“Because the team won’t keep you otherwise. Silver’s lawyer contacted me and explained the situation. Asher and I have worked together with some of his unsavory, yet high profile clients in the past. He managed to talk the new owner into giving me a shot at you. Silver doesn’t know how precarious your position on the team is. Or how your reputation reflects on her. In her delicate condition, it’s best that she doesn’t find out.”
“Yeah . . .” Scott ducked his head and water droplets sprinkled from his hair to his cheeks. He swiped them away with the back of his hand. Twice now he’d been reminded that Silver had done a lot for him. She’d taken plenty of slack for signing him. She didn’t need more while she was pregnant and not supposed to be stressed. He didn’t want to let her down, but still, this seemed like a bit much. Unless . . . unless it worked. “You think you can keep me from getting traded?”
“So long as you’re willing to cooperate?” Stephan’s neat brows lifted. He smiled at Scott’s nod, flashing toothpaste-ad-white teeth. “Yes. As far as the press, and the new owner, are concerned, you’re cleaning up your act. You are a humble man, well aware that he’s ‘fucked up.’ You will listen to whatever the owner has to say and reply politely, always addressing him as ‘Sir.’” He sniffed. “And I will do my best to make sure he can’t tell you’re hungover.”
“Some toast and Gatorade and I’ll be fine.” Mostly. He cursed himself again for drinking so much, but he was feeling a bit better already. Things weren’t hopeless, not if Stephan could pull this off. All the attitude he’d wanted to give the stuffy bastard vanished as he considered how fast he’d have been shipped out without his help. “What else do you need me to do?”
“For now, just get dressed.” Stephan gestured vaguely toward the suit bag on the bed. He looked around room, nostrils flaring, lips pursed. “We will focus on the meeting, then discuss new accommodations. Is there a reason you share a condo with a teammate and his . . . girlfriends?”
Scott laughed. “I was renting, but I got kicked out. Vanek gave me a place to stay, but now he wants me gone.”
“Ah. Well, I will find you appropriate lodgings. We need you to be completely accessible to the press. I’d like them to see you in a more permanent setting. To make it clear that you’ve made a home in Dartmouth and you plan to stay.”
“I do.”
“Good. Perhaps this job won’t be as difficult as Asher implied. You have a reputation for being quite . . . unpleasant to work with.” Stephan shook his head. “I’ve spoken to several of your teammates. None of them had anything good to say about you.”
Damn. Not that Scott should be surprised. His teammates on his other teams hadn’t liked him either. And he always tried not to care. It was harder with the Cobras though. He liked a few of them—enough to want to stay even if they’d be happy to see him gone. Zach automatically came to mind, but Scott wasn’t sure where he stood anymore either. Did Zach want him gone too? Would he have had anything good to say if Stephan had talked to him?
Probably not.
Scowling, Scott moved to the bed and unzipped the suit bag. Charcoal black. White shirt. The blood red tie was a bit much, but nothing he couldn’t deal with. He snorted as he pulled out the small silver bag containing a pair of snug black boxer briefs and socks that matched the suit perfectly. The man had thought of everything. “In other words, they all told you I’m an asshole.”
“Flirting with married women is considered bad form.”
“The chicks like the attention.”
“Let them get it from someone else. I can’t force your teammates to like you, but you will do everything in your power to keep them from hating you. Let them see how dedicated you are to being an asset to the team.”
Seriously? “I am dedicated.”
“Are you? Are you on the ice before the rest? In the gym longer? Do you follow the instructions from the dietitian?” Stephan made a sharp motion with his hand before Scott could answer. “Don’t bother. I’ve done my homework. You are the laziest, least disciplined player on the roster—”
“I’m a loser. I got it.”
Stephan just kept talking. “—talented, but that hardly matters when you show up drunk. Or call in sick. That. Ends. Now.”
Fuck, if you weren’t such a fairy, you’d make a good Dom. Scott pulled on the incredibly soft dress shirt, then dropped his towel and stepped into the boxers, grinning when Stephan looked away. “Got it. Anything else?”
