Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(60)

But waiting is hard.

Tonight—when I was just home from work and contemplating Nate’s emailed invitation to the game—my phone rang. It was Jared Tatum.

I didn’t answer it, of course. My lawyers have urged me not to communicate with him directly. But I took it as a sign to get out of the house. I’d opened the door to the hallway where Duff sat. “Hey, how about a change of plans? Let’s watch hockey from the rink this time.”

He’d leapt out of his chair. “Seriously Miss Alex? Me, too?”

“Of course. But we have to leave soon. There will be traffic to Brooklyn.”

“I’m ready any time.”

And now here we are, walking down the VIP concourse toward Nate’s box. “It’s that door,” I say, pointing.

“Cool,” the kid says. “This is so awesome. And maybe we can ask someone when Eric Bayer is gonna play again?”

“Sure.” I feel my face heat, though. Because I don’t want anyone to guess my other reason for coming to Brooklyn tonight. My favorite hockey player has been missing for three games. Last week, when I tuned in to watch Brooklyn play Chicago, Eric wasn’t on the roster. And when I asked Bingley where he was, he informed me that Bayer was out with “a lower body injury.”

I’m familiar with his lower body. And it’s a shame if any part of it is injured. So I guess a subtle inquiry wouldn’t be out of place. “If it comes up, I’ll ask Nate.”

“Miss Alex,” Duff says with a chuckle. “It’s okay to be a fan girl. Everyone has a favorite player. Your secret is safe with me.”

But fan girl doesn’t even scratch the surface. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Eric. It’s been four months since that trip to Hawaii, and not a single day goes by where I don’t wonder where he is, or what he’s doing.

But I never returned his call to my office, because I don’t trust myself. If he came over to visit me, I’m pretty sure I know what would happen. Or worse—I know how bad I’ll feel if it didn’t.

“Do we have, like, tickets?” Duff asks as we approach the door. “Or do we knock?”

“The pass code is on my phone. Hang on.” I pull it out, and discover a message from Eric’s brother, Max. Call me. “Oh, geez. I have to make a call.”

“Right now?” Duff whines.

“Yup. Your boss wants to talk to me.” I step to the side, because the game is about to start. It would be rude to take a call in the suite. But if Max has news for me, I need to hear it.

“Alex,” Max answers on the second ring. “How’d it go with the lawyers?”

“No news yet. I was hoping you had some.”

“No, sorry,” he says quickly. “I’m calling about your other problem.”

“Oh.” I deflate. It hasn’t been a good month at work, to put it mildly. There was a fire at the factory in China where we manufacture motherboards for The Butler. My launch had been going well until our supply chain was abruptly threatened. “What’s the news?”

“I’ve come across some evidence of sabotage.”

“You’re kidding me. Who’d want to sabotage the Butler?” The board will lose their minds. They already are. I’ve spent the week fielding calls about our sudden halt to production. “Are you sure?”

“I’m confident. And I’m working on a theory about who did it. Have you found another source for the hardware?”

“Several. I haven’t chosen one.”

“Is Xian Smith one of the potential distributors?”

“He did call.”

“Take the meeting,” Max urges me. “Ten bucks says he offers you better terms than anyone else, on more units than anyone else can give you before Christmas. But then you have to turn him down.”

“Wait, what?” My head spins. “Max, if he really can bail me out, I’ll have to do what’s best for the shareholders.”

“Let’s talk more about this in person,” Max says. “Soon.”

“You sound very paranoid right now, even for you.”

Max laughs. “You pay me a lot of money to be paranoid. Can I see your list of potential new manufacturers? I’ll tell you why soon.”

“Sure. I have to go.”

“Enjoy the game,” he says.

I hang up, realizing I never told him I was going to the game. Then again, it’s Max’s job to know where I am at all times.

His man Duff is already doing a tap dance outside the door. So I quickly key in the entry code and pull open the door.

As I enter the suite, several people turn to face me at once. “Hi, stranger!” Nate calls out. “Come on in.”

Rebecca—that kind soul—also finds the will to smile at me. “So glad you made it.” She pops a potato chip into her mouth. “Let me take your coat.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling sheepish. “Your sweater! It’s adorable.”

“Thanks!” she glances down. It’s purple cashmere and the Bruisers logo is stitched right in. “Nate had it made for me.”

“I love it.”

I remove my coat, and Becca lets out a little squeak as she takes it from me. “Well! Hello, baby!”