Olivier: A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance

by Brenda Rothert

  “My attorney knows his stuff, and he said as long as there’s no groping, it’s not just allowed, but encouraged. According to the hangout bylaws, that is.”

  She narrows her brows, a smile playing on her lips. “I’m intrigued by this information, but still not fully convinced.”

  Her lips are only about a foot away. I’m forcing myself not to grab her face and kiss her like she’s never been kissed before. I can’t let this night end without at least one kiss.

  “Tell you what,” I say. “I’m not going to kiss you.”

  “No?” She asks in surprise.

  “Did I detect some serious disappointment in your tone?”

  Daphne laughs and rolls her eyes. “How about a nice handshake?”

  “I have a better idea,” I counter. “If you kiss me within the next minute, tomorrow morning I’ll donate $100,000 to Amnesty International.”

  Her grin slides away and her eyes widen. “I love Amnesty.”

  “I figured.”

  “$100,000. Wow.”

  “Fifty seconds.”

  She meets my gaze, her eyes bright and her lips curved up into a smile. But a couple seconds later, it fades.

  “I don’t want a relationship,” she says. “Not because of you, because of me. I was engaged, and I’m still getting over how that ended.”

  “A kiss, Daphne. Just one kiss.”

  A little crease forms between her brows. She opens her mouth to protest again, but then takes me by surprise when she grabs two fistfuls of my coat and pulls me closer, then presses her lips to mine.

  I instinctively put my hands on her hips, groaning lightly when she parts her lips and brushes her tongue against mine. Her mouth is soft and warm, and she tastes faintly of the cherry she saved for last on the sundae she ate earlier.

  I savor every second of our kiss until she pulls away, breathless, her eyes wide as she looks up at me.

  “Lunch next Sunday,” she murmurs.

  “Or sooner if you miss me too bad,” I say, grinning.

  Suppressing a smile, she says, “Goodnight, Olivier.”

  “Goodnight, Daphne.”

  I wait until she’s inside her apartment to turn and walk down the stairs to the building, feeling like I’m walking on air. She kissed me. And it wasn’t just for Amnesty, though I will gladly sign that check the moment I get into the office in the morning.

  Ben is leaning over the passenger seat, giving me a thumbs up in the passenger window of my SUV. His approval makes me smile.

  That was one hell of a first date. But there’s no way I’m sticking to the plan and waiting nine days to see Daphne again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Daphne

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Ty frowns at me from across his desk. “I think I should take tonight, and you can switch me for another night when all the attention has died down.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Tonight’s my night. Don’t you have dinner plans with your wife?”

  He hesitates. “Yeah, but your safety matters more than celebrating my wife’s MBA at a steakhouse. I can reschedule it.”

  I sigh softly. It’s been six days since photos of my non-date with Olivier were posted online, and there’s been a surge of interest in both of us since. Photographers have followed me everywhere I went this week. And now my boss is worried that having photographers following me and the volunteers I’m training tonight could cause alarm among the homeless people I encounter tonight.

  “It’ll be fine, Ty. Really. You always tell me I’m good at reading situations and backing off when things get tense. And Aliyah is looking forward to this dinner. She worked hard for her MBA.”

  He wavers. “Maybe Nina can do it.”

  “Her son has a band concert tonight.”

  “Shit.”

  “Ty, it’ll be fine. Honest. If anything, having photographers documenting things will make people less likely to mess with me.”

  “Daph, I’m not worried about someone in their right mind messing with you. When people are high or mentally ill—or both—they don’t think things through.”

  “That’s a risk we take every day, though. The attention on me really doesn’t change anything. There may not even be any photographers tonight, and if there are, once they see that it’s just me working and Olivier is nowhere around, they’ll leave.”

  Ty furrows his brow, about to answer me when Nina stops in the open doorway to his office.

  “Daphne, your first volunteer just showed up.”

  “Great, thanks.” I stand up and give Ty a confident nod. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”

  With a stern look, he says, “Keep our police contacts notified of your location. If things don’t feel right, ask them to send someone to you. And stay out of the drug houses.”

  “I always do. I promise, we’ll be safe. Enjoy your dinner with Aliyah, okay?”

  “Okay. Text me when you guys get back here at the end of the night just to let me know how things went.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  I walk out to the lobby to find a middle-aged woman sitting in a folding chair.

  “Hi, I’m Daphne Barrington,” I tell her, holding out my hand.

  “I know you,” she says, her face lighting up as she shakes my hand. “Olidaph, right?”

  “That’s me,” I say, smiling. “Or, half of it is me.”

  “I’m Linda.”

  “It’s great to meet you. Thank you so much for volunteering. We really need the help.”

  “So you and…Oli? Is his name Oli? You went on a date?”

  Fucking Twitter. There are photos of Olivier and I kissing on my front porch all over the place, which is not awesome since they show everyone where I live. There’s also one of us laughing as we eat our ice cream sundaes at the ice cream shop.

  “It’s Olivier, and it wasn’t really a date.”

  “Mmmhmm, sure. But you guys kissed at the end.”

  I force myself not to roll my eyes and ask Linda if the whole world gets to see photos of her life every day.

