Page 17 of The Romance Line
Clementine barely cracks a smile as she looks at me. “Which is why we have a wonderful opportunity that will help you show exactly what you can do for the team,” she says in her cool British voice.
“I’m up for anything. I’m currently assembling fun facts from all the players,” I say as if that proves my mettle.
Clementine shoots me a curious look but it’s one that saysdon’t bother me with the detailswhen she waves her hand dismissively. “Then this shouldn’t be a problem.” She leans back in her white faux leather chair. “We have an opportunity for one of our players to be featured inThe Ice Men.”
I sit up straighter. “The Webflix documentary?” I squeak out, then quickly correct to, “The Webflix documentary. I love that show.”
“Yes. Team bank accounts do too,” she says.
The top-rated sports documentary premiered last year and airs about six episodes a season. Each hour-long episode follows one player around for several weeks with behind-the-scenes access to him. The ratings for the show are off the charts, and the subsequent viewership for teams’ broadcasts have shot up when their players are featured. I’ve pitched Webflix a few times on featuring one of our players, but I’ve never heard back.
“That’s exciting. Is it Christian? Chase? Asher?” I ask. “Those guys would be great choices with their charm and stats.”
Clementine laughs, then shakes her head. “Darling. I wish it were that easy. It’s Max Lambert. And we need you to whip him into shape before the shoot begins in January.”
My face falls. I can’t even fashion a cheery publicist face right now. “You do?” I gulp.
“He’s like a diamond in the rough, isn’t he?” Zaire says with a grin.
“More like a piece of coal,” I mutter, andoh, shit. Am I getting myself fired for that?
But Clementine is laughing, for the first time ever. “He truly is, darling. And you’ll have your work cut out for you to make him likable. But the thing is—we want this. Badly. He has the stats. He certainly has an interesting reputation. Webflix wants the league’s best players forThe Ice Men, and Lambert is indisputably one of the top goalies. I’ve heard what this kind of exposure has done for other teams. My friends in Calgary, Boston, and Miami have all been bragging about the revenue it brings in,” she says, dollar signs flickering in her eyes, and lust in her voice. That’s the magic word—revenue. This opportunity willbring attention and money to the team. “We need this to go smoothly. And you, my dear, are a wunderkind.”
As much as I want to relish in the compliment, I’m fighting off a grimace. This is an impossible mission. I can’t give Max Lambert an image makeover. Especially in less than three months. He hates everything. “I can’t wait,” I say, as if I mean it.
“Fantastic,” Clementine says, then clicks on her computer, and hits the mouse. “There you go. All the details onThe Ice Menepisode should be in your email. I assume you’re in.”
It looks like I just became a makeup artist and manners coach in one afternoon.
And because I can fake it when I have to, I say brightly, “I’m in.”
A few miserable hours later, I’m packing up to leave, bracing myself to text Max to schedule our first…is it a session? A lesson? A debrief? I don’t even know. When I hit pause on the text, my gaze drifts down to the earlier message from Lucas. He worked with me when I was rehabbing after the car accident, then we reconnected over the summer and went on a date. But he was called out of town shortly after to work in a clinic in Los Angeles for a few months. We never hung out again.
Looks like he wants to now.
Hey, Everly! I’m back in town and would love to take you out again. Let me know if there’s a statute of limitations on a second date. I hope not.
Wedidhave a nice time. He’s kind and caring, like you’d hope someone in his profession would be. I wouldn’t mind seeing him again. But my head’s too full right now to respond. It’s pinging with this new assignment and what it’ll require, and thoughts of Max and what a pain in the ass he is. I’m a little frazzled, so rather than write to either guy, I compose a message to my friends instead, texting Josie, Maeve, and Fable. It took me a few years to even want to have friends again, but I love this group of women and need them now more than ever.
I ask if they can get together with me tonight. Then I grab my things and leave, working on a text to Max as I head down the corridor to my car.
But I stop short at the weight room. He’s alone in there, on the leg-press machine, pushing an ungodly amount of weights with his thick thighs, bulging with muscles. The scowl of all scowls is etched on his too-handsome face.His blue eyes are ice. His cheekbones could cut glass.
Welcome to a new hell, Everly.
My stomach twists. I rap on the doorjamb, but I’m not sure he’ll hear me, since he’s wearing earbuds. But he’s a goalie, so his peripheral vision is better than a hawk’s. He must notice me out of the corner of his eye, and he looks mad as hell. He presses hard down on the weights one more time, then lets go of them. The loud clang they make rattles my heart.
Pushing up to sit, he pops out his earbuds. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t my brand-new babysitter.”
Fun fact: this is going to suck.
7
GOOD GUY BOOT CAMP
Everly
The thing about jerks is this—you can’t kowtow to them. When they’re sarcastic, it’s best to disarm them. You do it by being honest, kind, and direct. I’ve read employee handbooks and guidelines about how to handle difficult people, be they reporters, colleagues, or fans.Defuseis the watchword.