15. Callum
15
CALLUM
“ U nbelievable,” I mutter as Eloise heads down the hall. She’s in Toronto so we could have time alone, and now that we’re choosing each other, time feels like the last thing we have. I bite my fist hard and open the freezer door, grab the first frozen thing I see, which happens to be a bottle of vodka, and shove it down my pants. I groan out my annoyance as I wait for the cold bottle to settle the massive boner my gray sweatpants can’t hide.
“Let’s go, Callum. I have things to do today that don’t include babysitting you,” Coach hollers through the door.
I pull out the bottle. “Yeah, coming,” I say, shoving it back in the freezer.
When I pull open the door, Coach Beck is standing there looking very unamused and every bit as irritated as me. With her phone in hand, Blair stands dressed like she’s getting ready to walk a red carpet event in a tight white dress that leaves nothing to the imagination and red heels. Behind her is her camera guy with his lens pointed straight at me.
“That better not be on.”
Coach pushes through, and I stand aside as Blair and the camera guy, whose name I can’t remember, follow suit.
“Do I not get a heads-up about these interviews?”
“Yeah, I called you yesterday, but you didn’t answer,” Coach says, walking over to the fireplace.
“I literally called you right back, and it went straight to voicemail… twice,” I defend.
“That’s because all my battery life was spent fielding press calls about you and your new girlfriend.” He waves his hand toward Blair.
“You know she’s not my girlfriend,” I spit. Ever since I joined the Kings, he’s been more than just a coach. He knows the name of the woman who owns my heart, he’s seen her pictures, and he’s well aware she’s here.
“She is now.” He puts his hands on his hips and glances her way with a look I know is distaste before adding, “Or at least she is as far as the public knows. The press wasn’t the only one who called. So did Mr. Bronson. The next four home games are sold out, and your jersey is currently on back order with our top three distributors.”
I watch as Blair directs her camera guy where to set up his tripod, and it takes everything in me not to cross the room and remove her from my home. I don’t want her in here. This is the last place I want her prying eyes. I was never going to entertain this interview in my home.
“You can’t force me into a fake relationship for sales. I didn’t agree to any of this.”
“I’m guessing you haven’t checked your email yet today,” he says as his eyes wash over my form.
“No, I haven’t, and unless there’s some decree from God himself saying she’s my new girlfriend, I’m not doing it.”
“Maybe not God, but Mr. Bronson invited us to his house on Sunday for lunch.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Sunday lunch with Mr. Bronson isn’t surprising, but Blair’s attendance is. Eloise and I are supposed to attend lunch with Tipper Bronson on Sunday to discuss the event. I was going to have her bring the painting she’s donating. “That’s not happening. The only way I’ll attend that Sunday lunch with you is to straighten this mess out. I’ve already reached out to my—” A crash in the other room steals my attention as every head turns toward the sound. “I’ll be right back. I need to change for this interview anyway.”
I walk hastily down the hallway, anxious to ensure Eloise is okay. After the spill she took yesterday, it’s possible a muscle cramp or spasm caused her to fall again. When I open the door, I don’t immediately see her, but then she pops her head around the closet door and ushers me over with her hand.
I close the door, and the second I step into the closet, I’m scolded. “We talked about this.” She hands me a shirt. “We said we were going to let things play out.”
I snatch the shirt. “Yeah, and you also said this would blow over and be forgotten. Well, guess what? It didn’t blow over. I didn’t agree to a fake relationship with Blair Wyndham. I agreed to let things ride and not act like her enemy.”
She tosses me a pair of boxer briefs. “It’s not ideal, but think about it. If you play the role, it gives you a reason to spend a little extra time with her?—”
“The last thing I want is more time with her. The only person I want more time with is currently trying to pawn me off on another woman.” I slip off my sweats and pull on the boxers as I watch her unfold two jean options for me, ultimately choosing the darker pair.
“I’m not implying you be with her here, but if she accompanies you to public outings, there will be small talk, a truce can be called, and maybe you can play her friend long enough to squeeze a few details out of her. I’m not asking you to like her. I’m simply asking you to play the game. Use her the way she’s clearly using you.” She hands me the jeans, and I yank them on, perturbed that I’m even in this situation. “What if I told you the night I saw her on your lap, she smiled at me like she knew exactly what she was doing? Cal, I know you don’t like this, but?—”
“I’ll do it,” I grind out before pulling her into me. “But only under one condition.”
