Risky Business Page 8

  Up until that moment, Allison’s greatest fear had been failing as a business owner. The idea of trying to run Cloud Nine if Theo walked away was unthinkable. He might not have walked away yet, but he still could. And then what would Allison do? She drew a steadying breath to push away the panic threatening to take hold of her. If that happened then she’d be okay. No matter what, she was going to be okay. Because she was in control of her destiny now, not Lowell or Theo or the creditors, lawyers, or even the devil on her shoulder that told her this was impossible and she was doomed to fail. Just Allison.

  And she was going to keep telling herself that until she believed it.

  Harper squeezed her hand. “What I’m trying to say is don’t let him get under your skin.”

  Too late. She darted another glance at him. Despite the windchill, he’d shed his jacket and squatted on the deck in a short-sleeve T-shirt, using a power drill to bolt a board over the electrical panel he’d been working on. She gave some serious consideration to his biceps, then blinked away, shaking her head. “I’ll give it my best try.”

  Harper was grinning. “Oh, I didn’t say you shouldn’t enjoy the view. We might be smart, strong businesswomen, but we’re not robots.”

  “I think this would be easier if I were.”

  Harper hugged her. “Hang in there until Thursday, then come to the game with me. Think of it as a carrot for getting through this first week.”

  After seeing Harper out, she returned to the kitchen and arranged the hot wings on a nice plate. Harper had known Theo for a long time, and if she thought food offering would help Allison smooth things over, then she could swallow her pride and deliver his lunch. After a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed a beer from the fridge that she’d stocked the weekend before for Duke and his crew.

  When she emerged, Theo was back to working on the boat’s engine. Standing as close to the edge of the canal as she could without awakening her panic, she called his name, but he didn’t seem to hear her, just like earlier when it was obvious he was ignoring her. She shouted his name louder, but got no response.

  She hated being ignored. Hated it with a passion. This ended now. As a matter of principle, she was going to stand there holding that plate of hot wings for as long as it took for him to acknowledge her, even if all she did was drop them in the water when he finally caved and looked her way.

  After a while, the music shut off. He looked over his shoulder, saw her, and called something harsh to her in French. With a shake of his head, he added, “You’re staring at me. What do you want?”

  She tried to do as Harper suggested. This was his way of telling her he cared. He was really a nice guy putting on a surly show. Rather than escalate the situation by responding in kind, perhaps it was time to extend an olive branch instead of a middle finger. “Harper stopped by. She brought you hot wings.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Deep breath. She was going to give this one more try before she gave up. “She said you play hockey.”

  “She shouldn’t have, because it’s none of your business.”

  So much for that. She marched forward, as near to the edge of the canal as she could handle. “I’m trying to make conversation.”

  “About my personal life? Not going to happen.”

  Oh, this man. She took another step nearer to the edge. “She invited me to your game on Thursday.”

  “Then consider yourself uninvited.”

  Feeling the proverbial smoke coming out of her ears, she marched down the stairs, plate and beer in her hands. The nearness of the water made her dizzy so she kept her attention solely on Theo. “You don’t own Lanette.”

  She hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but he made her mad enough that she could spit.

  His expression hardened even more, which she hadn’t thought possible. “No.”

  “You don’t pay rent on it, either.” That time, she meant to push his buttons. She’d never even considered charging him rent and had no plans to, but he had an edge over her in every other way, holding information about the business hostage and thereby leaving her to drown as a business owner. Like he was orchestrating everything to ensure that his prophecy of her failing came true. This was all she could think to do to hit him in his weak spot.

  He pushed up from the crouch he’d been in and wiped a rag over his hands, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Are you accusing me of freeloading? Because I made the offer to buy her more than once to your dear, sweet husband, and he refused.”

  “Number one: Lowell isn’t sweet or a dear, and he’s definitely not my husband anymore. Two: I’m not accusing you of anything. Freeloader was your word, not mine. And three: why would Lowell refuse? Lanette is your home and he had nothing to gain keeping the boat unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  The way he smirked made her think she was right and there was more to the story than he was going to share. Sure enough, he answered, “You’ll have to ask Lowell about that.”

  She was so over the idea of going to the prison to talk to Lowell ever again. Been there, done that. And she’d vowed to spare herself from the ordeal and stress of listening to him plead for her to take him back, or of waiting for him to ask about Katie, though he never did.

  “I will,” she bluffed.

  “Are you going to sell Lanette to me?”

  There was challenge in his voice. Distrust, too. She held the deed to his home and, even though she’d openly admitted that Lanette should be his, clearly he didn’t expect her to do the right thing and hand it over to him.

  The assumption made her feel like a villain. Already, she was holding it over his head, using it as a weapon to lash out at him today. Right then and there, even though it meant giving up the most sure-fire leverage she had, she decided to transfer Lanette’s ownership to him. It was the right thing to do, and that had to count for something, if only karmically.

  But that didn’t mean she had to hand over the deed that very moment, while he was being so rude and unhelpful. He deserved to sweat it out if only because he’d refused to help her acclimate at Cloud Nine and Destiny Falls in any way. Even this small conversation got her back up enough that there was no way she’d lie down like a rug and let him stomp all over her.

