Gage was waiting at the airport when Laurel came out of the gate. Her breath caught as she looked at him, taking in his tall, lean frame, the longer hair, those steel-gray eyes. Jesus, how was he still this sexy? Didn’t he age?
“Hey, babe.” His gaze was unwavering, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst in the desert.
And roughly fifteen years after the first time he’d done it, it still had the same effect on her.
“Would you stop calling me that?” she demanded softly.
He was a billionaire, yet he was standing there in jeans with holes in the knees, a tight, black T-shirt that showed off his beautifully sculpted torso, black biker-style boots, and a denim jacket. Wasn’t it like two degrees outside? She mentally shook her head, trying not to stare and failing miserably.
“Sorry.” He gave her a brief smile and moved towards the baggage claim area. “How many bags do you have?”
“Two suitcases,” she responded. “I have enough clothes to last a bit and a couple of pantsuits for games, but I’ll need to find time to shop or—”
“I’ll send for a tailor,” he interrupted. “You’re not going to have time to breathe the next few weeks. Team meeting tomorrow morning at the arena. Organizational meeting tonight at my house with the GM, VP of Hockey Operations and a few others. You’ll need to get up to speed quickly.”
“Have you booked me a rental car?” she asked.
“Of course. It’s waiting at my house.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t send a car for me.”
He frowned slightly as he peered at her. “I realize our relationship hasn’t been the best of late, but do you really think so little of me?”
“I don’t think little of you at all, it’s simply your reality. Chauffeurs, limos, assistants… It makes sense, considering who you are and what you’ve become.”
“What I’ve become?” He raised his eyebrows. “Should I be insulted?”
“Don’t be coy. You have more money than most people can even imagine—why wouldn’t you have those things?”
“First of all, while I do employ some of those things as well as many others, I’m still me. I drive myself to work, watch football on Sundays, and drink ice-cold Corona with lime when I’m at the beach. I’m still the same guy you married in college, Laurel. I don’t know why you’d think otherwise.”
“We’ve been together two minutes and we’re already arguing.”
“We’re not arguing, but I’m sure we’re about to.”
“Oh?” Now she was the one with raised eyebrows.
“I think it’ll be easier if you stay at the house.” His silver eyes gave nothing away but she knew him well enough to know he was being deliberately nonchalant. “You being at a hotel opens you up to the press following you, ambushing you, strangers going through your things when the maids come in… I really think it’ll be better all-around if you stay at my house, even though I’m sure you’ll give me eight hundred reasons why it’s a bad idea.”
She hesitated. Staying with him would be the worst idea ever. Their separation and subsequent divorce had hurt her terribly, but there were good memories too, or they wouldn’t fall into bed together every time they breathed the same air. Letting herself get too close to him was never a good thing because once he turned on the charm it was close to impossible to resist him.
“I’m happy to put you up at a hotel if it’s a deal-breaker,” he continued when she didn’t respond right away. “But I genuinely think you’ll be more comfortable at my house. Especially since the media got wind of the firings earlier today and have been staking out the arena to see what’s what.”
“You’re probably right,” she conceded finally. She didn’t mind dealing with the media when it came to hockey, but anything about her personal life made her miserable.
“I am?” He paused, looking at her intently. “When was the last time you let me be right about something?”
“The last time you were actually right.” She nudged him. “Those are my bags, smart-ass.”
He grinned. “Still tie the pinkest ribbon available around the handles, I see.” He grabbed both of them off the conveyer belt and pushed them ahead of him.
“Of course.” She followed him outside and immediately spotted the limousine waiting.
“And no, I didn’t drive myself here because it’s a lot more convenient not to have to park at the airport. So you were right—I have changed about some things.”
“If I had a limo, I’d take it to pick people up at the airport too,” she mused.
“Good to know.”
The chauffeur took her bags and Gage let her get into the long black car ahead of him.
“Yours or a rental?” she asked, glancing around at the plush interior. The seats were leather, the minibar sported crystal stemware and the TV on one side was bigger than the one in her bedroom at home.
“Mine.” He reached for a glass. “Would you like something? I have your favorite moscato chilling.”
She sighed. Classic Gage. Always so thoughtful.
Sweet.
Generous.
Misleading.
She had to remember that. No matter how solicitous he was, he would inevitably hurt her. This was the professional opportunity of a lifetime, but she had to emerge on the other end with her heart intact. It had taken her years to get over him, and going back to a place where she cried herself to sleep every night wouldn’t be good.
“One glass,” she said after a moment. “I probably need my wits about me for this meeting tonight.”
“There will undoubtedly be pushback,” he admitted, pouring a glass and handing it to her. “Your résumé speaks for itself, though, and the coach of our AHL affiliate landed a little while ago. It’ll just be the two of you tomorrow night, but if you think Dani would be an asset, we can reassign her for the night.”
“I did some research on the plane,” she said. “There are eleven games left and we’re neck and neck with two other teams. If San Jose loses two, the Sidewinders lose one, and we win eight, we’re in.”
He whistled under his breath. “That’s not going to be easy.”
She smiled. “Nothing about this is easy. Do you think there will be blowback for firing your coaches with three weeks left in the season instead of just waiting?”
“It was impulsive, no doubt about it, and everyone’s pretty upset with me, but a few years on Wall Street—not to mention the military—thickened up my skin so I’m not worried about it.”
“Well, I’m worried about it,” she admitted, sipping her wine.
“Your record speaks for itself and we’ll figure it all out. We just have to get through the meetings tonight and in the morning, and then the first game.”
“I can handle myself as far as my professional pedigree goes, but I really don’t know how to answer the personal questions that are inevitable.”
“Keep it simple. College romance, married too young, things didn’t work out but we’ve remained friends and have the utmost respect for each other. When I called you about this, you were happy to step in to help both me and the organization.”
“Sounds about right.”
Maybe.
This was nuts. She had no business being here, dammit. The excitement of getting to coach at this level was slowly being drowned out by regret, an unfamiliar twinge of insecurity, and the never-ending reality of being so close to Gage for any extended period of time. How the hell was she going to fake romantic indifference and “utmost respect” to the press? She was a coach, not an actress, and they were definitely not the same thing.
She was so screwed.