by Mandy Baxter
What Reily didn’t realize was that none of the brothers wanted anything to do with their old man’s money. Nate couldn’t sign the checks fast enough.
“Younger brother, Noah. County Sheriff. I tried to dig something up on him as well and came up empty-handed. You’re sort of the black sheep, aren’t you Travis?”
Good God, did Reily Martin run some sort of secret spy network in her free time? What didn’t she know about his family?
“I’m not going to apologize for having fun,” he replied. “I mean, why not? I might as well enjoy myself while I’m young enough to do it.”
“You’re twenty-nine,” Reily said.
Aaanndd? The way she made it sound, he was knocking on death’s door. “What’s your point?”
Reily banged the edges of the stack of paper on the table to make a precisely perfect pile before setting them aside and trading them for a second stack. She removed the paper clip and set it in a tray on her desk. Travis wondered what she’d do if he scattered all of her neat papers and clips in a haphazard pile. She’d probably have a heart attack.
“Look, Travis. I’m not the enemy. I’m here to help you be the best you you can be.”
Did she have that load of crap printed on her business cards? “I am the best me I can be,” Travis said. “I’m the best goalie in the NHL right now. I’m making good money and I’m on track to have an even better season next year.”
“That’s not what Bob Spencer says.”
“Bob’s just doing his job.” No way would any of them be giving him shit if the owner’s feathers weren’t ruffled. “He doesn’t care what I do as long as I stop the puck.”
“That’s not true, Travis,” Reily said. “This is it for you. You either straighten up or they’re not going to renew your contract.”
Her straightforward response caused his gut to knot up. He’d come here today to placate Bob. And yeah, Bob had thrown the threats around about benching him, but never in a million years would he have considered the possibility of his contract not being picked up for next season. In the span of a couple of minutes, Reily had changed the game. Travis might be reckless, but he wasn’t stupid. Nothing mattered more than his career.
“Fine,” he said on a gust of breath. “What in the hell do you expect me to do to make sure that doesn’t happen?”
* * *
Reily looked down at the stack of papers in her grip. Research she’d done in order to sway her reluctant client to man-up and play ball. Honestly, she’d expected more of a fight from Travis but all it had taken to crumble his resolve was the mention of his contract not being renewed. Bob Spencer would have been better off threatening him with that from the get-go.
“I, um … Well, for starters we need to…” Travis grinned and Reily’s cheeks grew hot as she set down the papers and reached for her day planner. She’d known that he was good looking before he walked into her office, but up close and personal, Travis Christensen was downright disarming.
He was massive up close. So much bigger in person than the pictures she’d seen. His athletic build and muscles that stress-tested his t-shirt were definitely impressive but his bulk wasn’t the most impressive of Travis’s traits. Reily’s gaze moved up from his torso and wide chest, past his broad shoulders. She paused and took in the strong, square set of his jaw, rough with dark stubble, and the sharp cut of his cheekbones. Intense hazel eyes studied her and when he reached up to brush his shaggy brown hair away from his brow, Reily’s stomach did a little flip. Did he practice that move in the mirror? If so, it was damned effective.
“The last time I left a woman speechless was…” Travis’s gaze slid to the side as though trying to remember. He flashed a wicked grin. “Oh, yeah. Last night.”
Dear lord. Reily cleared her throat as she stuffed the papers back into the file folder. Yes, Travis was disarming, but also arrogant to a fault. That cockiness did nothing for her. Not. A. Thing. She gave herself a mental slap. The future of her business and, in fact, her entire career hinged on her ability to turn the bad-boy goalie around. Flirting wasn’t allowed. Neither was enjoying it. This was a job. Period. And Reily needed to be sure to treat it like one.
“We’ll start tomorrow,” Reily said. Her tone was all business as she traded her day planner for her phone. She opened the calendar app and typed as she talked. “You have a nine a.m. appointment with a stylist. After that, hair.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Travis held out his hands as though to stop her. “Stylist? Hair? You think you’re giving me a makeover?”