  The front door is pushed open and two more people walk in.

  “Here to volunteer?” I ask, glad my conversation about Olivier is over.

  I had fun with him Saturday night, and the kiss was really good. Great, even. But I’m not letting my heart call the shots anymore. My head says I need to take a break from men, and even when I’m ready to date again, I don’t want to have $300 dinner dates with a billionaire. I’d be a hypocrite, advocating for the poor during the day and living a lavish life by night.

  “We’re going to start by packing some backpacks with supplies,” I tell the three volunteers who have arrived so far.

  I lead them into our back room, where I have nine backpacks set out and supplies piled on folding tables. After instructing them on how much and what to pack each bag with, I go back out to the lobby to see if any of my other volunteers have arrived.

  Two college kids introduce themselves and I’m about to lead them to the back when the door opens again. I do a double take when I see Olivier walk in, dressed in jeans, a plain black shirt under a thick jacket and a Chicago Blaze baseball cap.

  “I didn’t think you owned shirts without collars,” I say.

  “Hi, Daphne,” he says wryly. “I own lots of shirts without collars.”

  “Sorry…hi.”

  “Hey, aren’t you the guy from that video online?” one of the college kids asks. “The one who pulled the lady from the burning car?”

  “I am.”

  “That was fucking badass! You just climbed right in there. Was the lady okay?”

  Olivier nods. “Yeah, she’s okay.”

  “You guys should meet sometime and film it.”

  Smiling, Olivier says, “We should; that’s a good idea.”

  I clear my throat and say, “Hey, I need to get these volunteers going on packing bags. Can you wait like five minutes and then I can talk?”

  “Actually, I’m he
re to volunteer.”

  My mouth drops open. “What? You?”

  One of the college kids says, “Man, this guy is pretty amazing,” in an awed tone.

  “He has ulterior motives,” I say sharply.

  “Me? Never.” Olivier gives me a mock innocent look.

  “Hey Nina?” I call loudly enough for her to hear me in her office. “Can you get my volunteers going in the back room?”

  “Yep.”

  She comes out of her office, her face lighting up when she sees Olivier. “Hey, the poet’s here.”

  “You told her about my poem?” Olivier asks, a boyish look of excitement on his face.

  Nina laughs. “Told me about it? She’s got it pinned to her office bulletin board. She looks at it several times a day.”

  I glare at her. “If you could take the volunteers back now, that would be great.”

  “Okay.” She shrugs and leads the college kids to the back, leaving me and Olivier alone.

  “Why so hostile?” he asks. “We’ve been texting this week and we’re having lunch Sunday. I didn’t think you’d mind seeing me here.”

  “I just…it’s not that I mind, so much as…why didn’t you tell me? And why did you come?”

  “The truth?”

  I nod.

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you looking for drug dealers in downtown Chicago at night since you told me you were going to do it. It scares the shit out of me.”

  It’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s being so sweet, but I’m not sure Olivier thought this idea through.

  “What will you do if something happens?” I ask him.

  He bristles. “What, you think because I’m rich, I must be a pussy? I’ll stand between you and the danger, that’s what. I can take a punch and I can sure as hell throw one.”

  “I know that, but we have police on standby for that. And I’m sure you know you’re extremely recognizable because of all the Twitter stuff going on. I can’t take you into dangerous neighborhoods when so many people will recognize you and know you’re a billionaire. That could get you kidnapped. Or killed.”

  He crosses his arms. “I’ll take my chances. Besides, you’re recognizable for the same reason. You’re a Barrington. The daughter of a senator. You think it’s any safer for you?”

  I don’t have an answer for that, which is unusual for me. I just shrug.

  “So what do you need me to do?” he asks.

  “This is a really bad idea.”

  His laugh is unamused. “What? Going into the city’s most dangerous neighborhoods at night to seek out drug addicts? Where shootings are commonplace?”

  I scowl. “This is my job. I do it all the time. No one asked you to go all Alpha Boyfriend on me.”

  “I don’t need an invitation.”

  I put my palms up. “Fine. You want to come? Go ahead. Everyone has to sign a waiver anyway. So if you get kidnapped and held for ransom, we aren’t liable and I told you so.”

  “This from the same mouth that kissed me less than a week ago,” he mutters.

  “That was for Amnesty.”

  “Sure it was. You could have given me a peck, but you didn’t, did you?”

  “If you don’t stop running your mouth, no one else is going to get a chance to hurt you, because I’ll do it myself.”

  Grinning, he says, “Let’s get to work, Miss Barrington. I’m at your disposal.”

  I don’t speak directly to him again until almost an hour later, when we’re about a mile from the shelter on foot, all of us carrying a loaded pack. And Olivier’s is loaded extra heavy, because I’m that level of petty.

  “Make sure you leave your hat on and keep your head down. It makes you less recognizable.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Daph.”

  “I’m not worried about you, I just don’t want any problems. Having someone on my crew murdered creates a lot of paperwork for me.”

  “Why are you so surly tonight?”

  I groan. “How are you able to pull out the least used words in the English language when it’s not even your first language?”

  He shrugs. “I’m versatile. Protean, if you will.”

