Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(22)

Everyone that is, except for me.

Oh, but I do know that face. It belongs to a panty-stealing pervert, one whose damn bed I was in this morning.

Please, let me disappear now.

The new client also happens to have the distinction of being the jerk who kicked me out of his house, sans the underwear he stole.

“I am not working with this woman,” I hear Panty-Stealer murmuring to the man next to him, like he’s the wounded one in this scenario. “I absolutely cannot be around her, Jock.”

I glare over at him. Brent Oliver has some nerve.

He can’t work with me?

He probably has my panties in his possession right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were tucked away in the pocket of that on-fleek suit he’s wearing, the one that looks freakishly good on him.

Yet here he is, acting like I’m the problem.

While I can’t believe this is actually happening, the agent guy is telling Brent to simmer down.

“This subject is not up for debate,” he snaps. “We discussed this in the elevator. You have to work with her.”

“But she’s f*cking crazy,” Brent states, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“How do you know that?” the agent asks.

“I just know.”

“That’s enough!” I jump up from where I’m seated at a long conference table and point my finger over at him. It’s not the one I’d like to raise high in the air and shove in his face, but rather the more innocuous one to the left. “I am not crazy,” I go on, defending myself. “If there’s any weirdo in this room, it’s you.”

Oh my God, did I really just say all that out loud?

This man makes me lose control of everything—my body, my mouth, just about every damn part of me. All heads pivot from me to Brent then back to me. They gawk at us like we’ve both lost our minds. Well, everyone does except for Brent’s agent. That guy is chuckling. I even catch him muttering under his breath, “This is going to be more fun than I expected.”

“Whatever,” I grumble.

The man who introduced himself earlier as Mr. Dolby, Director of Player Operations, is seated directly next to me. He hammers his fist on the table and calls for order in the room. There are two interns who were passing out files earlier, and who are currently filling our glasses with water. When they start snickering, Mr. Dolby abruptly dismisses them. As the young lady and her male counterpart scamper out of the room, leaving only four of us, I blow out a breath.

You can do this. Pull yourself together.

Introductions are made like nothing weird just happened. I find out the agent is named Jock Sosarelli. I’ve actually heard high praise for him, so I shake his hand. I refrain, however, from having any contact with Mr. Oliver. He receives only a curt nod from me.

When Brent and his agent take a seat on the opposite side of the table from me and the director, I can’t help but note my adversary—er, I mean new client—looks a little tired.

Good, I hope his head hurts as much as mine does.

My headache had pretty much dissipated, but it’s back to pounding. It’s having an effect on me too, as I suddenly realize I’m the only one still standing.

Oops.

“Sorry.” I nervously smooth down the sides of my skirt as I prepare to take a seat. “Guess I should sit down now too, huh?”

Crap, I’m never all flustered like this. I’m the epitome of professionalism…usually. This damn Brent dude has me off my game.

Mr. Dolby and Jock smile at me politely. But not Brent Oliver. Oh no, there’s nothing polite coming from Panty-Stealer.

No doubt recalling what he stole from me, he stares directly where my hands are smoothing down my skirt, only more centered, like directly at my crotch area.

I sit down hastily. Cocking a brow, I look directly at the epic jerk and hiss, “Really?”

Mr. Dolby clears his throat and, twisting to me, says, “Ms. Shelburne, do you foresee a problem working with Mr. Oliver?”

Yes, I foresee about a hundred problems, my internal self screams. But to Mr. Dolby, I mutter, “No, there’ll be no problems.” I open the file and pretend to peruse the contents. “Everything is fine. I’m just feeling a little off from the long flight out here.”

“Clearly, though,” he goes on, unconvinced. “It appears by your and Mr. Oliver’s behavior that you two are already acquainted in some way.”

I’m not sure what to say to that, except for maybe a little squeaky, Help. Someone save me now.

Someone does save me, someone I’d never expect. And it’s Panty-Stealer, as he interjects, “We met once, sir. It was at a party at my house in Minnesota.”

More like post-party, but okay, I can roll with this.

“Minnesota?” Mr. Dolby asks, clearly perplexed.

“Interesting,” I hear Jock the smarmy agent murmur.

I nod and throw in, “Yes, yes, we met in Minnesota. There was a party at Mr. Oliver’s house. I must say, however, that it was a very brief interaction.”

Brent smirks over at me. “It would’ve lasted longer, our, as Ms. Shelburne puts it, interaction.” I glare over at him. What is he doing? “But,” he goes on, flashing his million-dollar megawatt smile. “We were both very tired. Isn’t that true, Ms. Shelburne?”