Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,5

comfort, told herself it could be an interview outfit, and said, “I’ve never been a city person. Heck, I’ve hardly ever even been there.”

Shoot. She hadn’t meant to say “heck.” Nobody sophisticated said “heck.” Also not “shoot.”

Blake was leaning back against the desk, his hands gripping the edges. His voice was gentle when he said, “Then don’t you think you should try?”

“Uh …” She gathered the tattered remnants of her professionalism around her, stood up, and said, “Thanks for your concern. I’ll think it over.”

“Wait,” he said. “Something else. The Yellowstone Snow Lodge—that’s Old Faithful, winter version—wants me to come check them out and, I don’t know, post an Instagram picture or something. I told them I’d send my assistant first to see.”

He had not. “I don’t need charity,” she said. “You’ve been my employer. Now you’re laying me off. Happens every day. I’m fine.” Now her face was really burning. A woman ought to be able to reach the age of thirty-four without blushing anymore. It was just that she hated, seriously hated, showing anybody that she wanted to run and cry, and she hated it more when somebody pointed out that she obviously needed help. She was competent. She was capable. She managed her life. She always had.

She just had to hold herself together for another two minutes, and she’d keep her dignity. Her positive, can-do attitude. Her professionalism.

It might not be much, but it was what she had.

Blake sighed. “You’re still working for me, and right now, I want you to check out the Yellowstone Snow Lodge. It’s probably about fifteen degrees in Wyoming at the moment, which is another reason this Southern boy doesn’t much want to drag his butt down there. Oh, and that it’s Super Bowl weekend, and they only have TV in the bar. They told me that like it was a feature. I spent half the playoffs on the boat, which means I missed half the playoffs, and I had to pretend I didn’t care, because I was on my honeymoon. And then, when I did watch, the Devils lost the AFC Championship. In the final seconds. I’m telling you that, even though I’m sure you already know, being such a good assistant and all. I don’t much feel like watching the Super Bowl in public, not to mention having a whole lodge full of strangers watching me watch it and asking me how I feel about it. Which is why you’re nominated. This weekend. Starting Friday night. Which is the day after tomorrow.”

“I don’t know how to ski.” She was not going to Yellowstone. This was ridiculous. Why couldn’t he just lay her off like a normal person?

“Weak,” he said. “They have snowshoes. You’re going. Friday to Monday. I need you to, because it’ll make me feel less guilty. It’ll give you peace and quiet to think about my offer, and your future. Maybe you could even examine your dreams. It’s possible. Then you can come back, take the rest of next week to set me up so I can live without you, and start on that comp time. Your last day is two weeks from Friday, whatever that is. Oh, and take somebody to Yellowstone with you. You’ve got a boyfriend, right? Take him. Meanwhile, I’m going to assume you said yes and start your employer search. Time to push the baby bird out of the nest. And before you say it—I’m not going to let you work for an asshole. Just some guy who got richer than he was expecting to, so you can have the satisfaction of setting his disastrously disorganized life to rights. I’m negotiating the salary, too. I’m your agent, and you don’t even have to give me a cut. Now go away and start packing. I’ve been on a plane all day, and this is a boring conversation.”

“Blake—” she began.

“Go away,” he said. “I told you. Boring. I’m a star. I don’t do boring. Besides, you’ve got plane tickets to buy, plus whatever other arrangements there are to get to Wherever, Wyoming, population two thousand. You think I took care of those? You’re wrong. That’s what I have an assistant for, so go away and assist me. We’re done.”

Once Jennifer left, absolutely not crying, Blake went downstairs and found Dakota.

She was standing beside the wall of windows, her hands against the glass, looking out at something that probably existed only in her mind, but when she heard his step, she turned and asked, “How’d it