“We need to find you a nice girl.”
“A what?” Scott stared at the man who’d just officially reached certifiable. “I don’t do ‘nice girls.’”
“You do now.” Stephan propped his hands on his hips, then sighed and brushed Scott’s hands aside as he fumbled with the tie. He tied a perfect knot, then smoothed it over Scott’s chest. “You’ve given the media too much raunchy material to work with. They’ll get bored of you once you start courting an acceptable young woman seriously, and that’s exactly what we want. But don’t worry about that now. I’ll present you with a list of potentials by the end of the week.”
Okay, this was too much. “You get to choose who I fuck? What if I need a ‘nice’ stiff cock.”
Stephan sputtered. “No! Oh no, that can’t happen. I’m sorry, Scott, but if you are homosexual, you’ll have to hide it for now. You can’t afford to draw that kind of attention. We can work on you ‘coming out’ once you’ve become a fan favorite, but at this point—”
“I got it.” Scott shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Wanna fit me for a chastity belt now?”
The bastard’s lips quirked. “Don’t tempt me.”
“So do I get to have a life at all, or is that not on the agenda?” Damn it, Scott would do just about anything to stay on the team, but it grated to have everything he did under a microscope. Being a good boy in public, he could pull off. But Stephan was talking like he couldn’t do shit without his stamp of approval. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I need some privacy. Down time, you know?”
“You’ve had plenty of ‘down time,’ Scott. And you’ve used it to become the most disreputable player in the league.” Stephan tugged Scott’s hands out of his pockets, straightened his suit, then stepped back to look him over. “Don’t waste my time or Silver’s money. She may not know it, but she’s paying me very well to remake you into a man the team and the fans can be proud of. If you’re unwilling to do what it takes to become that man, tell me now.”
Still slightly dizzy from the vodka still in his system, sore everywhere from fucking and being fucked all night. Scott straightened and considered Stephan’s words. How bad did he want this? Bad enough to fit into the mold Stephan wanted to force him into? Could he really pull this off?
Did he have a choice?
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
“Good.” Stephan followed him out into the hall, frowning when Scott grabbed his dress shoes from the rack by the door. Without a word, he took a knee and opened what looked like a big square brown leather purse. He pulled out a container of clear polish, a cloth, and jerked at Scott’s ankle to place his shoe on his other knee. “I have a feeling I’m going to have to inspect you from head to toe every time you go out in public. And a shopping trip is in order. How old are these shoes?”
Scott shrugged. “I’ve had ‘em for a few years. But I don’t wear them much.” He laughed at Stephan’s wide eyed look. “What?”
“The team expects the players to wear suits to all games.”
“I know. And I do.”
“Please tell me you don’t wear running shoes—”
“Fine. I won’t tell you.” The way the veins at Stephan’s temples bulged out couldn’t mean anything good. Scott quietly offered up his other scuffed and dirt-streaked shoe. “Look, I’ll wear whatever you tell me to, okay?”
“Yes. You will.” Once Scott’s shoes were as shiny as he could get them, Stephan stood and fussed with his suit a bit more. Then he checked
his watch. “Go before you’re late. I’ll stay here—bring someone in to pack your things and figure out what you need.” He pulled a business card out of his breast pocket. “Call me as soon as the meeting is finished.”
“Will do.” Scott tucked the card in his pocket, eager to get the hell out of there. He spotted Chicklet, in the doorway of Vanek’s room, watching him, lips twisted with disdain. He missed the doorknob at his first grab, unable to look away from her. The woman hated him and he couldn’t blame her. He lowered his gaze and muttered, “I’m sorry.”
She took a step back and closed the bedroom door.
“Prove it, Scott.” Stephan patted his shoulder, then squeezed it in a way that was strangely comforting. “I’m not sure what you did wrong, but we’ll make it right. I’m here to help.”