Reily smirked. She liked seeing him thrown off his game. “Call it what you want. But the first step to improving your image is to change your outward appearance.”
“I’m not doing that,” Travis said. He folded his arms across his wide chest. “You might as well scratch that off your list right fucking now.”
Looked like he hadn’t caved as easily as she’d thought. “I think we’ve already established that you are doing it. Especially if you’re interested on keeping your place on the team.”
“You think dressing me up like some sort of librarian—” he waved his hand toward her suit “—is going to get the press to lay off of me?”
Reily’s lips puckered as she looked down at her blazer. Just because she didn’t dress like a waitress at Hooters didn’t mean she was some sort of stuffy, uptight … librarian. And what was wrong with librarians, anyway? She let out a slow breath and focused her energy on not letting him egg her into an argument like they were six years old. “Not at all. But this isn’t college, Travis. Ratty t-shirts and worn Levis aren’t going to cut it. You’re a professional and you earn a professional’s salary. You need to give the world the impression that you mean business and that your job is important to you. You’re representing the Stars. If you want to be taken seriously—as a serious athlete—then you need to look the part.”
“I thought the pucks I catch in my glove did that for me,” he said with a scowl. “Designer slacks and a tie aren’t going to help me on the ice.”
Reily didn’t think she’d ever met anyone as stubborn as Travis Christensen. Or anyone as reluctant to change. She was asking him to get a haircut for crying out loud. Not cut off his leg! “I think you and I both know that your ability to stop a puck has no bearing on whether or not you’re a professional where the press is concerned.” She turned her computer screen once again to give him another look at the photos posted to TMZ’s website. “Not when you’re giving them more sensational things to report on.”
Travis looked her dead in the eye. “Who I fuck and how I choose to spend my time is no one’s business.”
He was trying to shock her but it wasn’t going to work. She’d seen—and heard—it all. “When you’re famous and live your life as publicly as you do, it absolutely is.”
He let out a derisive snort. “You sound like Bob.”
“That’s because Bob knows as well as I do that you’re not doing yourself any favors with your behavior. If you work with me Travis, I’ll make sure that you get the paycheck—and the contract—you deserve.”
He laughed. There was a cynical edge to it that grated on her ears. “You think I’m in it for the paycheck? Obviously you didn’t dig deep enough into my finances when you started investigating me.”
On the contrary, Reily knew almost too much about Travis’s finances. His father’s oil empire was worth billions. Even without a dime of his salary, he could live like a king. He’d inherited an obscene amount of money. The press found him interesting because he was the total package: rich, gorgeous, athletic, and most of all, irreverent. Nothing sold gossip like the person who threw up the middle finger to all of the wagging tongues and continued to do as he pleased.
“I know everything about you,” Reily stated. “Including your finances.”
A wide grin spread on Travis’s lips. “So you know I sleep naked, then?”
Reily’s eyes dipped of their own accord to his lean torso wrapped in the skin-tight
t-shirt, and lower, past his hips to the bulge in his jeans. Heat rose to her cheeks and she averted her gaze, but it was too late for damage control. In his deep chuckle, it was obvious he knew exactly how he affected her.
“It’s statements like that that get you into trouble, Travis.”
“Statements like that have worked pretty damn well for me in the past.”
So smug. Reily pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose and forced her gaze to remain on his face. “That’s another thing. You’re going to have to learn discretion when it comes to your dates. Especially the ones that you might be … um … inclined to hire for their services.”
Travis’s gaze darkened, the brilliant hazel seeming to become more green than brown. Beautiful. And, at the same time, a little intimidating. His jaw squared as he sat back in his chair and regarded her with a serious expression. “Anything else I’m not allowed to do, Mom?”
No longer playful, and nowhere near charming, Travis’s eyes bored into hers. She sensed the fun and games were through for the day, which was fine with her. This was business after all. If he didn’t like what she’d said to him, too damned bad. She was being paid to fix him, and that’s what she was going to do.
