The more she stared at him, the more Madison realized that yes, she was definitely attracted to him. Now that she saw him up close, he was about half a head taller than she was, and his body was toned with muscles. Even now, crossing his arms over his chest caused his biceps to strangle the thing material of his t-shirt, and his eyes had a kindness about them that other so-called players couldn’t claim. But even so, she didn’t want to put her heart through the ringer; it had had enough pain in its twenty-two years of life and wasn’t quite ready to jump back in the ring just yet.
“That’s the best you could come up with?” she asked. She sighed, her shoulders sagging forward. “How… disappointing.”
“Excuse me?” He still didn’t understand, but he did appear to somewhat surprised that his usual flattery wasn’t working on her. It would take more than one superficial pickup line and good looks to wrap Madison Montgomery around his finger.
“Well, ever since I joined the team, everyone warned me about what a ladies’ man you are, how charming you are,” she explained. Then she shrugged her shoulders, making sure to keep eye contact with him. Which was rather easy to do because she really did have a weakness for blue eyes. “I guess they’ve all been exaggerating your prowess though because that line you just used is lackluster and unoriginal.” She reached up and squeezed his shoulder which felt just as broad as it looked. Before she could think too much on it, though, she released him, her arm dropping back to her side. Offering him a sympathetic smile, she added, “Better luck next time though.”
With that, she spun around on the heel of her converse and followed the trickling hockey players up the stairs to the main center of the rink. Yes, she was certainly attracted to him, but the usual rush of adrenaline, the over-thinking and insecure thoughts didn’t plague her thoughts. She could do this. He wasn’t her type anyways, though it was hard to forget that when he was in street clothes. And if he wore glasses, she just might be doomed. But for now, she could do this. She had to.
Now that the initial meeting was over with, Madison would probably free from Alec Schumacher’s so-called wooing capabilities. He would probably find some poor girl who was completely infatuated with him and what he represented. It most certainly would not be her.
7. As superficial as it sounded, and as much as she hated to admit it, from the moment Seraphina laid eyes on Brandon Thorpe, she found herself to be wholly and completely attracted to him. In fact, as she looked at him standing to the side of the collective group of Gulls players, she could literally feel her pupils dilate. Then her conscious mind reminded her why she needed to talk to him, and as she requested he come up to what once had been her grandfather’s office, pushed her attraction to him in the back of her mind. It was surprisingly easy to do only because her body responded to something purely physical he seemed to emit.
It wasn’t as easy to do when she was confronted with the direct sight of him sitting across from her once they entered the office. It was hard for Seraphina to claim it was hers just yet, hard for her to take a seat that had once belonged to her grandfather when she would normally take the seat Brandon Thorpe sat in. She had gotten to the office early, intent on cleaning it and ridding it of unnecessary items such as that newspaper, but the police took the majority of things so all Seraphina could do was sit down a kill time. She hadn’t planned on getting lost in the many memories that accompanied the office, and before she knew it, Seraphina was crying. Which was why she was late to the informal meeting and she thanked her lucky stars she had opted not to wear makeup.
Seraphina realized that as she stood in front of the players, the Girls, and everyone else who had some stake in the team, that nobody took her seriously while she spoke. Nobody believed she would be successful as owner-manager of a hockey team. And it was hard not to believe them. But as she continued to speak, she began to believe what she was saying so that by the end of her little soliloquy, it didn’t matter what they believed because she did. She believed that she could do it. No, it definitely wasn’t going to be easy, and yes, she expected to take on more than enough adversity, but she could do it. She sort of had to, didn’t she? There was no way she would sell the team, no way she’d give Alan the satisfaction.
One of the first things she needed to do was resolve whatever conflict her grandfather had with Thorpe, because the clock was ticking and she needed to know if she was going to have to tell Henry to start practicing – oh, what was his name? Sam something? – whomever the second string goaltender was.
Sitting in front of her, Brandon Thorpe didn’t look too intimidating. He was tall, but not excessively so; maybe six foot, six foot one. He had short brown hair and an oval shaped face, with matching whiskers covering the lower half of his face. He had grey-green eyes that seemed closed-off to his surroundings, but not because he was daydreaming or staring into space. They almost seemed guarded, protecting some secret nobody else knew but him. His nose pointed out rather than curved down, and his cheekbones were high and sharp. His ears stuck out and maybe were too big and his chin was blunt rather than angled. His shoulders were broad, hidden behind a long-sleeved off-white shirt, but he was lean, toned, but lean, although it filled his frame quite nicely. He wore dark blue jeans that wasn’t too tight or too loose, something Seraphina admired in men her age given the trends that were popular right now. His feet were clad in tennis shoes, and Seraphina wasn’t sure if he planned to go to the gym after the meeting or if it was just his style. Though Brandon Thorpe had a handful of noticeable flaws, there was something about him, something that caused this sudden urge in Seraphina to –
She didn’t know what.
And more importantly, she had to focus on the task in front of her.
