“The companies behind the endorsement deals need reassurance. When do you think you’ll be playing again?” Marvin Flor’s worried voice boomed from Jordan’s cell phone.
Jordan shifted on his sofa. Marv had been his agent since his professional hockey career had started nearly ten years ago. He was good, tough and a whiz at promotion. Hence Jordan’s promotional contracts for everything from men’s underwear to athletic gear and sports drinks. Marv was in his sixties and a dead ringer for actor Javier Bardem—and well into his third decade as a top-notch sports agent.
“Why don’t you partner with your sister, Mia, for a line of men’s apparel? Isn’t she an up-and-coming designer?”
Jordan stifled a laugh, pushing aside the thought that Marv’s half-joking suggestion—at least, he thought it was only semiserious—might be a sign of desperation. His house phone rang, and he ignored it. “First off, I don’t think Mia’s ready to branch into men’s sportswear just yet. And second, we’d throttle each other if we worked together. Sibling rivalry and all that.”
Jordan gazed at the lazy, late-afternoon sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Welsdale penthouse. Usually in the off-season, he was a whirlwind of energy. Vacationing in Turks and Caicos, making personal appearances...working out to keep fit. Now the weights in his private gym lay unused, and he hadn’t met Cole at Jimmy’s Boxing Gym in weeks. At least he’d been able to shed his crutches the other day, since he was close to four weeks postsurgery.
Marv sighed. “So, okay, what’s the latest on when you’ll be back on the ice?”
“Doubtful for the beginning of the season. We’re looking at three months of therapy at least.” Jordan winced. His endorsement contracts had clauses in them, and if he wasn’t on the ice, he’d stand to lose a cool few million. And then there was the upcoming negotiation of his contract to continue to play for the Razors...
“What’s the prognosis?”
“There’s no reason not to expect full recovery.” At this point.
Jordan could almost hear Marv’s sigh of relief.
“Good. Because everyone is aware of the family history.”
Meaning Cole. Meaning ACL tears ran in the family. And had been career-ending for at least one Serenghetti already. Not good. “I’m in great hands, Marv. The best.” He couldn’t complain about his doctors. His physical therapist, on the other hand...
Sera had surprised him at their last session. He was happy to help smooth Dante’s way with the Razors. And Sera was going to be his reluctant physical therapist for the duration...even if she sometimes acted as if she wanted to take a few shots at him in the boxing ring. The thought made Jordan smile. In fact, the biggest problem with his prolonged recovery was that his plan for what to do with the endorsement-deal money might be in jeopardy. He’d had a few restless nights about his career hitting the rocks, but he was a fighter.
“Well, if we can’t get you on the ice, we need to keep you in the public eye with a positive spin,” Marv continued. “That should help keep the companies that you’ve partnered with happy.”
Jordan heard his landline ring again and told Marv to hold on even as he picked up the receiver with his free hand. After building reception announced that his mother was on her way up, Jordan switched back to his agent. His day was about to get more interesting, and Jordan knew he had to wrap things up with some quick reassurances. “Don’t worry, Marv. With this banged-up knee, I’m not likely to be partying hard in Vegas.”
“Yeah, yeah. But good press with your name attached to it would be better. It’s not enough to stay out of trouble.”
Jordan knew Marv would love his plan for what to do with the paychecks from his endorsement deals, but he wanted to keep his idea to himself for the moment. He hadn’t mentioned his intentions to anyone, and anyway, good publicity and Marv’s worries weren’t the reason he wanted to go ahead with his plan. No, his reasons were deeper and personal, which was why he’d kept a lid on his goal till now.
“I suppose a semiserious relationship isn’t in the cards.”
Jordan coughed. “No.”
He intended to enjoy his pinnacle of fame and fortune. He’d spent enough years being the sickly kid who’d been stuck at home—or in the hospital. That was, until he’d grown into a solid teenager who could slap the puck into the goal better than anyone.
On top of that, his current lifestyle wasn’t conducive to home and hearth. He was on the road half the time when he was playing, and the NHL season was long in comparison to other sports. He wasn’t ready to settle down. He was still Jordan Serenghetti—NHL hotshot and billboard model—despite his temporary detour. He’d spent years on the ice. He wasn’t sure who he was beyond the identity that he’d taken a long time to carve out for himself.
Marv grumbled. “Well, at the moment you are staying in one place for a while. There’s hope. A relationship with a hometown sweetheart would give us some positive ink in the press. Work with me here.”
The only woman Jordan was seeing lately was Sera...and she was hardly the type who’d be mistaken for his girlfriend, given that her typical expression around him was a scowl. She’d probably slam the door in a paparazzo’s face—and then issue a vehement denial and threaten litigation about linking her good name to Jordan Serenghetti. The last thought made him smile again.
He figured the
y could have some fun together—what was the harm in a little flirtation? And he was curious about the basis of Sera’s prickliness. At least it should make her happy that he’d been doing the exercises that she’d assigned for him. He was also looking forward to seeing her next week—sparring with her and peeling back some more of the layers that made up the complex and intriguing Serafina Perini.
Jordan heard the private elevator that led straight into the penthouse moments before the door opened and his mother appeared, casserole dish in hand.
“Gotta go, Marv,” he said before ending the call on his agent’s admonition to keep in touch.
Jordan straightened, lowering his bad leg from where it was resting on the sofa’s seat cushions. “Mom, this is a surprise.”
Everyone but his mother knew better than to show up unexpectedly.
Camilla Serenghetti smiled as she stopped before him. “I brought you something to eat.”