Talk Hockey to Me (Bears Hockey #3) - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,62
I have the feeling that he can’t close a deal without team ownership approval and that makes me uneasy. I also feel he doesn’t respect me. It’s nothing specific he says, more how he says it, and the condescending smile he gives me when he mansplains entry level contracts to me. Ugh.
But I am my most professional, charming self.
I say hi to Dean Marlow, GM in Philly, who has the first pick. They’ve already heard Van signed with me and I get a friendly greeting. I’m sure they’re going to select him.
I also talk to a few sports reporters who are eager to ask questions about Van, as well as some with questions about Hunter. I know these guys (and women). I tell them my standard lines that Van will be thrilled to play for whatever team drafts him. I’m not going to tell them anything on the record about Hunter, but I do mention that Hunter’s disappointed about not yet getting a qualifying offer from the Storm. Fans aren’t going to feel sorry for a guy going after a multi-million-dollar contract, but they will feel sorry for a guy who’s basically being given the boot, especially a fan favorite like Hunter. It never hurts to have the fans on your side, and I’ve gotten better at working the media.
When it’s time to meet Hunter, I head to where we agreed to meet. The buzz has died down here in the arena. Tomorrow will be the big day, and Saturday for the other draft rounds. I spot Hunter talking to a man I recognize as the coach of the Storm. They’re laughing about something, Hunter’s smile like a light beaming toward me and guiding me to him. I can’t help but smile too as I walk toward them.
I’m stopped in my tracks by someone else. I stare into the face of Tarek Bennani, who I worked for at Pinnacle.
“Kate.” He gives me an icky smile. “What are you doing here?”
What am I doing here? What the fuck kind of stupid question is that?
I hold back my first reaction and say, “Wow, Tarek! What are you doing here?”
He frowns.
“You still have clients, I guess,” I say cheerfully. “Good for you!”
How’s that for condescending? I give myself a mental high five.
He laughs. “I do. And you?”
“You know I do.” I flash a toothy smile, holding back the word “asshole.”
He shrugs. “I heard a rumor that you signed Van Halston.” He eyes me coolly. “Good move.”
Hunter appears behind Tarek’s shoulder with an “are you okay?” look on his face.
“Hi, Hunter,” I say calmly. “Hunter, this is Tarek Bennani. We used to work together at Pinnacle Sports Management. Tarek, Hunter Morrissette.”
Tarek turns to Hunter, who towers over him and glowers down at him. “Hunter. Good to meet you. I hear you’re a UFA.”
“Almost.” Hunter’s smile is grim. Technically he can’t sign a contract until July first.
“Haha, yeah.” Tarek’s phony smile feels like a spider crawling up my spine.
“Hunter’s another of my clients,” I tell Tarek, although I’m sure he already knows that too.
He nods. “Good luck. Rumor has it the Bears are interested in you.”
Hunter’s face tightens even more.
“I heard that rumor!” I say breezily. “Well, nice to see you, Tarek, but we have meetings to get to.”
I move away and Hunter follows with a last narrow-eyed look at Tarek. We march out of the arena.
“Fuck him,” I mutter.
“Er…I got the impression you weren’t happy to see him.”
“Hell no.” I stare straight ahead while Hunter leads me to where he parked his car. “I fucking hate him.”
“Whoa. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that.” He shoots me a sideways glance I can feel. “You okay?”
“I will be.”
“Where do you want to go for dinner? Or do you want to just head back to my place?”
“Your place sounds good.”
I hate that I’m this upset from seeing Tarek again. Goddammit. As Hunter drives, I take some deep breaths and try to tamp down my annoyance. Hunter doesn’t say much, but I’m aware of the looks he’s giving me. He knows I’m perturbed.
I think about how familiar this drive must be to Hunter after three seasons with the Storm. It’s not a done deal, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. I wish I could make it otherwise, but I can’t fight the dollars and the salary cap.
In Hunter’s bright apartment, I kick off my shoes, drop my bag on the floor and stretch out on his couch. “Bleh.”