There was nothing in the rulebook that said she couldn’t be attracted to her player unless it affected her decision-making process. And due to the jumbled thought processes going through her mind right this second, it would seem that perhaps she would have to dedicate a good deal of mental control. But she needed something to distance herself from him, something that might not cause her attraction to disappear but possibly hinder it so it was more manageable.
He could be a suspect.
The thought was like being completely naked and thrown into an ice cold bath tub. It caused her to straighten up and steel herself off from him. No matter how magnetic his pull was on her, if she kept reminding herself that he was a suspect, she wouldn’t get swept away. Plus, she had a crush on Christopher Williams. There was too much she had to do to be attracted to more than one person, and it would be crossing the line especially since Thorpe was both a player and a suspect.
He was a suspect.
There was a reason Christopher Williams asked about him.
And, Seraphina realized, he was kind of a douche. He held out at the last second in order to acquire more money even though the Gulls had yet to ever make playoffs. Certainly he was a good goaltender, but not good enough to make playoffs. What about the loyalty Papa had instilled in his players? What about family? Didn’t this guy care that he could be risking playing with people he’d been playing with for…
How long had he been playing for the Gulls anyways?
Oh boy, she would definitely have to read up on not only Brandon Thorpe but everyone else too. And here she thought she’d be free of homework now that she had graduated college.
Where was his sense of honor? Wasn’t there some kind of hockey team code that the team came first? Seraphina wasn’t lying when she told Alec Schumacher that she expected him to adhere to the team mentality rather than an individual mindset. That was Papa’s motto – team before self. So why was this guy so adamant about getting more money? Didn’t he care about his team?
Not only that, but he could have killed Papa. For money. Because he wasn’t going to get his way.
Or was he?
Seraphina did suggest Brandon get a second chance.
Okay, thinking about things in a rational manner had calmed down her insides. She cou
ld look at the man sitting in front of her without her mind throwing out suggestive comments and catcalls.
“I take it you know why I wanted to talk to you,” she began, relieved to hear her voice come out steady. She even managed to lock eyes with him to show just how serious she was.
“Yeah, I think I have an idea,” Brandon Thorpe said. It was the first time Seraphina heard him speak – soft spoken baritone – and it’s not at all unpleasant. She recognized a gentle Canadian lilt to his tone, and it didn’t carry the arrogance, self-deserving undertones she expected it to.
He shifted in his seat before saying, “Look, I didn’t kill your grandfather.”
To say Seraphina was surprised by his unsuspecting outburst would be accurate. She looked at him coolly, trying to read his expression, to figure out if what he said was, in fact, the truth. But those eyes wouldn’t give anything away. And yet, a very tiny portion of her began to believe him. Maybe it was due to her obvious attraction to him. Maybe it was because she always wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt and he was no exception. But she couldn’t just make a decision on him based on that small voice inside of her that also happened to be completely separate from logic.
“I didn’t say you did,” she said after taking a moment to quiet her thoughts once more.
“Well, you must know that the cops think I’m a suspect,” he went on. He seemed to be uncomfortable with her blatant stare and he glanced down at his hands resting on his thighs though his jaw remained firm. “I was interviewed. Just a couple of questions. But they obviously think I did it.”
“I didn’t think they released any news about suspects yet,” Seraphina said after careful deliberation. “They certainly haven’t told me or my sister that you’re a suspect.”
“Yeah, but they asked you about me, didn’t they?” When Seraphina didn’t respond, he pressed his lips together in a triumphant smile that wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “See? Maybe it’s not official or anything but it’s obvious I’m a suspect.”
“You were the one who decided to hold out last minute instead of signing,” Seraphina pointed out, trying to keep her voice controlled. But certainly he could see why the police might suspect him. “You were the one who asked for more money. The timing is pretty bad, Mr. Thorpe. It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch for him to have refused you, for you to have gotten upset and kill him. You can’t deny that.”
“I can and I will,” he said through gritted teeth. His brow furrowed as he met Seraphina’s eyes again. This time there seemed to be fire behind the green irises. “Look, I’m not saying that I don’t see how they could suspect me for this. But that’s the only reason they suspect me; bad timing. Every player in their career has held out for a bigger contract. I just happened to have done it at a bad time.”
Seraphina felt her shoulder sag and her body to sink into the smooth leather of the chair. She even felt her feet touch the floor in order to slowly push her right and left, right and left, though it was nowhere near professional. “What makes you think you deserve a raise?” she finally asked, raising an eyebrow. A silent challenge.
“I know you and your family are going through a lot so I can understand that you don’t know the stats of your players just yet, but you should probably know that I’m the best goaltender in the league.” His voice still wasn’t arrogant; he truly seemed to believe what he said was a fact, not mere flattery.
“Maybe so,” Seraphina replied and pushed herself up so she leaned on her forearms, now resting on the desk, her fingers interlocked. “Maybe statistically speaking, you are the best goaltender in the league. How long have you been playing for the Gulls?”
“Three years.”
