and I caught a flash of blonde hair in the front window as we left. I’d relinquished my adulthood when I moved back home.

The whipping wind made conversation difficult. I gathered my long hair and tucked it under my shirt to keep it from slapping my face. At every stoplight, Ryke drew the attention of women in neighboring cars and on the sidewalk, though he seemed not to notice.

He parked in
a downtown garage and we both climbed out of the Jeep to walk.

“You smell good,” he
said when we met up.

“Thanks.” I was so out of practice at receiving compliments. I considered telling him he looked crazy good, but it seemed a bit much.

“So, is there a dry cleaner you prefer to use?” I asked.

“Uh . . . no. Whatever you think. I leave all the decisions to you.”

“All of them? So do I even get to choose who you go out with?”

He laughed lightly, glancing at me. “I don’t go out with anyone. That’s one thing I need you for, to be my date at some of the functions I have to go to.”

“Surely you don’t have trouble finding dates,” I said suspiciously.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re . . . you know, a hockey player.”

“That’s the
problem, though. I’m not into puck sluts.”

“And those are . . . ?” I knitted my brows together.

“Hockey groupies. Women who just want to pull a hockey player.”

“Oh.
”

We’d approached the tables laden with produce, and Ryke studied a basket full of dark purple plums.

“You like?” he asked, holding one up. Why did it matter if I liked them? We were shopping for him.

“Yeah, those look good,” I said.
“So, you don’t date
at all
? You’re a hockey player slash priest?”

Amusement danced in his caramel colored eyes when they met mine. “Uh. I don’t date, but no, I’m not celibate.”

“Right.” My cheeks warmed. “So the, um . . . puck sluts must be good for casual sex, then.”

“That’s all they’re
good for. And most of us think a one-night stand with those chicks is still several hours too long.” He handed over some money for a bag of plums. “I think I’ll grill tonight, I’ve got friends coming by. What should we make?”

We? I wasn’t prepared to cook dinner for a bunch of rich guys who pr
obably ate fancy food every day and wanted to fist-bump over their latest sexual conquests.

“Um . . . maybe shish-ka-bobs? I’ll help you shop and get set up, but I have something I have to do tonight.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

I had to keep this professional. Not only because the thought of sex made me sweaty and nervous in a way that was more sickening than hot, but also because I needed this job. No more conversations about puck sluts. That was his deal, and mine was keeping him organized.

***

Ryke

I stepped out of the shower and rubbed a towel over my face, reaching for my watch on the counter. 8:10. Kate had gotten here at eight yesterday, so she was probably in my kitchen right now. I wrapped the white towel around my waist and considered walking into the kitchen for coffee that way.

When I’d come in the apartment yesterday afternoon and pulled my sweaty t-shirt off over my head, she’d flicked her eyes away and a slight flush had colored her cheeks. I’d thought about it all evening after she left. I wanted to make her blush again, and I was sure walking out in just a towel would do it.

But then I remembered Mimi. That might be awkward since she’d never seen me any way but fully dressed. My walk-in closet was right next to the bathroom, so I went in and dressed in the first shorts and old t-shirt I saw. And briefs, since working out in boxers wasn’t an option.