“Yeah, go to bed at a decent hour,” she said. “And no bars or clubs, and no drinking.”
Travis continued to drill her with the intensity of his hazel stare. “So basically no fun, no living my life. Just sit on a shelf until the Stars are ready to take me down and use me.”
“Meet me at Forty Five Ten at nine-thirty tomorrow morning.” Reily doubted Travis had ever shopped at any of the downtown boutiques. His outfit today looked like it had been in his closet for a decade. “Don’t be late. We’ll start there.” Reily refused to give him the satisfaction of an argument. She slid one of her business cards toward him and he swiped it from the desk. “In the meantime, call if you need anything or have any questions.”
“Whatever.” Travis pushed himself up from his chair and raked his fingers through the tangles of his dark hair. “Is there a secret back alley you want me to sneak out of when I leave? Or is it alright for the paparazzi to see me in my t-shirt and jeans?”
He’d gone from charming, to snarky, to downright brooding in a couple minutes flat. Reily could have softened the edge, but that wouldn’t do him any good in the long run. “The front entrance is fine,” she replied as though she hadn’t heard the snark in his tone. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”
Their eyes met and held for a long moment before he turned and left her office without another word. Funny, it seemed as though the mention of him paying for a date was what had triggered his broody behavior. For someone who didn’t seem to care what anyone thought, his reaction had been a little unexpected.
Maybe there was more to Travis Christensen than met the eye. As she watched him leave, Reily found herself dying to find out.
Three
Travis stared up at the sign that read Forty Five Ten, his jaw clenched so tight that he felt his molars grind. He’d slept all of about ten minutes the previous night and not because he’d been partying or enjoying himself. For the most part, nothing ever got under his skin, but yesterday, Reily Martin’s words had managed to burrow like a tick. Travis knew what people—not to mention the press and his own damn team manager—assumed about him. And he’d never bothered setting the record straight. In fact, on more than one occasion he’d perpetuated the rumors. But hearing her say it had bothered him a hell of a lot more than he thought it would.
Not once in his life had he ever paid for a woman’s company.
He could get a date on his own just fine, thank you very much. Sure, “date” was sort of stretching it. Travis hooked-up. He played around. He hadn’t had a serious girlfriend in … hell, he’d never had a serious girlfriend.
His wild ways had never embarrassed Travis. He lived his life the way he wanted and it’s not like he didn’t know what was important. His family—his brothers and his nieces—took top priority. Something the press had failed to acknowledge. No one ever pointed out his good points, only his faults. But since the gossip mongers didn’t matter, Travis ignored them for the most part. So why did the opinion Reily had formed of him sting so badly? Why did he give a single shit what she thought?
“You look like a man about to begin a life-long prison sentence. It’s just a boutique, Travis.”
The sound of Reily’s warm, honeyed voice sent a shiver up Travis’s spine. He tucked the pleasant sensation away and said, “Do I look like the sort of guy who shops at a boutique?”
“That’s the point. No more clothes that make you look like you just rolled out of your bed in the dorm. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, ‘Dress for the job you want, not the job you have?’”
A smile curved Travis’s lips as he turned to face her. “I already dress for the job I want and have. I play hockey for a living. Not exactly a white-collar gig.”
“Nice try, but that’s no excuse.” Reily pursed her lips and pushed her glasses up on her nose. Damn, that uptight stuffy look of hers was really starting to grow on him. “Come on, no more moping around outside. Time to go in.”
Travis might have to cooperate in order to keep his place on the ice, but he didn’t have to like this dog and pony show. Reily expected him to play along, let her lead him around by a ring in his nose while she dressed him and shaped him like a raw lump of clay. Did she really think a few fancy outfits and a haircut would be enough to change him?
He reached for the door and swung it wide. “After you.”