“Right.” She nodded to herself before meeting his eyes. “And in those three years, you have yet to take the Gulls to the playoffs. Do you want to know what your problem is? You blame your teammates for the goals that slip by you instead of taking responsibility for your mistakes. Sure, the puck has to get through every player on the ice before it faces you. But if it gets past you, it gets past you and that’s that. And now, you’re sitting in front of me, saying how you deserve to get a raise because you claim to be the best goalie in the league? I don’t see any of my forwards coming up to my office and asking me for a raise, and I hear that our first line has the potential to be the best in the league. You’re an essential part of the team, don’t get me wrong, but so are forwards. We have nothing if we can’t score goals just like we have nothing if we can’t save them. You may be good, the best, but to me, that just means you play your best with this team. And now you’re asking me for a raise or you won’t sign? You should be thanking my grandfather for putting you in an environment where you reached your full potential.”
Brandon’s brow pushed up as his mouth dropped in surprise. He was silent as Seraphina reached into the desk to pull out her grandfather’s copy of the finances. Simon Spade, the financial advisor, had his own copy at his office. Seraphina had glanced through it during her nostalgia earlier that day and found something interesting she wanted to know from Brandon Thorpe.
“Did you know my grandfather was considering trading you?” she asked, picking her eyes up to look at him.
He was still surprised by her lecture, but this question seemed to upset him. His eyes got fiery again and his mouth turned down. “Yeah, I heard rumors but Ken never came to me directly about them,” he said. And then, under his breath, “He never would have traded me.”
“Why?” Seraphina asked, and though he seemed to believe what he said, his facial expression so entirely serious, she couldn’t help but be amused by his first show of self-centeredness. It made him not so attractive, she realized with a touch of sadness, and she hoped that he would get over himself. “Because you’re the best goalie in the league? You do realize that it would cost me less to trade you then to keep you with your current asking price, don’t you? Sure, a few teams might pay you what you want, but it wouldn’t be same for you.”
“What wouldn’t be the same?” he asked, arrogance gone for the moment.
“The game.” She sat up even straighter. “Face it; there’s just something in the water when you’re here, in Newport Beach. The environment is mellow and relaxed except during the games when people’s passion takes over and they feel personally involved in every pass, every turnover, every goal. I don’t have to preach to you about the weather, how people work their entire lives to be able to buy a house here, how people would kill to stay here.” Her eyes flashed to his face at her purposefully chosen phrase, but either it went over his head or he was extremely controlled because he didn’t even react. “The people are nice and sweet, offering a smile or a hello. And the fans. The fans love you, Mr. Thorpe. Even I know that, and I barely know anything about hockey. These fans are loyal and attend every game, despite the fact that we’ve never made playoffs because they believe. They believe we have the potential. And it doesn’t matter how many times we let them down because they’ll keep coming back because for whatever reason, they still have faith even though we may not have faith. These are our fans. Nobody stops being a Gulls fan, which means the fan base will only increase which means more people packing Sea Side. Do you really want to give that all up for money?”
Seraphina locked eyes with him once more. She waited for him to claim that the people that occupied Newport Beach were stuck up and superficial, that he’d rather prefer the changing seasons to the static weather, that every fan base was generally the same save for the team they cheered for. But he didn’t. He didn’t say anything.
“And let’s be frank,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “No one’s going to take you with your current asking price given that you’re kind of a suspect in my grandfather’s murder.”
He shifted in his seat, but he wasn’t uncomfortable by the directness of her words. “Can I just say something?” he asked. “I don’t understand why you’re keeping me on the team when I am an unofficial suspect in your grandfather’s mu
rder.”
Yeah, she didn’t either. But before she could stop herself, she said, “Because for whatever reason, I don’t think you did it.”
Seraphina was actually surprised the telling words came out of her mouth. She wasn’t sure she was even allowed to tell Brandon that she believed his innocence, but she knew it probably the smartest idea, especially if he did do it. But at the moment, Seraphina realized that if she wanted Brandon to be loyal to the team, she would have to show her faith in him. Even if all logic and evidence pointed to the contrary, she would take the position of innocent until proven guilty.
Brandon looked taken aback by her words, and again, she waited for him to say something, anything; maybe a thank you or even a laugh of disbelief at her naivety. But again, he said nothing.
Which gave Seraphina a small flicker of hope.
She swallowed before she began to speak. As the younger sister, she wasn’t used to giving out orders. She asked for permission, made a request, even made suggestions, but rarely did ever tell someone what they were going to do. Except that changed right now. She made it a point to lock eyes with him, and after taking a deep breath, she spoke.
“Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to play for the Gulls for the season with your current contract. You won’t officially sign until the investigation has been closed, but you will be paid for each game you play, but I expect you to act and play as though you are still part of the team. Which means I expect you to interact more with your teammates. I don’t know if you’re brooding on purpose or just don’t like to socialize, but I don’t see any chemistry between you and the team, which may explain why we have yet to make it to playoffs. Go out with them after a game or practice. Talk to them. Get to know them. You’ve been playing with them for three years, and I guarantee you don’t know Matt’s middle name. Finally, once the season’s over, you and I will meet up and discuss how much you’ve improved, because even the best can get better, and we’ll reintroduce salary negotiations.”
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