Page 2

Cha pter 2

Chloe

I sit back in my chair and assess Gunner.

I haven’t been in a situation like this where it was just the two of us in a long time.

I could probably count on one hand the times it’s happened since I joined the organization four years ago.

I’ve made sure to never let it happen, not after I made the biggest idiot of myself when I first joined the team.

I'd been a fan of Gunner’s long before I ever joined the team. I love hockey, always have. The Green Thunder has been my favorite team since I was little, and I’d been a fan of Gunner’s since he joined the team. I’d always been enamored by the big guy on the ice. They used to call him Gunner the Gunslinger because of his slapshot. There was so much force behind his shot. When I got hired onto the team for my dream job, I thought long and hard about how I would approach Gunner.

I wanted to introduce myself and tell him what a huge fan I was. Only, in my excitement over finally meeting him in person for the first time, I lost my head. I introduced myself and asked him out, all in the span of about thirty seconds. Most embarrassing thirty seconds of my life. I’m still trying to outrun that horrible, foolish mistake.

I was young and naive and incredibly sure of myself. Gunner shot me down before I even got the words out of my mouth. My face burns at the memory, and I push it deep into the recesses of my mind where all my other most embarrassing moments live. I remind myself that I am a successful agent now, and that’s all behind me. Focus. I busy myself by opening a new note in my iPad. “All right. Let’s go back to the beginning. So, you knew Jenny in high school?” He nods. “Dated?”

“No.”

“Friends?”

“No.”

“Did you go to prom together? Did you ever give her a note? A gift?”

He shakes his head. His arms are crossed over his massive chest, and his body language is reading totally closed off. Too bad I have to do my job. I push on. “When was the first time she contacted you?”

He thinks a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe a few months ago.”

I resist the urge to berate him. I’ve told the guys over and over again that they need to come to me for these kinds of situations. “Do you still have the message on your phone?”

“No.”

“What did she say?” When he doesn’t answer, I look up from my tablet. “Coftman?”

“You think I remember a message from months ago?” he asks, sounding annoyed and put-out. It almost makes me laugh. Almost .

“Fine. We’ll get it.” I make a note.

“I deleted it,” he repeats.

“I know. I’ve got a guy. Now, you said she called several more times, but you didn’t answer?” When I don’t hear anything, I look up again. “Use your words, Coftman.”

“Yeah,” he grunts out.

“How many times?”

“I don’t know.”

His answers are not helpful. “Guess,” I manage to say without snapping. “Three times? Ten times? Twenty?”

He meets my gaze head-on. “I blocked her number.”

“Okay. So how many times did she call before you blocked her?” He’s quiet a moment, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Just tell me, Coftman.”

“Multiple times a day.”

“What?” My voice is nearly a shriek, as I stand up from the table. “Are you kidding me? She was calling you multiple times a day, and you felt the need to block her. And yet, you said nothing to me. Nothing! It’s my job to handle stuff like this.”

He scowls. Shocker. “ I didn’t want to bother you with it; I had it handled.”

“You had it handled?” I repeat his words in a voice that’s so high, it’s nearly shrill. He nods, and I resist the urge to throw my tablet at him. My pen too. Because seriously! I take a deep breath to keep my head from exploding. “I hate to be the one to point this out, but you most certainly do not have it handled. The thousands of comments on both your page and the team’s page would say otherwise.”

“It’s fine.” His voice is gruff. “It will all blow over.”

I stare at him because bless him; he’s serious. He completely believes that something like this is going to just go away. I know from experience it won’t. It’s time to deal straight; to put some sense into the captain’s head. “If you don’t deal with this the right way, this could be the end of your career.” Silence falls in the room so thick, I can practically taste it. He stares at me, the expression in his eyes so dark, it makes me shiver. But I hold my ground and don’t look away. When I realize I might finally have his attention, I say what needs to be said. “Like I’ve said a hundred times, it doesn’t matter if it’s not the truth. If the general public believes it to be true, it may as well be. It won’t matter to your sponsors that it’s not true. If people think it is, they will drop you faster than you can blink. If it continues to be a problem...” I let my words fade. “The team is really serious about their image. You know how Charlie is.” Charlie is the team owner and is pretty much stuck back in the “good-old days.” He wants a wholesome team and isn’t afraid to cut players to get it.

“Are you threatening my position on this team?” he asks in a deep voice.

