“A man like Remington has very particular requirements as you might guess, Miss Dumas,” Riley, the blond-haired man who looks like a surfer, continues. “But, he’s been very specific in the fact that he’s no longer interested in the friends we have secured for him during our trip. He wants to focus on what’s important, and instead, he wants you to work for him.”

My insides clench as I glance at Riley, then Pete, and then Remington, whose jaw seems even squarer than I remember, like it’s made of the most gorgeous, most priceless piece of granite the world has ever found.

There’s no way for me to know what he’s thinking, but although he’s not smiling anymore, his eyes remain alight with mischief.

His face is swelling slightly on the left side, and my nurturing instincts really want to take the gel pack and put it on his jaw again. Hell, in my mind, I’ve already put salve on the red scar in the middle of his lower lip. I’m so overcome with these thoughts that I realize I can’t trust myself with someone as powerfully attractive as him. I am still, still, wired just knowing I’m in the same room as him.

Pete flips through the folders. “You interned at the Military Academy of Seattle in sports rehab for their middle graders, and we see you graduated only two weeks ago. We’re prepared to hire your services which will cover the duration of the eight cities we have left to tour and Mr. Tate’s continued conditioning for future competitions. We will be very generous with your salary. It’s very prestigious to tend to such a followed athlete and should be impressive on any resume. It might even allow you to be a free agent if, in the future, you decide to leave,” Pete says.

I find myself blinking several times.

I’ve been anxiously applying for jobs, with no callbacks as of now. The school where I interned offered me to return when classes resume in August, so at least I have that option. It is, however, months away, and the restlessness of having a degree and not doing anything with it is eating at me.

Suddenly I realize everyone’s eyes are on me, and I’m especially aware of Remington’s eyes.

On me.

The thought of working for him after I’ve been already having sex with him in my head makes me more than a little queasy.

“I’ll have to think about it. I’m not really looking for something away from Seattle long term.” I glance at him hesitantly, then at the other two men. “Now if that’s all you wanted to say to me, I’d better get going. I’ll leave my card on your bar.” I swing around, and Remington’s commanding voice stops me.

“Answer me now,” he snaps out.

“What?”

When I turn, he slants his head and holds my gaze, and the glimmer in his eyes is no longer playful. “I’ve offered you a job, and I want an answer.”

Silence descends. We stare at each other, this blue-eyed devil and I, and these exchanged stares are complicated. I can’t decide if his is just a stare or more. Something that feels like a living, breathing thing inside me, and it flares when I look into his eyes, and see the way he looks back at me with those heartbreakingly intense eyes.

All right, then. Screw the stupid lust. I need this so much more. “I’ll work with you for the three months you have left to tour if you include room, board, and my transportation, guarantee me references for my next job application, and let me promote the fact that I’ve worked with you with my future clients.”

When he merely stares, I swing around, supposing he’ll want to think about it. His voice halts me again.

“All right.” He nods meaningfully, and my head reels in disbelief.

He’s hired me?

I took him on as my first job?

Slowly, grabbing the towel to his waist to keep it from unraveling, Remington rises and looks at his men. “But I want it on paper she’s not leaving until the tour is over.”

Muscles bulging in a way I try hard not to notice, he tucks his towel into place and starts coming over, and once again, he looks feline and predatory in his approach, his self-assured smile making him even doubly so. It is a smile that tells me he knows he unsettles me. And boy, does he unsettle me. I’m watching over six feet of pure brawn walk over in oil-slicked glistening skin and an eight-pack, which is physically actually impossible, but how to deny it when it is there? God.

My heart kicks when he engulfs my hand in one of his huge hands and bends his head to look straight at me. He whispers, while he squeezes me in his powerful grip and his touch shoots like an electric shock through me, “We have a deal, Brooke.”

I think I just fainted.

He steps back, and his smile blazes through me, charged with a thousand megawatts, and then he turns to his men. “Get it on paper by tomorrow, and see her safely home.”

Melanie jumps from the bar the instant she spots me, her eyes wide with curiosity. I think I just caught her shoving a miniature bottle of rum into her clutch bag. “What? Was that a quickie? I thought the man would have more stamina than that,” she says in pure annoyance on my behalf.

“Dude, he just knocked out ten other men the size of goddamned grizzly bears. Of course he’s shot,” Kyle says, the only one of the three without a drink in his hand.

“Guys, relax. I didn’t do him.” I shake my head and almost laugh at the forlorn expression on Mel’s face. “But I took a job for the summer.”

“Whaaat?”

I can’t even begin to relate the details to my friends before both of Remington’s men flank me. “Ready, Miss Dumas?”

