Page 42 of Face Off With Fate

“Really?” My back straightened. “Just like that? You don’t need to hire a PI to check into me? Or demand a blood sample?” I gasped, earning an eye roll. “A blood sacrifice?”

He shook his head and pushed off the truck, closing the distance between us. But I swore there was a hint of a smile.

Well, like a slight pull at the corner of his mouth if you squinted really hard.

“You really are trouble, you know that?”

I peered up, heart beating a little faster. “Seems I’ve heard you say that a time or two.” The stupid butterflies were back, and I needed them gone, so I brought up the one thing I figured would kill the moment. “Either you’re really good at keeping your personal life from the media, or it’s been a long time since you’ve been out with a woman. Because I couldn’t find a single thing about your love life online.”

Monroe’s face blanked, his entire body going still.

“You didn’t look up Goldie’s mom, did you?” The question was quiet—strained.

I swallowed. “Yes, and no. I did a general search for women you’ve been linked to, assuming at some point something would mention her and your daughter, but nothing did.”

It was my job to know all Monroe’s dirty laundry, but with this…

I couldn’t bring myself to uncover it. Some stupid part of me wanted him to tell me, and not out of obligation.

“I stopped looking.”

He nodded, but didn’t say a thing.

I shifted under the weight of his attention, focusing on my feet and the sensation of sand and dirt clinging to the soles. Anything to avoid his stare. It felt like being dissected, pulled apart to unlock every secret.

But I didn’t think he was searching for my secrets—only his.

He wanted to see if I’d found them.

The rough pad of his finger hooked under my chin, tilting it up. “I’d appreciate it if you kept it that way, Graciella.”

How could I say no to that?

TWELVE

MONROE

THE MAN IS SO DOWNBAD.

The puck snapped loose from Hogan’s stick, cutting clean across the ice to where Jimenez muscled through two Nashville players. He sent it Thatcher’s way, who was positioned in front of the cage.

Only seconds passed, but it felt like time stood still.

The puck launched off Thatcher’s stick, grazing past the goalie’s glove, and slammed into the back of the net. Upper left corner.

The game tape stopped on the screen. The other three still played sports news and highlights. One even mentioned the dinner in two days. I scrubbed a hand down my face as I leaned back in my chair. I didn’t need to watch the film. Not really. That moment had burned into my psyche. We’d clutched the win with ten seconds to the final buzzer.

Fucking Stanley Cup winners.

“If you let people see more of that smile, you’d make both our lives easier.”

I sat up at the sound of Graciella’s voice. She leaned against the frame of my office doorway, arms crossed under her chest.

Hot pink.

That was today’s nail color. Hadn’t quite figured out if there was a pattern to when they changed or if the determining factor was how much polish she’d chipped off.

“There a reason you’re here?”