I refuse to look away from his intense gaze. “I’m just telling you that as the PR agent for this team, these are serious accusations. Normally, it wouldn’t amount to much; but the woman clearly knows you. She knows your favorite hang-outs, what you like to eat, what you do in your free time, who you’re friends with. It’s all stuff anybody can put together, but when it’s put with everything she’s saying about you...” He stares at me a moment before standing to his feet. “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving.”

I stare at him, mouth agape. “You most certainly are not.”

He picks up his phone and pockets it before pushing his chair in. “I am.”

I shove my chair back. “You are not leaving, Coftman. We are in the middle of a discussion.”

He turns back at the door. “We had the discussion. It’s done now. I told you I had nothing to do with her. Now, it’s your job to fix it and make the problem go away. That's your job, right? To make us look good?” Before I can form another word, he turns back to the door. “Bye, Chloe.”

I stare in shock at the empty doorframe.

“Of all the arrogant, egotistical, annoying, frustrating...” I run out of adjectives and fall back against my seat.

I take a moment to get control of myself and then stand to my feet, hold my tablet to my chest and make my way to my office.

I close the door and settle at my desk.

I put in my headphones and music and try to find my peace.

I’m more than irritated that Gunner just left me to work on this, but he does have a point.

This is my job; this is what I do, and I’m good at it.

I’ve gotten rather protective of these guys over the years.

Sure, they drive me crazy most of the time.

But in a case like this, where somebody is coming after one of my players, I won’t stand for it.

I pull up multiple social media accounts and settle in.

“Okay, Jenny Prenderson, who are you and what are you doing?” I almost feel bad for her.

Almost.

But she’s trying to destroy the career of the captain of the Green Thunder.

The kind of bad press this will bring is enough to get me fired if I don’t do what Coach said and fix it.

And I intend to.

I spend hours scouring all of Jenny’s socials and any internet presence she has.

When I find everything I can on her, I sit back in my chair and put a hand over my mouth and stare at the screen.

I’ve seen a lot of crazed fans over the years.

Guys with naked chests that have been spray painted with Green Thunder players’ numbers, tattoos of players on places that nobody should have tattoos, crazy posts about being related to players, bedding them, and so on.

But this one? This one takes the cake.

If I didn’t believe Gunner, which I do, I would believe that she’s actually in a relationship with him.

She’s really done her homework.

She’s posted pictures over the past few weeks of them in high school together.

Granted, they’re never right next to each other, but there are a few of them with other people in between them.

She’s got pictures of her and Gunner together with him in his uniform.

At first glance, you can’t tell they’re photoshopped.

She’s good, really good; and I’m really annoyed.

I stare at the screen at the latest picture she posted.

This one was posted just a few hours ago.

It’s a picture of an ultrasound.

I don’t know if she borrowed it off somebody, or if she’s actually pregnant.

Crazier things have happened.

I tap my stylus against my lips as I ponder what to do.

We could put out an official statement, but I’m not sure that will be enough.

And what if she escalates? Some of these fans get really crazy.

I don’t want her to do something insane like threaten Gunner or something.

Somebody knocks on my door, startling me. Who's still here on a weekend, non-game day?

“Chloe?” I hear Gunner’s voice, and I relax slightly.

“Come in.”

He frowns when he enters. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m working.”

“Why are you here?” I ask. “I thought you went home hours ago.”

“I did. I tried calling you.” He nods at the phone lying on the table.

I pick it up and see the missed calls. “Oh, sorry. So why are you here?”

“I did all my errands but couldn’t stop thinking about this thing with Jenny. I wanted to know what you worked out.”

“What I worked out?” I repeat.

“Yeah, what’s the plan?”

“I don’t have a plan, not yet.”

He blinks. “But you always have a plan.”

“Yes. And I will, but I don’t have a plan... yet .” I fight the urge to be snippy.

“I know you have something in mind, so tell me. What is it?”

I tap my foot under the table. “Gunner, this woman is really good at this. I’ve been scouring her socials and internet presence for hours. If I didn’t believe you , I would believe her . And I don’t believe anything I read online.”

He gives me a dark look. “She can’t be that good; we have no history together.”

“Doesn’t matter. Not in this day and age.” I turn my tablet around to face him and swipe one photo after another. Some of them are from high school, some of them are from when Gunner first became captain. Others are recent. When I finish, he’s silent. “Convincing, right?”

He still doesn’t say anything, and I write down a few more notes for the night before I start packing my bag. When I stand up and shoulder my bag, he finally breaks out of his dark stupor.

I walk towards the door, but he steps in front of me, blocking my escape. “I’m sorry I was a jerk earlier. I need your help, Chloe.”