His Secretary's Surprise Fiancé. Joanne Rock

naively thought she could just turn her back on her job as his assistant and start a company that would rely upon good relations with the Hurricanes and the league in general for securing merchandising rights down the road. Something she couldn’t afford to jeopardize if she wanted her company to be a success.

      If she stood up and challenged him, she’d lose team support instantly. She didn’t dare contradict him. At least not publicly. And no question, Dempsey absolutely knew that, as well.

      Realization settled in her gut as smoothly and firmly as a sideline pass falling into a wide receiver’s hands. She’d been outflanked and outmaneuvered by the smartest play caller in the game.

      Her brand-new fiancé.

      She needed time to think and regroup before she faced him and blurted out something she would regret. Adelaide darted out of the press conference just as a reporter began quizzing Dempsey about the quarterback’s thumb. She didn’t know what else to do. She lacked Dempsey’s gift for complicated machinations that ruined other peoples’ lives in the blink of an eye. Storming off was the best she could come up with to relay her displeasure and give herself time to think.

      She tore off her earpiece even though Carole currently informed her she needed to stick around the building for any follow-up interviews.

      Like hell.

      Adelaide picked up her pace, heels grinding out a frantic rhythm on the concrete floor as she burst through a metal door leading to the stairwell. She headed down a flight to the custodial level of the dome, taking the route where she was least likely to encounter media.

      The sports journalists hadn’t really known what to do with the story about the Hurricanes’ coach getting married. Sure—they would recognize the news value. But in that he-man room full of sports experts, no one would quiz the tersest coach in the league about his love life. They would hand that off to the social pages.

      Who, in turn, would eat it up. All four of the Reynaud brothers had been in People magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive list for two years running. The national media would be covering Dempsey’s engagement, too. While she ran away.

      She stumbled as her heel broke on the bottom step because her shoes were meant for work, not sprints. Hobbled, she shoved through the door on the ground level just as her phone started vibrating in her bag. She ignored it, trying to think of the most discreet way to reach her car two floors up.

      A car engine rumbled nearby. It was the growl of a big SUV—a familiar SUV that slowed as it neared her. Dempsey’s Land Rover, although it had probably never been operated by the owner himself.

      Evan, his driver, lowered the tinted passenger window. He could have passed for a gangster with his shaved head, heavily inked chest and arms and frightening number of face piercings; his appearance gave Evan an added advantage in his dual role serving as personal security for their boss.

      “Miss Adelaide,” he said, even though she’d told him a half dozen times it made her feel like a kindergarten teacher when he called her that. “Do you need a ride?”

      “Thanks, Evan,” she huffed, out of breath more from runaway emotions than the mad dash out of the dome. “My car is on the C level, if you don’t mind bringing me up there.”

      Relief washed through her as she limped over to the side of the vehicle. Before she could get there, Evan jumped out the passenger side and jogged around to help her, all two hundred sixty-four pounds of him. Before he blew out a knee, he’d been a top prospect on the Hurricanes’ player roster, one she knew by heart.

      She’d worked so hard to impress Dempsey over the years, memorizing endless facts and organizing mountains of information to help him with his job.

      Only to be rewarded like this—by having him ignore her notice of resignation, refuse to discuss her concerns and announce a fake engagement to the very industry whose respect her future work depended upon.

      “No problem.” Evan tugged open the door and gave her a hand up into the passenger area of the vehicle specially modified to be chauffeur driven, complete with privacy screen. “Happy to help.”

      She waited for his knowing grin, certain he’d been listening to the press conference in the garage, but his face gave nothing away, eyes hidden behind a pair of aviator shades.

      “I appreciate it.” She tried to smile even though her voice sounded shaky. “I parked on the west side today. Close to the elevators.”

      Ticket holders had cleared out after the game, leaving the lot mostly empty now, save for a few hardcore fans that stuck around for autographs. The press parking area was separate, three floors up.

      “Got it.” Evan shut the door with a nod and she settled into the perforated leather seats. The bespoke interior was detailed with mother-of-pearl and outfitted with multiple viewing screens that Dempsey used to watch everything from game film to feeds from foreign stock exchanges to keep up with the Reynauds’ family shipping business in the global markets.

      Sadly, she knew the stats of most of the ships, too.

      Her phone continued to vibrate in her bag, a hum against her hip where her purse rested, a reminder that her life had just fallen apart. Squeezing her eyes shut, she felt the Land Rover glide into motion and wished she could seize the wheel and simply keep driving far, far away from here. As if there was anywhere out of reach of the Reynauds, she thought bitterly.

      Out of habit, she touched her right hand to the bracelet on her left wrist to feel the smooth metal that Dempsey had heated and shaped into a special present for Adelaide’s twelfth birthday. The jewelry was worth far more than any of the identical diamond parting gifts he’d doled out to lovers over the years. Maybe she’d been foolish to see so much meaning in those years they’d spent together when his life had gone on to change so radically. She’d always thought she would do anything for him.

      But not at this price. Not when he stopped being her friend and started thinking he was the boss of every aspect of her life. He couldn’t dictate her career moves.

      Or her choice of fiancé, for crying out loud. The funny part was, there had been a time in her life when she would have traded anything to hear him announce their engagement. But she’d grown up since the days she’d harbored those schoolgirl hopes. Once his father’s limo had arrived to take him out of her world and into the rarefied air of the Reynaud family compound in Metairie, things had never been quite the same between them. Sure, he’d checked up on her now and then when the family was in Louisiana and not one of their other homes around the globe. Yet he always seemed acutely aware of the expectations of his family, and they did not include hanging out with a girl from the old neighborhood. For that matter, Dempsey had put all his considerable drive into becoming a true family heir, increasing his workload at school and throughout college. Eventually, he’d dated women in his same social circles, and Adelaide had remained just a friend.

      Peering out the dark tinted windows, she noticed that Evan had exited onto the wrong floor of the parking garage. She reached for the communications panel to buzz him even as the SUV slowed by the east side elevators a floor below where she needed to be.

      “Evan?” she said aloud when he didn’t answer right away. “Can you hear me?”

      “Yes, Miss Adelaide?” His voice sounded different. Sheepish?

      Maybe he knew he’d made a mistake.

      “We’re in the wrong spot—”

      She stopped when the elevator doors opened. Dempsey strode out, a building security guard on either side of him.

      “Sorry, ma’am. The boss called.”

      Of course Evan hadn’t made a mistake. He’d come here to pick up the man who called all the shots. Or had he been sent downstairs earlier to retrieve her? Either way, she was screwed. Her escape plan was over before she’d even gotten it off the ground.

      At almost the same time, the stairwell door opened and a small throng of reporters raced out, camera lights spearing into the parking