Trapped With The Maverick Millionaire

Rory sent him a sympathetic look. Troy’s mom suffered from dementia and most of his cash went to funding the nursing home he’d put her into. Unfortunately the home wasn’t great, but it was the best he could afford.

Rory had decided a long time ago that when she opened her clinic Troy would be her first hire, at a salary that would enable him to move his mom out of that place into a nicer home. Hopefully, if they did well, he could also move out of his horrible apartment and buy a decent car. “Sorry, honey.”

Troy shrugged as they sat down on opposite sides of the table. “You look as frazzled as I do. What’s up?”

“So much,” Rory replied. “Let’s order and I’ll tell you a story.” She pushed the folder she’d been carrying toward Troy. “Look at this.”

After they ordered, Rory tapped the file with her index finger. “Read.”

“Mark McCaskill?” Troy looked at the label. “Why do you have Open Mac’s file?”

Rory pulled a face as the waitress poured them coffee. She’d always loathed that nickname since it was a play on the microphone incident from so long ago, something she didn’t need to be constantly reminded of. Then again, his other nickname, PD—short for Panty Dropper—was even worse. “If you’re not going to read it then fill me in on all the gossip about him.”

Troy frowned. “Why?”

“I’ll explain.” She waved her hand. “Go. Center and captain of the Vancouver Mavericks hockey team. Incredible player, one of the very best. Dates a variety of women. What else?”

Troy rested his forearms on the table, his face pensive. “Well, he’s spokesperson for various campaigns, epilepsy being one of them. He sits on the boards of a few charities, mostly relating to children. He’s also, thanks to investing in bars, restaurants and food trucks, one of the wealthiest bachelors in town. He’s also supremely haawwwt,” Troy added. “And surprisingly nice, even though I know how stressed he must be wondering if this injury will keep him out for the season.”

Mac—nice? Yeah, sure.

Troy flicked the file open and flipped through the pile of papers. “You’re treating him?”

Rory nodded and Troy looked confused. “But this isn’t a Craydon file,” he added, referring to the distinctive yellow-and-blue patient files used at the physiotherapy practice she worked for. “What gives, Rorks?”

Rory folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot, her big, silver-gray eyes tight with worry. How much to tell him? As much as she could, she decided, he was her best friend. She trusted him implicitly and valued his judgment. Still, sharing didn’t come easily to her so she took a moment to work out what to say. “Mac and I have a...history.”

Troy’s snort was disbelieving. “Honey, you’re not his type. He dates tall, stacked, exotic gazelles.”

Rory scowled. She knew what type of woman Mac dated. She saw them every time she opened a newspaper or magazine. “I know that I am short, and flat-chested,” Rory snapped. “You don’t need to rub it in.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Troy quietly stated. “Yeah, you’re short but you have a great figure, you know that you do. And there’s nothing wrong with your chest.”

“Like you’d know,” Rory muttered.

“I know that you desperately need some masculine hands on your boobs and on other more exciting parts of your body. It’s been a year, eighteen months, since you’ve had some action?”

Actually it was closer to two years, but she’d rather die than admit that to Mr. Cool. “Can we concentrate on my McCaskill problem please?”

“He’s a problem?”

“You’ve forgotten that Shay was dating him during the open-mic disaster.”

Troy’s mouth dropped open. “I did forget that. He said he was bored with her, that monogamy was for the birds.”

“Yep. Obviously that’s a position he still holds.”

Troy leaned back so the waitress could put their food down. He frowned at Rory’s sarcastic comment. “Honey, that was a long time ago and he was young. Shay’s moved on...what’s the problem?”

“He’s a man-slut. It annoys me.”

“It shouldn’t. He didn’t cheat on you,” Troy pointed out, and Rory stared down at her plate.

No, he’d almost cheated on her sister with her. The intention had been there. He would’ve cheated if Rory hadn’t stopped him. He was just like her father and exactly the last person in the world she should be attracted to.

It made absolutely no sense at all.

She’d never told Troy—or anyone—what had happened between her and Mac and she still couldn’t. Hurting her sister hadn’t been her finest moment.

“Okay, admittedly, Mac is not the poster boy for love and commitment so I kind of get your antipathy to him since you have such a huge issue with infidelity,” Troy said after taking a sip of his coffee.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Rory demanded. “Have issues with it?”

“No. And if they do, they don’t take it to the nth degree like you do. Hell, Rorks, I recall you not accepting a date from a perfectly nice guy because you said he had a ‘cheating face.’”

Rory ignored his air quotes and lifted her nose in the air. “Okay, maybe that was wrong of me.”

“Wrong of you? It was properly ridiculous.”

Troy tapped the folder before he attacked his eggs. “Tell me how this came about.”

Rory filled him in and Troy listened, fascinated.

“So, they want you, widely regarded as the best sports rehab physio in the area, to work on Mac. Why didn’t they just approach the clinic directly and hire you that way?”