“I appreciate that.” Damn it, he couldn’t resent the guy anymore. And worse, he owed Silver, again, whether she knew it or not. And the best way to pay her back was by proving to everyone that signing him wasn’t the biggest mistake she’d ever made.
He’d always been a mistake. A screw up.
But that was about to change.
* * * *
The forum was dead quiet this early in the morning, no one around besides security. The place would be full in a few hours with the hard rock bands scheduled. The new owner of the forum had plans to use the place for more than games, which was damn brilliant. The Delgado family had lost a lot of money using the building for nothing but games and a few local events. If nothing else, the new owner was business-smart.
Scott fiddled with his tie as he crossed the gleaming marble floors with long strides. On the drive over, he’d thought over Stephan’s instructions. “Yes, sir.” “No, sir.” Sounded so simple, but it wouldn’t be. The new owner had his shit together, and he’d know Scott was a bad investment. Nothing short of a miracle would save Scott at this point. He’d gotten a fresh start with the Cobras, and he’d wasted it.
Fuck off. You weren’t that bad.
Waiting for the elevator, Scott’s lips twitched as he considered some of the crap he’d pulled over the last year. If he was lucky, the new owner didn’t know the half of it. But his luck hadn’t been all that good lately. Too bad he couldn’t just deal with Richter. At least Silver could smooth the way with the GM, since she had him wrapped around her little manicured fingers.
She’s done enough for you.
His thoughts wondered to Stephan’s plans for his future. To the “list” of appropriate chicks he’d be given. Out of all the parts of his life Stephan was taking over, that part rankled the most. Vanek had joked once that Scott was a sex addict. And maybe he was. Having a random body in his bed every night made him feel less . . . alone. Yeah, getting in a serious relationship could do that too, but whenever a man or a woman looked at him like they wanted to go there, it was like they were putting a noose around his neck. He got away from them as fast as he could. And even when he was tempted to make things real, he somehow fucked things up.
Like he had with Zach.
Then again, according to Stephan, Zach wasn’t even an option anymore. He needed a “nice girl.” Which was funny. A real nice girl wouldn’t want him. He had nothing to offer. Even Zach, who seemed to want more, had pointed that out. Out of everyone he had to make things right with, Zach would have been first in line. Zach thought he was worth something. The last time they’d talked, he’d given the impression that he’d be there when Scott figured that out.
I should call him.
Scott slid his hand into his pocket, fisting it around his phone. A few words with Zach and he could make it through the meeting, confident that at least someone believed in him.
Not an option.
Until he cleaned up his image, he’d have to be all about “the woman” in his life. He enjoyed sex with women enough to deal, but it would be like being on some weird fad diet, stuck with the same thing night after night, deprived of his favorite food. And after just one night, Zach ranked right up there with steak and pot roast. Being with a “good girl’ would be like eating nothing but crackers and chicken broth.
Why do people care who I fuck? Scott jerked his suit jacket straight as he stepped onto the elevator, groaning as a button popped off and hit the floor. Why couldn’t he have it easy like Zach? Coming out publicly made the man a goddamn hero to the team, because they all knew he’d done it to take the focus off Luke Carter, a kid who’d just lost his rookie status, who’d gotten in deep with defenseman Sebastian Ramos. He wasn’t ready to tell the world he was bi. Whatever. Scott couldn’t care less if people knew he was, but he had to stick to the status quo. That very night, his agent had called him and told him to make it clear he ‘liked pussy’. His exact fucking words. It hadn’t been all that hard to find some bunnies to flaunt and fuck.
But he’d hurt Zach. And he kept hurting him every time he went out with a bunny under each arm. Even worse when he snuck out and found some stud to fool around with.
How would Zach feel when he saw Scott with the woman Stephan chose for him? He pictured himself with some pretty little thing by his side, smiling for the cameras. With Zach on the sidelines, watching him, pain in his eyes.
I can’t do this. The elevator doors slid open and he forced himself to move forward. He glanced at the doors lining the hall, dragging his feet as he headed toward the new owner’s office. If he didn’t go through with this, where would that leave him? In some other city, far away from Zach? If he found a way to stay, maybe he could make things right. I have to try.