Reily cut him at look. She hesitated as she started for the door as though she didn’t quite trust him behind her. Travis’s gaze wandered down the slender length of her back, hugged tight by a crisp, white dress shirt, over the flare of her hips to the roundness of her ass, accentuated by her skin tight, skinny-legged slacks. He wondered what she’d do if he reached out and swatted that tempting roundness. It would be worth it to see her blue eyes widen behind the rims of her large glasses and her mouth pucker in that scandalized expression.
Reily turned to face him, one dark brow arched curiously. “Not thinking of running are you?”
Travis shook himself from his reverie, only now noticing that she was already halfway through the boutique while he was still standing there with the door wide open as he stared at her.
Damn. The woman had an ass that could make him forget where he was and what he was doing.
“Running?” Travis asked as he strode through the door. “Not a chance.” Nope, he wasn’t going anywhere. Not when he had a full day of pushing Reily’s buttons ahead of him.
They were greeted by an over-styled, over-made-up woman who looked to be in her late twenties. Snore. He thought her name was Patrice … or something. She chatted with Reily as though they were good friends and while they caught up on whatever it was power hungry, uptight control freaks talked about, he took a look around the trendy clothing store, which wasn’t much bigger than his media room.
This place so wasn’t his scene. The jeans Travis wore today were probably five years old and he couldn’t even remember where he’d bought them. Paired with a Stars t-shirt and the Nikes he wore when he ran, he didn’t exactly scream wealthy sophistication. But that was sort of the point. Travis didn’t flaunt his wealth and he didn’t want people’s opinions of him to be formed because of it. Reily had been hired to turn him into something he wasn’t and it left a sour taste in his mouth. If he didn’t love his job so much, he would have told Bob and Scott and anyone else who had a problem with him right where they could stick it….
“Travis, this is Patrice Walker.” Reily and Patrice both took a step toward him. He gave the other woman a wan smile as he shook her hand. “She’s a stylist, and Dallas’s elite line up for an opportunity for her to dress them.”
“What? They can’t dress themselves?” Travis asked with a snort. A wicked smile curved his lips as he let the register of his voice go lower. “I’ve been able to u
se a zipper since I was four, but if you think I need help, I won’t stop you.”
Patrice’s mouth puckered into a wry grin and her gaze heated. Reily, on the other hand, looked as though her head was going to explode right off of her shoulders. Travis couldn’t get enough of that scandalized expression. The more outraged Reily looked, the more outrageously Travis wanted to behave. A bloom of color painted her cheeks, and her dark lashes fringed her narrowed eyes. A wide grin curved his lips and he swore he could hear the steam boiling between her ears. She cleared her throat and let out a slow sigh before turning her attention to Patrice.
“We need casual, business, business casual, and formal. We can go heavier on the casual for now, but we’ve got to get him out of those faded jeans and t-shirt.”
She almost made it too damned easy. “If you wanted to get me out of my clothes, Reily, all you had to do was ask.”
Her eyes narrowed even further and Travis wondered if she could see him at all. He swallowed down the laughter that bubbled in his throat. Getting a reaction out of her was quickly becoming his new favorite pastime.
“Neckties, but no bowties,” she said to Patrice as though he wasn’t even there. “Slacks, dress shirts. At least two three-piece suits. Probably a couple of pairs of loafers.” She looked down at his tennis shoes. “Better make that three.”
“I like tennis shoes,” Travis interrupted.
“How about a pair of motorcycle boots?” Patrice suggested. “I’ve got a pair of Aquatalia biker boots that would go great with the right pair of jeans.”
Reily looked him up and down. Travis suspected that the slow appraisal was meant to intimidate him somehow but all her attentive gaze managed to do was heat his blood. Travis’s heart beat a mad rhythm in his chest and he didn’t move a single muscle as she looked him over.
“No…” Reily said after a moment. “Motorcycle boots are only going to enhance what we’re trying to temper. Let’s stick with the loafers for now.”