“Brooke, please.” I feel ridiculous at being called ‘Miss Dumas.’ My friends will probably not stop ribbing me about it later. “Really, I’ve got this. There’s no need to follow me anywhere.”

Riley tosses his blond head, his smile crooked. “Trust me, neither Pete nor I will sleep tonight if we’re not sure you’re home safe.”

“Well hello there, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” Mel says, voice soft, eyes sparkling on Riley with pupils dilated and everything. Then she goes on to charmingly work on Pete. “And who are you?”

Groaning, I quickly make the introductions, then grab each one of the girls in my arms as we head out to the elevators and then to Kyle’s car, my heart still kicking fiercely into my ribcage.

They’re all gushing over the whole “experience” except Kyle, who’s scowling as he climbs behind the wheel.

“That was one weird-ass interview. In a fucking hotel room?”

“Tell me about it.” My woman’s pride is pricked because somewhere down the line I’d convinced myself the guy wanted to sleep with me. Instead, he offers me a job? Not bad, but totally unexpected, that’s for sure.

I think I’ve got my sensors out of whack, and he’s probably the one to blame too.

“I feel so important seeing that they’re tailing us,” Mel informs us minutes later, and she swiftly lifts her phone and takes a pic.

“What are you doing?” Yes, I just asked her, but I’m not even sure that I want to know.

“I’m tweeting about it.”

“Remind me never to go out with you again,” I groan, but I’m so restless, I can’t stand myself. Blue eyes. Dimples. Shoulders a yard wide. Slick, glistening bronzed skin. But no sex … definitely no sex with him now.

“What do you think the deal with those guys is?” Mel wants to know.

“I don’t know. Riley, the blond you want to do, is the coach’s second, and Pete is his personal assistant, I think.”

“I want to do both, actually. Pete is cute with that good-boy kind of look but he needs more meat on his bones. And Riley looks easy-breezy. They’re definitely both warm, verging on hottish. How old do you think they are? Thirtyish?”

I shrug.

“Remington is twenty-six,” she says. “I think they’re a tad older. Remy’s definitely younger. How do you think they met?”

“You’re the one with all the tidbits, so what are you looking at me for? I don’t spend all day stalking people on Google.” Only him. Shit.

“Brooke, tell us about your new job,” Kyle breaks in from the driver’s seat. “You’re not seriously considering leaving with a guy with his reputation?”

It takes a moment for me to answer, because I’m still dumbstruck that I have a job, even if it’s only temporary.

I’d always been told I was born to run when I was younger, and when I got broken, there were many days—not days, months—when I felt like I amounted to nothing. Sports rehab healed me in ways I might not have healed, and now the more that I think about it, the more I would love to help a man as aggressive as Remington, whose brutally pounded body for sure needs some serious TLC.

“I am, Kyle. In fact, if all goes well and their contract terms aren’t crazy, I leave Sunday. I promise you I can take care of myself, ask my self-defense class teacher. I’ve kicked his ass several times. I’ll be traveling, which will be fun, and I might have a chance to become a free rehab agent if I get good references. I won’t even have to endure any more job interviews if that happens.”

“This guy can take down an elephant, Brooke. Didn’t you see him? Pandora sure as hell saw him.”

“Dude, there was nothing to see but him. That guy could take down a freaking elephant train,” Pandora says from up front. She’s been busy sucking on her e-cigarette and blowing vapor into the air, since this is the first week of her having “quit” real cigarettes.

“I wonder what the guys behind us would do if we stop at the Jack-in-the-Box drive-through, place a big order, and say they’re paying,” Melanie says.

“Melanie,” I say warningly. “How many have you had?” I notice she has a small bottle of vodka in her hand and I immediately deduce it’s the one she stole from Remington’s bar. I put the cap back on and shove it into my bag. “I’m going to be working with these guys for three months, so behave please.”

“Just to see what they do, girl, come on,” Pandora pleads.

Laughing, Kyle makes a right into the drive-through and begins ordering one of everything. I grab my purse containing the lone condom and my credit card. “You dick,” I say, throwing the condom at him. “You guys are infantile. Stop at the damned window. You’re going to eat all that you ordered.”

When Kyle stops at the McDonalds drive-thru next, I’m seriously fuming. I make them wait to pay for the order, and then I step out of the car and go over to the Escalade. I hand two Happy Meals with two apple pies through the driver’s window. “Here. Sorry about that. I told you it was unnecessary to follow me. I seem to be riding around with children. But I’ll get home safe, please just go back to the hotel.”

“Can’t,” Pete says from behind the wheel as Riley digs into the fries.

“These are the best damned fries,” he mutters.

“Yeah, thanks, Miss Dumas,” Pete adds, his expression genuinely nice as he looks at me in amusement.