Skating Over the Line by Joelle Charbonneau Page B

me.”
    Pop wasn’t going down without a fight. He plopped his hands on his hips and said, “Rebecca Robbins, you need me.”
    I smiled. “Of course I need you, Pop. I just don’t need you to be my roommate. If I am in danger, I don’t want to drag you into it. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.” I also couldn’t live with Pop’s social calendar. I’d tried that once before, with great discomfort. Walking in on my grandfather while he was having sex guaranteed therapy into the afterlife. “Please understand, Pop.”
    Pop’s shoulders fell. “Okay. But you have to promise to come get me if you’re doing any dangerous investigation work. I make a good lookout.”
    Pop made a terrible lookout, but I said, “Sure.”
    â€œGood.” Pop slapped a hand on one of his scrawny legs. “Now, I got to get over to the center. They’re showing Body Heat in the game room. Do you want to come? I can get you in.”
    â€œNo thanks,” I said quickly. Thinking about watching sexy movies with my grandfather made me want to hurl. “I have to track down someone to be rink manager.”
    My grandfather shot me a bright smile. The dishwasher had done a good job polishing his teeth. “Already done. I hired a manager just after Stan and I got here.”
    I looked from my grandfather to Stan. “You took the job?”
    â€œMe?” my father stammered. “Well, you know I’d love to work with you, honey, but I already have a job. That’s why I helped Arthur hire someone for you.” His eyes darted from side to side while his hands fidgeted with the buttons at the top of his shirt. “I mean, I’m in the middle of a business deal; otherwise, I’d—”
    â€œYou don’t have to make excuses,” I said, finally letting him off the hook. Although watching him dangle had been kind of fun. “I wouldn’t have let you take the job.”
    My father stiffened. “Why not? I can do the job. Stan Robbins can run any business anywhere.”
    The blood in my temples pulsated. “Sure. Fine. Now, would someone please tell me who you hired to be the manager of my business?”
    â€œMe.”
    I turned toward the sound of the sort-of-familiar voice and almost fell over. Standing there in black sandals and socks was Max Smith, the angry son of Sinbad.
    â€œYou?”
    Max’s curly hair bobbed as he nodded. “Your grandfather wasn’t sure what paperwork you’d need me to fill out. So he said I’d have to wait to do that with you.”
    â€œBut you didn’t want the job.”
    â€œI changed my mind.”
    â€œA boy’s entitled to change his mind,” my father said. “You should give this boy a break. I like him.”
    â€œSo do I.” My grandfather clapped Max on the back. Max tilted dangerously forward, then righted himself.
    â€œGood,” I said, feeling cornered and not liking it. “Then the two of you can hire him.”
    Turning on my heel, I stalked toward my office, not sure what had me more annoyed: the fact my father thought he had a say in my business or that my grandfather agreed with him.
    I flipped on the light switch and flopped into my wheeled computer chair. I rubbed my temples and leaned back, trying to decide how to go about finding a real rink manager. All normal avenues had been tapped long ago. Newspaper ads hadn’t done the trick. Neither had flyers or Now Hiring signs. Everyone in town loved coming to the rink to skate. No one wanted to run the place, including me.
    â€œMs. Robbins, could I talk to you for a minute?”
    Max hovered in the doorway. His glasses slipped down his long nose, making him look studious. He ran a hand through his curly hair and gave me a nervous smile.
    I gestured to the seat on the opposite side of the desk, and Max sank into it.
    Leaning my elbows on the desk, I