Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(7)

“Yeah. From what my boss indicated it’s definitely a male client.”

“Ooh, maybe this one will be über hot and you’ll fall for him.”

Hot or not, that would be a big NO! Fraternizing with the client is strictly forbidden, which is fine with me. Lainey has no idea how messed up these guys actually are. And yes, I use the term “guys” because our firm works with far more male clients than female ones.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s hot,” I say to Lainey. “We’re not permitted to date our clients.”

“That’s a shame.”

“No, not really,” I reply. “These guys are usually complete nightmares.”

It’s true. I’ve worked with two male clients so far this year alone, and both were so screwed up that each required a multi-month commitment. Dating either of them would never have crossed my mind.

“But you help them become all sweet and kind,” Lainey says.

Oh, the delusions of youth.

Chuckling, I reply, “I wish I had that kind of influence, Lain. But the truth is I only help my clients straighten out enough so they become successful again. They tend to remain epic jerks.”

Case in point, my most recent client, an aging quarterback, turned out to be more than a handful. He was a fallen hero with a massive pill-popping problem, and my job was to fix him before the fans figured out what was really going on. His team was close to canning him, but I finally talked him into giving rehab one final try. It worked too. But I had to hang around to counsel him and make sure it stuck. The quarterback—and I wish like hell I could share his name with you—is right now in training camp. I’m proud to report he’s clean and sober, and throwing bombs like he did ten years ago.

But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a terror to work with. He was. He blatantly hit on me every freaking day, begging me to go out with him, forbidden or not. The grossest part was he was freaking married!

Ugh, I need hazard pay.

And I totally do.

Before the philandering footballer, I was assigned to work with an alcoholic actor. Back in the day, this guy was every teen’s dream. But now thirty, he was struggling to land roles. Even though he was half in the bag and ready to give up, I took him on. I got him sober and back to feeling good about himself. I heard just the other day that he landed a role on a hot new TV show.

Good for him, even though he was an ass. Too bad my non-disclosure agreement precludes me from sharing with Lainey how he used to find it infinitely amusing to flash his dick, like every single day I worked with him. She’d freak if she knew that. But she’d really freak if she knew just how tiny his lusted-after prick is.

I chuckle, thinking of how that itty-bitty thing was so not worth showing off. Even my hungry-for-dick lady bits were bored.

“What’s so funny?” Lainey wants to know when I start giggling.

“Oh, nothing,” I reply, pulling myself together.

“Is it something about a client?”

“Lainey,” I warn.

“Damn it, Aubrey,” she huffs. “You never tell me anything good.”

“I can’t,” I remind her. “Believe me, I wish I could. But you know how it is. I sign strict confidentiality agreements with each and every client. If I told you anything specific I’d get fired from the firm.”

“Someday, I swear,” Lainey says, sounding mischievous, “I’m going to get a name out of you. And I bet when it happens it’ll be because you fall for one of these guys.”

“Never going to happen,” I maintain. “You may as well give up on that crazy fantasy.”

My sister groans. “Boo, you’re no fun. But you bet your ass I’m holding you to the having fun-rule tonight. I know just where we’re going too.”

“Oh no, what am I about to get myself into here?”

“A text popped up while you were talking. Apparently there’s a party tonight at some sweet lake house just outside the city. I’ve heard of the place. I think it belongs to some rich baseball player.”

“Sports, huh?” I start chewing on my nails. “I don’t know about this, Lainey.”

“Oh, come on,” she pleads. “This isn’t one of your clients. You told me yourself you’ve never worked with any f*cked-up baseball players.”

“That’s true,” I murmur, considering.

The only problem is that Lainey doesn’t know a baseball from a football. I guess I’ll have to trust her on this one. I can’t back out now, not after all my “new me” talk. Nonetheless, I picture all the files I’ve recently seen at the office, ones for everyone in our firm. When I’m satisfied there’s never been any baseball clients in Minneapolis, I say, “Okay. I’ll go.”

“Cool. Promise me you won’t change your mind at the last minute and back out.”

“No, I’m all in,” I assure her.

“Thank God.”

“After all,” I continue, trying to convince myself more than her. “What possible harm can come from attending one little party?”

“That’s the spirit,” Lainey says.

Yep, this is the new me, throwing caution to the wind.

“You’re about to see a whole new side of me tonight,” I tell my sister. “Someone wild and fun and free.”