Is this seriously happening? He wants me to get out of bed and grab him bagels that he won’t eat for hours?
A part of me wants to go to sleep, wake up a little earlier than he does, purchase the second batch, and see if he can even tell, but with my luck, he’ll wake up at five and be looking for his bagels with none to eat.
Reluctantly, I slide out of bed, put on my shoes, and text him back.
Wylie:Send me the address, and I’ll grab those bagels for you.
Levi:You’re awesome. Thanks. It’s Port Hole Bagels.
I pull up Google Maps on my phone and look up Port Hole Bagels, only to find that it’s a forty-five-minute drive from here.
Mouth agape, I text him back.
Wylie:Is this the address?
I attach the address to the text.
Levi:Yup. That’s the one. Why, is that a problem?
Yes!
I want to sleep.
I’m tired. I don’t want to drive forty-five minutes one way just to grab stupid bagels because he thinks the water is different at one in the morning than four o’clock. But this is what Dad was talking about, right? Earning my way through life, suffering as an artist at a job just to make money.
Guess I better grab some coffee because I have a drive to make.
Wylie:Not a problem at all. What do you want me to do with the bagels when I get back?
Levi:Just stick them in the freezer.
Doesn’t that negate the fact that they won’t be fresh anymore?
My nostrils flare as I type him back.
Wylie:But they won’t be fresh anymore.
Levi:In my mind, they will be. Thanks.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter as I throw on my sweatshirt and grab my car keys. No wonder he didn’t have an assistant before this. He probably couldn’t keep anyone at the job long enough to buy the one-in-the-morning everything bagels.
Lucky for him, it will take a lot more than one-in-the-morning bagels, barbecue stains, and manually sharpened pencils to break me.
Levi: Can you come to the kitchen? I need to speak with you.
Blurry-eyed and barely able to hold my body upright thanks to a closed bridge that added twenty minutes to my drive—both ways—I’m hardly holding on to my sanity as I pull my hair back into a sleek ponytail.
Wylie:Be right there.
I stare at myself in the mirror, not even bothering with makeup because I don’t have it in me. And I don’t care enough for him to see me makeup-free to even consider one coat of mascara. Nope, maybe my makeup-free face will scare him away, and he’ll never ask me to grab one-in-the-morning bagels again.
Slippers on, I move down the hallway toward the kitchen and try to muster a happy face when he comes into view.
“Good morning,” I say.
He turns around, looking so good in a fitted long-sleeved Under Armor shirt that clings to his thick, barrel chest and carved arms. His hair is still wet, clearly fresh from the shower, and instead of shaving, he’s left the scruff on his face to make him that much more enticing.
Ughhhh, why does he have to look so good in the morning?
And smell so good.
And why do I want to curl into his side and let him hold me? What I wouldn’t give for a solid snuggle session right now where I can pass out in his large arms, and he slowly runs his hand over my hair, calming me to a deep slumber.
Instead, here I stand, his wench, ready to be at his beck and call.
“Morning,” he says in a deep timbre that his nighttime visitors are probably privileged to hear. Like he hasn’t warmed up his vocal cords enough just yet, so he has this rasp that makes him exponentially more attractive. “Thanks for the bagels.”
“Did you make one?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll get something at the arena. Just going to have a protein shake this morning. Could you grab that for me? I’m headed in for a meeting and don’t have time.”
He’s not eating one of the freaking bagels I got him last night?
Doesn’t he know that I had to drink two boiling hot cups of coffee to make it through that drive? That I had to listen to a playlist called Don’t Fall Asleep the entire way that was put together by some psychopath on Spotify that consists of horrific animal noises and loud screeching? I nearly drove myself mad.
And he’s not going to have a bagel?
HE’S NOT GOING TO HAVE A FREAKING BAGEL?
What was the point of it all, then?
Just to be a dick?
“A protein shake, of course,” I reply with a sweet smile—at least I hope it’s sweet. It could be a bit on the snarly side. “Want me to grab the ingredients to make you one, or do you want me to pick you one up?”
“Pick me one up. I’ll text you the details. I’ll order it, and you can just grab it and bring it to the arena.”
“Sure, that works.”
“Also”—he picks up a book from the counter—“don’t forget about this. Vermont is calling my name.”
“Ah, yes.” I take the book and hold it against my chest. “Can’t wait to learn some facts about Vermont myself. You know, if you’re chomping at the bit to learn something about the beautiful state also known as one of the biggest maple providers in the country, then I can send you some YouTube videos. Something to watch while you’re getting treatment.”
“I prefer to read,” he says.
Just not in a font other than Arial, right? Jesus Christ.
“Okay, well, the option is there. I’ve found quite a few travel blogs that do wonderful jobs. None of that shaky camera work, you know?”
“I’ll think about it.” He pockets his phone and his wallet. “Well, I’m off. I’ll text you. See you at the arena.”
