“It’s nice to meet you,” the reporter said, but her eyes were transfixed on the man behind Chelsea. “You’re a hard man to pin down,” she said as she dropped Chelsea’s hand and reached for Mark. “I’m Donda Clark.”
He switched his cane to his right hand. “Mark Bressler.”
“Yes, I know.” She smiled and motioned toward the seat next to her on the sofa. “I caught the game in Detroit last December.”
A tight smile curved Mark’s lips. “That was one of the last games I played.” He moved to the sofa, placed his good hand on the arm, and slowly sat. The corners of his mouth tightened even more, and Chelsea wondered if he was up to the interview. He seemed so strong, it was easy to forget that he’d been near death just a few months prior.
“I thought Detroit might turn it over after Leclaire drew a double minor in the third frame, but the Chinooks’ firepower clearly overwhelmed the Red Wings.”
Wow, what an ass kisser. “Can I get anything for the two of you before I go?” Chelsea asked.
“I’d like a Chablis,” Donda answered as she sat and dug a tape recorder out of her bag. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Bressler?”
He took the glasses from the top of his head and shoved one side down the collar of his T-shirt. “Water.”
Chelsea moved to the bar and wondered if Donda noticed the pain etched in the side of Mark’s mouth and if she’d write about it.
“What can I get you, sweetheart?” the bartender asked as his gaze landed on her chest. She was so used to guys’ reaction to her breasts, it didn’t anger her as much as it once had. Annoy, yes. Anger, no.
Chelsea waited a few seconds before his gaze moved up to hers. “House Chablis and a glass of ice water.” She looked at the name tag clipped to his blue polo. “Colin.”
He smiled. The cocky smile of bartenders worldwide who knew they were good-looking. “You know my name. What’s yours?”
She’d been known to date a few cocky bartenders. Most of them had been out-of-work actors. “You already know it. It’s sweetheart.”
He reached for a glass and filled it with ice. “It’s nice to meet you, sweetheart. What brings you into the Spitfire?”
“I’m Mr. Bressler’s assistant.”
Colin lifted his gaze from the glass he slid across the bar and grinned. “I didn’t think you were his date. You’re not his type.”
“How do you know his type?”
“A lot of hockey players hang out here. He used to come in with some of the guys.”
He poured the wine, and Chelsea watched him for a few moments. “What’s his type?” she asked, only because it was her job to know that sort of thing. Not because she was nosy or anything.
“He goes for models. Like the blond he’s talking to.”
“Ah.” Figured.
“I prefer cute and spunky. Like you.”
Cute. She’d always been cute. For the most part, she was okay with that. Unless she had to stand next to a gorgeous supermodel and read for the same part. And because she was short, everyone assumed she was “spunky.” Or maybe it was her fashion flair. Although everyone always assumed the same about Bo, and Bo had the fashion sense of an undertaker. “What makes you think I’m spunky?”
He chuckled. “It might as well be written across your forehead.”
Which told her nothing. She reached for both glasses. “See ya, Colin.”
“Don’t be a stranger, sweetheart.”
She moved back into the VIP lounge and set the glasses on the table in front of the sofa. Mark glanced up at her and slid his sunglasses to one side of his neck. “I’ll
be back in an hour,” she told him. “If you need anything, call.”
“I’ll take good care of him,” the reporter assured her, and Chelsea waited until she turned before she gave in to the urge to roll her eyes. She moved through the bar and out into the warm afternoon air. The Metro rushed past, the sound of the motor and screech of brakes bouncing off the stone buildings. Seattle definitely had a different vibe than L.A. It had a faster pace. Maybe it was the cooler temperature. Or maybe it was because the Gore-Tex–clad, granola-munching Starbucks drinkers jogged because they actually enjoyed it. Whatever it was, Chelsea liked it well enough. She wouldn’t mind living in Seattle until after her surgery. She figured she’d need a few weeks to recuperate before she headed back to L.A. to take another shot at pursuing her dream.