Chapter One
Kinley
“I’m still in shock.” I take a large gulp of my wine. “I can’t believe that I’ve been given this opportunity.”
“So, let me see if I understand this.” Cassie, my best friend, studies my face from across the table. “Your boss wants you to sign this hockey player to be your spokesman, and if you do, you’ll get to be in the football department.”
I roll my eyes at her. “First, it’s not the ‘football department’, it’s the lead of the football spokesman campaign. That means I can mingle with all the NFL greats. Second, think of the money with this promotion. I could finally afford name brand shoes and not the knock-offs.”
“But the hockey guy has to sign on first, right?”
I take a deep breath. “Right, but how hard could that be? I mean, it’s hockey. I’m not sure that’s a real sport. I mean, they’re on skates.”
Cassie fluffs her short, auburn hair. “I don’t think that’s quite true. I mean, I dated this guy once, and he lived and breathed the Alabama Blacksmiths. Now, you have to get bad-boy, captain Carson Lee as your spokesman.”
I twirl my natural blonde hair around my finger. My nerves were getting to me a little bit, but I know I can do this. “Piece of cake.”
“Okay, well good luck, and I need to go home.” She tosses money on the table, kisses my cheek, and leaves me in the restaurant.
I tap my freshly manicured nails on the wine glass, thinking of how I’m going to get this guy to sign the contract. I need a game plan. I wave the waiter down, take care of the bill, and head home.
I walk up my three flights of stairs to my tiny apartment that I call home. It’s only one bedroom and the living room and kitchen are connected, but I love it. Mainly because it’s the first place of my own. I still remember the day I signed the lease. I had been promoted at work and I was in shock from all that was happening in my personal life. I hated the way everything went down, but I made the right decision. I wouldn’t have changed a thing about it.
I put on some comfortable yoga pants and a tank top. I pour myself another glass of wine and turn on my laptop. I flip on ESPN because I need to hear the football scores and updates.
I study the screen as I type in Carson Lee. Google never fails me, and it doesn’t when post after post comes up. Carson Lee isn’t a bad looking guy. Tall, very built and likes to be in trouble. I’m a little surprised that he’s a captain. He has dated every person in all of Birmingham, all of Hollywood, and about everyone in between.
I don’t understand all the stats, but once I figure out all the abbreviations, I know why he is the captain. He’s the best. He holds records for most blocked shots, most goals by a defensive player, and most penalty minutes. I watch several YouTube videos, and he’s deadly on the ice.
Yep, he’s a bad-boy.
Now to get him to be my spokesman. I rub my hands together. I can do this. I need to do this because I want to be in the football division.
Football is my passion. I love it. I’ve watched it with my parents since I was young. It’s a southern tradition. Friday nights were reserved for local high school games. Saturday was for college. Sunday, after church, was the NFL. From August until the Super Bowl, that was it. There is nothing else.
About twenty years ago some Canadian billionaire, that now lives here in Alabama, got the idea of bringing a hockey team here. It didn’t do well at first. Actually, it damn near went bankrupt. However, people started to go and BOOM. Hockey became big here.
Except for me.
I mean it’s ice skating: a stick and a little ball. No, wait, I think it’s called a puck. I need to remember all these terms for my meeting tomorrow.
I check my watch and realize that I need sleep. I have to impress Carson’s agent if I’m going to get this to work.
~
I run into the bathroom and double check myself in the mirror. I had to tame down my unruly blonde hair into curls. My makeup is perfect and not too heavy to hide my green eyes. I smooth over my deep purple blouse and black pants. Yep, with my pear shaped body I’m not ever going to be a model. I wish I could lose ten more pounds so I could squeeze my ass back into a size eight.
Well, that isn’t going to happen in the next five minutes. So, in the words of my mama, flaunt what you got and that’s what I
’m going to do.
I leave the restroom and head to the end of the hall to Mike Underwood’s office, Carson Lee’s agent. I introduce myself to the secretary, and she tells me to have a seat. I do, laying my purse in my lap and crossing my ankles.
After several minutes, she tells me I can go in, and I give her a polite smile as I pass her. I walk through a large oak door and into one of the biggest offices I’d ever seen. How important is this guy?
I walk into the large office. I didn’t realize that I was going to be meeting someone older. I notice that he has to be closer to my father’s age. I assumed I would be meeting someone younger. He stands up from his desk, buttoning his black jacket, and he runs his hand through his graying hair.
“Mr. Underwood, I’m Kinley Wright.” I stick my hand out to him, bringing myself back to my game plan.