“See you there,” I say with a wave.
He’s about to leave when he turns toward me. “Oh, and don’t forget about the fiddle leaf fig tree. I’m looking forward to seeing what you choose.”
“Yup, it’s on the list,” I say.
“Great.” He offers me a delicious smile before taking off and leaving me alone in his apartment.
I set the book down on the counter, lean against the cold marble, and let out a deep breath. “You’re fine,” I say as irritation claws up the back of my neck. “This is life just testing you. No need to get frustrated and upset. So what if he didn’t eat a bagel after everything you went through to get them? Not a big deal at all. And sure, you’re exhausted, and the last thing you want to do is get back in your car to pick up a smoothie. Everything will be okay because you’re strong, and you’re not going to let your dad win.”
I take a few calming breaths and ensure that I’m not going to freak out on him before I grab the book again and head to my bedroom, just as I get a text from him with his order and where to pick it up. I quickly look the address up on Google Maps, praying that it isn’t far, and lucky for me, it’s between here and the arena. It seems like an easy pickup for him, but that’s fine. While I’m out, I can grab the Skittles and stain remover.
See how that works? Thinking on the positive side.
Sure, would I have wanted him to eat one of the bagels I drove to get him? Yes, that would have been nice, but when he does decide to eat one, I know he’ll be able to taste that different water. At least that’s what I try to tell myself.
Everything will be just fine.
Chapter Six
LEVI
“What did you make her do last night?” Coach Wood asks, staring down at me.
Yup, this is my early morning meeting. A recap on my first day with Wylie. And when I say the last thing I wanted to do was wake up early and come to this meeting, I mean it. I stayed up all fucking night, my stomach churning from the errand I sent Wylie on. It wasn’t until I heard her put the bagels in the freezer that I could actually shut my eyes. Even at that, though, I probably got an hour of sleep.
Guilt consumed me.
So much guilt that I actually felt nauseous at one point and sat on the edge of my bed with a trash can in hand.
Yeah, this guy, hovering over a trash can, ready to puke.
Probably not the image you want of me, right? Well, fuck, I don’t want it either. It’s humiliating. That’s not the man I am. That’s something Eli would do.
Or perhaps Pacey.
I don’t throw up.
Yet, there I was last night, ready to hurl over making Wylie run the stupidest errand ever.
Fucking different water. I don’t even know if that’s a thing. I was flying by the seat of my pants on that one. I actually got the idea by looking up stupid tasks personal assistants had to do. It was a Buzzfeed article providing outrageous stories from assistants. I couldn’t believe the amount of insane tasks humans make other humans do.
But because my coach has my balls in a vise grip, I don’t have much choice.
I shift in my seat and try to conjure up the image of Coach Wood blessing his underwear this morning so he seems less intimidating. If it wasn’t for the throbbing vein in his bald head drawing my attention, the underwear blessing might have worked.
“I had her grab me bagels from a place forty-five minutes away . . . at one in the morning.”
Coach Wood smiles. Sick bastard. “Did she do it?”
“She did, and then . . . well, I didn’t have one of the bagels this morning.” Not because I was being an ass, but because I didn’t think I could bring myself to even look at the bagels. That’s how guilty I felt.
Coach lets out a short but deep chuckle. “Made her get bagels at one in the morning and didn’t even eat one. What a fucking dick.”
Nerves shoot up my arms as I say, “That’s what you wanted, though, right? You wanted me to be a dick?”
“Yes. That’s perfect. There’s no doubt in my mind that she was cursing your name this morning.”
Great, just what I want.
Although, I would prefer the cursing to be in the context of, “Oh God, Levi, oh fuck . . .”
But we all know that’s not going to happen.
“Yeah, she seemed pretty tired. Felt kind of bad.”
The smile fades from his face as he stares me down. “Don’t feel bad for her. Don’t feel anything for her. This is a job. This isn’t personal. You do the job, and you move on. Don’t feel any sort of emotion toward my daughter, understood?”
I gulp. “Yup. No emotion. Completely emotionless. No need to worry about emotions with me. I don’t even know what they are. I’m an empty—”
“Shut up.”
“Right. Yup.” I grip the chair’s arms, trying to keep calm.
“What else have you done? Has she started on the rewrite of the book?”
“Yes, I gave it to her this morning. Presented her with the stain to get out. Told her about the pencils and the Skittles. She has also been assigned my social media, calendar, fan mail, and all of that admin stuff. On top of that, she’s getting me food, stocking up, and I think I’ll have her food prep for me as well. Oh, and I tasked her with getting me a plant.”
“A plant?”
I nod. “To add more life to my apartment. You see, there’s a certain balance you need when it comes to your living space . . .” My voice fades when I see his jaw tense.
He doesn’t want to hear about living space balance, you moron.
“Let me guess, you want me to shut up?” I ask.