  “I’m still wading through the paperwork, on my own, which is slow going since I don’t have any help, and I’m not making any major financial decisions until I figure out what I’m dealing with. Are you going to come get these hot wings or not?”

  She held the plate and beer out, meeting the narrowed, spiteful gaze he issued her in return. If he wanted a staring contest, then she was game. She was one of four siblings and, therefore, practically a professional at them. He had no idea the caliber of stubbornness he was dealing with.

  Finally, he sniffed and looked at the water. He threw the rag down, flipped the radio back on, and stepped into the boat’s cabin, dismissing her and her offering.

  Oh, hell, no.

  There was only one thing to do. She jumped onto the boat and threw the plate into the boat cabin, Frisbee style, at Theo’s back. He ducked, exclaiming in French. Then she twisted the top off the beer and overturned it in one of the plastic drink holders affixed to the deck railing. Shaking with adrenaline, she pivoted on her heel, jumped back onto the dock, marched up the stairs and into the office, where she dialed the number to Lock, Stock, & Barrel.

  “Hi, Harper? It’s Allison. I had a change of heart. I’d love to go with you to the hockey game.”

  Chapter Seven

  Anyone who claimed that intensity didn’t have a smell had obviously never spent any time in a locker room before a big game. It used to be that men’s league hockey was a fun way for Theo to blow off steam after long days of dealing with tourists, Lowell’s mistress/secretary, and boat motors that wouldn’t start. Not this season.

  Intensity had a way of turning the ai
r heavy with sweat, medical tape, and the soapy steam from one or more of the players’ ritual pre-game shower—on Bomb Squad, that player was Liam. The smell and pressure of the room reminded Theo of the minor league and the pressure put on teenage boys to perform as well as professional, full-grown men.

  Every game had taken on more significance now that Wounded Veterans International was watching. They still hadn’t heard whether they’d been selected to play in the exhibition game, which wasn’t a surprise, but it didn’t ease the tension in the locker room any, thinking that their every play might sway the scouts’ opinion. As far as any of the guys knew, there weren’t any scouts at tonight’s game, but that didn’t mean word wouldn’t get back to them if Bomb Squad ended their season-long winning streak with a spectacular loss.

  It used to be, Theo thrived on the pressure of keeping up a streak, whether it be of the scoring, winning, or body checking variety. But now, with Brandon and the others counting on him to help make their whole team an inspiration to combat-wounded vets all over the world, the pressure took him back to being sixteen. It took him back to the way his parents looked in the stands at every game, like their lives depended on his next goal, on the approval of the Major Junior League scouts sitting in the stands. Which, in their eyes, their lives and futures very much had.

  That old, familiar frustration settled in his chest—at the position that he’d landed himself in, despite his best efforts, and that he kept finding himself in, despite years of fighting to cut the chains pulling on him by people who expected him to be their salvation.

  He fisted his hands, thinking about how his parents used to pray in the bleachers that God would help Theo get noticed by the scouts and sponsors, and save them from losing their house. Like a sixteen-year-old boy could thrive with that kind of responsibility on his shoulders.

  Allison Whitley wasn’t going to last the season as Cloud Nine’s owner without his aid. She was absolutely fucking helpless, but the more he attempted to illustrate that to her, the more stubborn she got in her commitment not to do the right thing and sell the landing to him.

  Oscar thought he had a decent case for a lawsuit, but needed to do some discreet research into Allison and Lowell’s divorce settlement. Theo loathed the idea of blindsiding her with a lawsuit—it felt like a petty, chicken-shit move—but she’d left him with no choice. Thinking about her refusal to sell even Lanette, juxtaposed with the help she expected Theo to give her, tightened his chest even more. He embraced the ire, growing it inside himself, knowing it’d make him invincible on the ice if he could keep the feeling alive.

  He knocked his skate against the base of his locker and stood, more pissed off by the second. No doubt about it, he was going to have the game of his life tonight.

  He was slugged in the shoulder and turned to see Liam, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Your boss lady’s here.”

  Goddamn it. Theo wasn’t sure what pissed him off more, the reminder that Allison was the person signing his paychecks or that she was butting her nose into his personal life against his express wishes. That half the men in the locker room were looking his way, grinning, didn’t help.

  He shrugged, feigning indifference, and turned to face his locker, grabbing his gloves.

  Will appeared at his side, leaning his shoulder into the next locker over. “Think this’ll be part of your performance review?”

  Behind him, he recognized Brandon’s snicker over a sudden rush of blood in his ears. “I think I’d like her to give me a performance review.”

  “She’s a hot piece of ass,” someone across the room added, loud enough for Theo to hear, but not so much that he could tell who it was.

  Oh, hell, no. Theo dropped his gloves to the ground and took a slow turn around, leveling what he hoped was a searing glare at every man in the room. Especially Liam, Will, and Brandon, for kicking off the conversation and refusing to let it die. What he really wanted to do was slam their heads together to wipe the suggestive smiles from their faces.