  I can’t help laughing. He smiles in return.

  “See? You missed me, didn’t you?”

  “I’ll answer that in exchange for a generous donation to the Southern Poverty Law Center.” I give him a quick grin and head over to a woman who is pushing a shopping cart with her possessions inside and isn’t wearing any shoes.

  I introduce myself and ask her if I can help with anything. She asks me if I have any money, and I tell her I don’t, but I show her what I have in my backpack.

  “Pretzels. I love pretzels. And a pair of those gloves, if I can pick two things.”

  “Absolutely.” I pass her the pretzels, the gloves and a card for Safe Haven. “This is the address and number of our organization. Call or come in if you have needs we can help with.”

  She thanks me and I join the group again, watching as the college kids hand out supplies on the other side of the sidewalk.

  “You’re good at this job,” Olivier says.

  The compliment touches me, because my work means a lot to me.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  We’re just entering a block where a lot of homeless people congregate before sundown. We fan out to pass out supplies and talk to people. A lot of the time, being asked how they are and having someone listen means more to people than the supplies we bring them.

  By the time we make it out of the neighborhood, it’s dark and my bag is light on supplies. Everyone else’s is, too, but we have enough to go to the area beneath a bridge where tents and makeshift camps are being set up for the night.

  If there are photographers trailing us, none of us have seen them. We seem to be getting a much-needed break tonight.

  I send all the volunteers but Olivier to pass out supplies to a group of people congregated around a fire for warmth.

  “We’re going to check out this car over here,” I tell Olivier.

  “It looks abandoned.”

  “It might be. But people live in their cars sometimes, so we check them.”

  He nods.

  As we get close to the car, I see that there are people in it.

  “Keep your eyes out for weapons,” I tell Olivier in a low tone.

  “This is fucking nuts, Daph,” he mutters. “Let me approach them first.”

  “We’ll go together.”

  The car is an old, rusting sedan with a flat rear tire. Olivier and I walk up to the driver’s side window together, and the woman sitting there sees us and opens the car door.

  “Can’t roll it down because I’m out of gas,” she says. “I hope you’re not here to tell me to move it because I can’t. I can’t afford a new tire or even one gallon of gas.”

  In the backseat, I see the heads of three children. Everyone in the car is bundled up in coats and hats.

  “It’s nothing like that. We’re here to see if you need help,” I say.

  The woman looks at me for about two seconds before bursting into tears.

  “We do,” she says. “We’ve been out of food for three days and I have to walk a mile to get to a drinking fountain where I can fill up our water bottles. It’s just me and my kids. We got evicted from our apartment last month and we’ve been living in the car ever since.”

  “You guys are hungry?” I ask her.

  “Yeah. And cold. If you have some blankets…and cough medicine? My youngest has a real bad cough and I’m worried about him.”

  Olivier and I exchange a glance. I don’t think pretzels and socks are going to change anything for this family.

  “Have you tried to get into a shelter?” I ask her.

  “I don’t have a phone.”

  “Okay, I can help with that.”

  She sighs deeply. “Thank you. Oh, I don’t even know what to say. Thank you so much. I’ve been praying for God to send someone to help us, and He did
. I’ve never been so scared, but it’s not me I’m scared for, it’s my babies.”

  Olivier is looking through the rear driver’s side window at the kids, who are smiling and waving at him. I take out my phone.

  “I’m going to call and find you guys some open beds at a shelter. Most of them are full by now, but there are churches who will be willing to help if we can’t find you a place.”

  She bursts into tears again just as Olivier says, “No, Daph. Don’t do that.”

  “Why not?” I give him a puzzled look.

  He has his own phone in his hand now, and he says, “We’re taking them to get something to eat, and then to a hotel.”

  “We are?”

  The kids are squealing with excitement from the backseat of the car.

  “Yeah, we are,” Olivier says. “We’re not waiting for anyone. We’re taking care of them now, and finding a doctor for the kid.”

  The woman is sobbing now, and she lunges toward Olivier to hug him.

  “God is good,” she says tearfully. “He is so, so good. Thank you.”

  Olivier hugs her back, meeting my gaze and smiling. I feel a huge crack inside of me. It’s not my heart that’s breaking, thoughit’s my resolve not to fall in love with this man.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Olivier

  Daphne is beside me on the Palmer House elevator, so close I can feel the heat of her even though we aren’t touching.

  “This was…one of the best nights of my life,” she says, her voice thick with emotion.

  She reaches over and takes my hand, and I squeeze hers gently.

  “Me too,” I tell her. “I’ve never enjoyed spending money on anything as much as I did tonight.”

  The woman we found in the car tonight is named Jada, and I had her and her children picked up and taken to the Palmer House, where I instructed the manager to treat them like royalty. While they cleaned up and had room service delivered, Daphne and I went shopping for clothes and shoes for all of them. We got toys and books, too, and we were already back at the hotel visiting with Jada and the kids when it was all delivered.

  Seeing them cry with happiness over having new shoes was humbling. I asked Hassan to send a doctor to see the youngest boy, Michael, who was feeling better already when Daphne and I left because of the Tylenol the doctor gave him.