Page 33 of Lucky Puck

“No, I’m not exactly sure how to get out of this fiasco with my career intact.”

“We’ll figure out a way.”

She gives me a skeptical smile and pats my arm. “Thanks for the thought.”

“I mean it. That’s a promise. I’m your client, and that’s not going to change. No matter what Jett says.”

Her eyes go wide. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying if Jett tries to fire you, I’ll talk to him.” My chest clenches at the grateful, adoring look on her face, and I brace myself for her hug because I’m finding it hard to control my impulse to kiss her. In fact, it’s getting a helluva lot harder to control myself every time we come in contact. Which is crazy because normally I wouldn’t find a woman like her so attractive. I’d want nothing to do with a serious woman who’s clearly not a player—the definition of Brooks.

She swallows hard and seems to gather herself, and in an unusually quiet voice for her, she says, “While I appreciate your generous offer, I’m pretty sure Jett would call your bluff because he knows you aren’t crazy enough to leave the best sports agency in the world.” She aims her brave but wavy smile straight ahead and goes on with obvious bravado.

“Besides, I’m only an assistant agent, barely starting out, and if I managed to get myself fired from the best agency in the business, well then that’s a sure sign this career wasn’t meant to be.” She stares down at her lap, sounding so defeated I can’t stand it.

Putting a finger under her chin and lifting it gently so I can look in her eyes, every muscle in my gut twists because I see the misery and the glitter of tears.

“Call me crazy, but I think you’re wrong. You have something special, super-agent Brooks.”

She snorts her skepticism, then claps a hand over her mouth, and I watch a pretty pink blush climb up her cheeks. She has no idea how sexy she looks, and the notion of her innocent sensuality makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“I don’t think there’s another agent out there who would go to such lengths to protect their client as you have.”

She snorts another laugh and doesn’t bother covering it up this time.

“Plus you’re smart and a spitfire. The way you handled Stubby—whatever the hell his name is—back at the arena made me want to… clap my hands.” I almost admitted to wanting to kiss her senseless again. Shit.

She looks at me funny. “Clap your hands?”

I see a hint of her smile, and a funny blip rolls around in my chest like I’ve swallowed a small frog. The urge to kiss her burns hotter, and I glance at Sabien, who has his eyes closed. Then my eyes meet the driver’s in the rearview, and I regain my sanity and some semblance of my self-control.

The last thing we need is a stranger seeing us making out like a spectator on the set of a hockey soap opera. Not that I should be taking advantage of our proximity and indulging myself in kissing the bejesus out of her because she’s still way out of bounds in spite of the charade, but the last thing I want is another person gossiping about me and Brooks.

I shake my head. Now that the media has grabbed hold of the newlywed story, I have no idea how we’re going to get out of this mess.

But I’m not going to make the mess worse by toying with the likes of the seriously untouchable Bianca Brooks, at least not beyond harmless flirting. Another scorching hot kiss like the one we had in the training room would be a step too far at this point because I sense she’s not only innocent, but that she’s far too vulnerable under her pseudo-cynical, business-like exterior.

While I’d love to find out what’s underneath her superficial layer of protection, I’m not a selfish prick and have no intentions of taking advantage of our situation, of hurting her.

Because this situation is temporary and going to stay that way. I’m the real deal when it comes to being cynical, especially about women and relationships.

Her phone buzzes loud enough for all of us to hear in the confines of the car, and I wait for her to answer it, but she makes no move—except to bite her bottom lip. Which I find fucking sexy as hell.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

She shrugs.

I snort a laugh, and she stares at her manicured nails until the phone stops ringing. Her nails are short and bright with a touch of glitter. A good reflection of who she is, practical and brilliant and full of spunk—possibly mischievous under her serious ambition.

Chapter Fourteen

BIANCA

We arrive late at the warehouse where the commercial is being shot. So we scramble from the car, giving me less emotional space to feel guilty about not answering Jett’s phone call. I know it was him without looking, but I’m too chicken to hear any bad news.

Biting my lip because a gulp of guilt hits me when I realize he could be calling to tell me about the birth of his new baby.

“Let’s get going.” A useless thing to say since I’m doing a terrible job of getting Brody to the shoot on time.