Scott rapped his knuckled on the door to the owner’s office. This was it. Time to face the man who would decide where his life went from here.
“Come in.”
Stepping into the office, Scott glanced around, taking note of the classy setup. The owner’s desk was huge. There were three leather chairs set in front of the large, gleaming mahogany structure. Black and white portraits of hockey greats covered the walls. The man knew the game. Had a passion for it if the pictures with him and Roy, and Lemieux, and Richard were anything to go on. But that wasn’t what filled Scott with dread. He looked over the tabloids spread across the man’s desk. Pictures of Scott, drunk, half-naked, none of the headlines flattering. Scott stared at them as the man stood and leaned across the desk, offering his hand.
“Lorenzo Piers Keane. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Demyan.”
Yeah, Right.
“Scott.” With the shit he was about to get into with the man, informal would be good. He swallowed, tearing his gaze away from the papers.
I’m fucked.
He shook the man’s hand, then dropped into the chair behind him. “Umm . . .”
“Yes. Umm.” Keane sat, then rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. He wore a simple, black Italian suit, tailored to fit his tall, trim frame. A bit of grey streaked through the brown hair along his temples. His dark brown eyes assessed Scott for several excruciatingly long moments before he let out a heavy sigh. “Scott, your stats make you worth every penny we’re paying you, but this . . .” He motioned toward the papers. “The team cannot afford your reputation.” His lips curled slightly with disgust. “I have to admit, the charges of statutory rape concerned me the most. I considered sending you to the farm team on waivers without—”
“There were no charges!” Scott shoved his chair back, rage sizzling through his veins as he grabbed the tabloid with a huge picture of him making out with a girl whose face was blurred out. A smaller one of her slipping underneath the table. The last of them heading for the men’s room. “She was seventeen. We met at a bar and she had ID. I was set up!”
“Set up?” Keane arched a brow, his expression showing mild interest. “How so?”
“A reporter paid her to come on to me, then made a big deal about it. Believe me, she didn’t look like a kid. You know so much?” Scott jerked his thumb at the papers. “You’ve gotta know Hayley Turner is gunning for the team because she thinks Silver fucked her husband.
Everyone knows that.”
“More than one media outlet covered the incident.”
Yeah, Becky had picked it up from some “source” for a behind the scenes sports special. News was slow. He guessed she had to give them something. But it pissed him off that she had to make him look like a goddamn cradle robber to get ahead.
“What can I say, I’m fucking fascinating.” Scott ran his tongue over his teeth, lowering back into his seat as he caught the way Keane’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t making himself look any better to the man. He rolled his shoulders. “Look. Don’t think I don’t understand where you’re coming from. I need to smarten up. But some of this stuff isn’t as fucked up as it looks. They—”
“Ah, the infamous ‘they.’” Keane let out a tight laugh. “I have teenage daughters, twins—which you seem to enjoy.” He picked up another newspaper which showed Scott in a limo with a pair of hot redheads. After crumpling the papers in his hand, he tossed it aside. “But I won’t let my personal bias affect my decision. Especially since you feel targeted by the press. Let me see . . .” He tapped a colored photo of Scott and cocked his head slightly. “Please explain to me how the media managed to get you drunk and onstage at a strip club. Did someone forcibly remove your clothing?”
Scott winced. He’d forgotten about that night. He’d been pretty wasted. “No. That was just me being an idiot.”
“I see. And the brawl you were involved in at a . . . karaoke bar? Let me guess. You planned to sing professionally once you’d destroyed your career as a professional hockey player, and some asshole told you not to quit your day job.”
“No. I just got drunk and—”
“Stupid. Yes, that seems to happen a lot with you. And the street racing—which there were charges for.” Keane flipped open a folder. “According to your file, you spent several days in jail.”
“I was sober.” Scott’s jaw tensed. “I don’t drive drunk.”
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