  He couldn’t remember a time in recent memory that he’d been so locked up with frustration that it turned his bones to iron. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. You don’t get to look at her like that. None of you. Understood?”

  Will pulled his face back in surprise. Then he laughed. “You’re invoking the Bro Code? Wait . . . you have a thing for Lowell Whitley’s ex-wife?”

  Theo locked his fist at his side and forced out a steadying breath through his nose. Will wasn’t interested in Allison; he was only spoiling for a fight like he was apt to do. Too bad for him Theo had learned a long time ago not to let himself be suckered into Will’s dares. “I don’t have a thing for Allison Whitley. And this Bro Code bullshit is child’s play.”

  Brandon crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t insult the Bro Code.”

  “You mean the ‘rule’”—Theo bracketed the word with air quotes, feeling his carefully constructed control shatter all over again—“that implies a woman is so indiscriminate that she’s happy to go along for the ride with whichever man calls dibs on her first?”

  “Huh?”

  Theo swiped his gloves from the floor, feeling inexplicably claustrophobic. He was done with this conversation—with talking about Allison Whitley like she was some kind of prize for them to pound their chests over, as all the while she sat in the stands just beyond the ice rink door, invading Theo’s life in every way. He couldn’t even get in the zone for a game in the privacy of the men’s locker room without her mucking it up.

  “How about I try to define the flaw in the Bro Code in a way you can understand?” He slammed his locker closed and stepped over the bench to face-off with Brandon. “I wouldn’t want to be with a woman who would be equally happy getting fucked by you. Any of you.”

  Will folded forward with a loud chuckle. “Oh, snap. That’s cold.”

  “Hey, now.” Brandon gave Theo’s chest a shove, backing him out of his personal space. “I didn’t deserve that. I know you’re having a shitty week, and I know you think Allison Whitley is the devil incarnate, but don’t take it out on us. Save it for the ice.”

  Even through his anger, Theo realized Brandon was right. It was uncanny how easily Allison got under his skin, how quickly she took his emotions from zero to overdrive every time they had to breathe the same air, which was just about every damn waking minute since she’d arrived. He’d been looking forward to tonight’s game all week, eager to blow off some serious steam and mentally reset himself so he could figure out his next move in the chess match against the Whitleys.

  It pissed him off like crazy that the devil incarnate was so difficult to ignore. There was something about the way Allison carried herself, in her eyes and the way she talked, that made his attention snap her way every time he was near her. And when she wasn’t in sight, he couldn’t get out of his head the way her body had shaken with anger and fear in those drenched, leopard print panties and pink bra after she’d climbed out of the canal. Or the look on her face when she came stomping down the dock on Wednesday, so mad at him that she forgot she was afraid of water.

  He would have been proud of her if she’d braved her greatest fear for any better reason than to throw a plate of chicken wings at him.

  The absurdity of that thought and the memory of Allison all wound up and spitting mad drained the fight right out him.

  He drew a conciliatory breath so Brandon would get it that Theo knew he’d been wrong. “She doesn’t belong here, and the sooner she figures it out, the better off I’ll be. So you can’t come on to her, any of you. You can’t give her the wrong impression that she’s welcome. She’s not.”

  Technically, that was how Theo felt, but the sentiment sounded wrong, despicable even, when said aloud. True, Allison didn’t belong as Cloud Nine’s owner. He resented the overly dramatic way she’d descended into his life and business without warning. She wasn’t welcome around
Theo in any way, shape, or form. But she and her baby didn’t deserve to be shunned or put out on the street.

  He didn’t want to kick her out; he’d wanted to buy the business from her, legitimately and for a reasonable sum of money that would be a cushion for her and her baby until she found new work and a new place to live—in a new town. Hopefully the threat of a lawsuit would be enough to persuade her to agree to sell. Either way, he didn’t want her getting comfortable in Destiny Falls, like she might if one of his teammates started dating her or sleeping with her.

  Come to think of it, what did any of the guys want with a needy, newly divorced mother with a temper? It had to be the novelty of having a single woman move into town.

  It wasn’t like any of the guys on Bomb Squad was right for Allison, either. Liam hated dealing with civilians. Theo had seen a few of the women he dated and dumped. They were emotional wrecks by the time Liam was done with them. Will was still too full of rage about losing his hand to treat a woman right, which he knew, and so kept his distance from every last one of them. Brandon thought about women just like he thought about everything else in his life, like they were a game to be played.

  And whichever guy in the locker room had called her “a hot piece of ass” was lucky Theo hadn’t figured out his identity because he would have snapped the man’s dick in half before he let a creep like that anywhere near Allison or her baby.

  After a glance at the clock on the wall, he strapped on his helmet and grabbed his stick, giving himself one last reminder not to look for her in the stands. Stewing about her presence was distracting enough, and he was determined to focus. Bomb Squad had an unbeaten streak to uphold. After Duke’s whistle and final words of battle, they poured out of the locker room and onto the ice, ready to pulverize the Brockport Blarney Stoners.