Her pale blue eyes flick between mine in question.
“We’re in this together. We do this as a team.” I press my finger to her temple. “Whatever is in this brain comes out of that pretty mouth. No secrets. If you’re thinking about it, I want to hear it. Do we have a deal?”
“Deal, but”—she purses her lips—“I do have one more stipulation. No kissing, forehead, cheek or otherwise.”
“That was never going to happen anyway.” I lean down and softly kiss her lips. “They were made for kissing one woman, and I’m looking at her.”
She pushes me back. “You play too much. I’ll call Iverson and have him give my father a heads-up, but we might need to have a call with Adler. Yesterday’s picture I could hide, but days of media coverage and whatever interview you’re about to give are a little harder.”
Shit. My head has been in so many places I hadn’t put too much thought into worrying about how our son would view all of this. I’m still getting my head around that he’s a little man now and not the baby he’s been. Keeping him out of the spotlight has been relatively easy given his age, but the older he gets, the harder it is to be his shield, especially when both of his surnames carry a reputation. “Eloise, maybe we should rethink all of this?—”
She holds up her hand. “It’s a conversation. All we have to do is show a united front. He’s due for a FaceTime call with us at the same time.”
“Okay.” I sigh. I’m still not fully sold on this, but I’m going along with it anyway. I trust Eloise, and if this is important to her, it’s important to me. “You may as well take your time in here. Open those bags hanging on the rack over there and pick out a dress for Sunday.”
Her brow furrows. “A dress for Sunday?”
“Yeah, I planned on taking you to dinner and telling you this, but the charity gala is less than four weeks away. When I told Mr. Bronson about the piece I commissioned for the event and who the painter was, he insisted we come for lunch this weekend.”
“Oh, okay,” she says as she looks at the bags. “Will there be a lot of people there?”
I rock back on my heels. “There wasn’t supposed to be, but now I’m not so sure. Blair will be there… as my date,” I draw out the T.
“Today, Callum, this isn’t glamour shots,” Coach Beck calls from the other room.
I can tell Eloise doesn’t like the idea of being in the same room with Blair, but neither do I and since she’s the one insisting I go through with this ruse, she can suffer right along with me. I quickly give her a chaste kiss on the forehead. “You said you wanted to let things play out. I just handed you a ticket to the front row,” I quickly say, exiting the closet before she can devise some way out of going. We made a deal. We’re in this together.
“ I think that’s enough pictures,” I tell Demetri after he’s taken what feels like the hundredth picture of me in my home.
“Maybe we could get one of the two of you on the couch? That would fit the vibe I’ve been shooting. It would show a relaxed behind-the-scenes energy,” he suggests.
“Yes, that’s a?—”
“Terrible idea,” I say, cutting Blair off. “I agreed to uphold this facade for the team, but at the end of the day, this is fake. This publicity stunt has an expiration date. I read the article that was posted yesterday. It said we went to high school together and have recently reconnected. There’s no need to expound upon that. I’m a private guy. The public has become accustomed to that. That wouldn’t suddenly change because I have a woman in my life. If this article mentions Blair, it should be in the past tense. As far as the public knows, we are seeing where things go. That’s it.”
I look around the room, and my eyes connect with Coach Beck, who has been unusually quiet.
“He has a point. Titles don’t need to be mentioned.”
Blair smiles sweetly, but I know her words are about to be anything but. “I agree. We don’t have to put a label on it. That will only pique public interest. They’ll be waiting for an official announcement.” She clasps her hands. “I’m a fan of rumors. There’s usually a grain of truth in every one.” Her eyes search the room. “So where would you like to take this picture? How about in front of this delightful painting you’re working on?”
My eyes narrow on hers, and I can’t believe I’ve been blind to how truly underhanded and deceitful she is. She knows damn well I don’t paint, and I won’t let her hurt Eloise any more than she already has.
“In front of the fireplace is fine.” I don’t leave room for debate and join her beside the mantle, hating the stupid smile that forms on her dark red lips.
I know I’m supposed to play nice, but I can’t help myself. I place my arm around her shoulder, lean in, and say, “Rumors are nothing but lies started by weak-minded, jealous people who wish they were true.”
I don’t believe in revenge. It’s not worth my time to worry about what karma will handle. However, it doesn’t mean I can’t plague her thoughts the same way she’s so relentlessly come after ours.