Page 16 of Lucky Puck

I hesitate and exchange a glance with Bigelow. “He’s wearing the ring.”

“He’s still wearing it?” Her voice rises with panic. “I can’t let my fiancée find out⁠—”

“We’ll get it off him as soon as we can get to a jeweler.”

Bigelow nods. “I’ll arrange an appointment for immediately after the game⁠—”

“Shit,” I mutter. “He has an appearance after the game. Maybe we can get it taken care of in between. It should be quick and private.”

“I need the ring right away. I can’t go back home without it.”

“Then you stay here. With Bigelow. He’ll take care of you. I need to get to the game.”

“The NHL All-Star game?”

“Yes. Didn’t you know⁠—”

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t like that. We didn’t exchange names or details. The only reason I know his name is Brody Holden is because I had his wallet.”

“Thank you for returning it.”

She hesitates a few beats. “You’d better get my ring back immediately after the game.”

I want to ask her or what? But I don’t dare tempt fate.

“Of course. And we need to keep this whole…” I wave my hands. “Affair... strictly confidential.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can’t let my fiancée find out.”

Checking my watch, I mutter to myself. “I have to get going if I want to make the opening face-off—which I do.”

“I’ll manage things here,” Bigelow says. “I’ll arrange a private appointment with a discreet jeweler and keep Tammi company—here in your room if you don’t mind. Maybe we can watch the game on TV.”

“Swell,” the showgirl says without enthusiasm.

“Don’t you have to work?” I ask Bigelow.

“My shift ended an hour ago.” He smiles, and I know I’m in trouble because I’ll need to compensate him extra for working after hours. My insides tumble around a little more because I’m banking on the agency paying for all this, but there’s no guarantee that Jett won’t make me pay, or that he won’t fire me as soon as he finds out.”

“I’ll call you when we’re on our way back from the game.”

Leaving them in my room with only a slight cringe of concern owing to my optimistic view of humanity, I rush down the hallway, not wanting to spend another minute in Tammi’s company. I hit the stairwell, ready to ramble down fifteen flights in order to avoid waiting for the elevator—I’m not sure why.

My unease with Tammi grows with every flight of stairs because all I can think about is her laughing and naked with Brody, playing games, as she put it, after she drugged him—and I don’t care how harmless she claims it was. Plus, the worst is that she was engaged to another man hours before her game-playing, and now she’s apparently re-engaged.

Besides, I wonder as I clatter down more flights of stairs than I normally see in a month, what kind of woman steals a man’s clothes for the fun of it?

It’s no wonder I don’t like her. There—I admit it.

I swear on my late grandma’s soul it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s tall and gorgeous and spent a decadent night with Brody. Because he’s only my client who I’m supposed to be looking out for. There is not even a hint of an element of jealousy. I’m a professional, not a jealous girl with a stupid crush.

I’m smart and successful and independent. I never aspired to be someone’s arm-candy, and not just because I’d never qualify in a million years. I’m happy to be who I am. I should be, because I’m special. I’m The Bomb, on my way to the top in my profession.

As long as I can get through this weekend without running into any more problems.

Chapter Eight

BRODY