Chapter 18
18
Hudson
Man, this is bad.
I shouldn’t have even come. I knew this wasn’t a good fit for me, pun intended, since I’m sitting across from the suits running Secure Condoms.
The room smells like cheap cologne and desperation. My agent is about to get a piece of my mind, but I need to get through today first.
I’ve been in plenty of awkward meetings, but this one takes the cake.
Someone says something, but I can’t focus on what they’re saying. Something about “target audiences” and “brand synergy,” but all I can think about is the woman sitting next to me.
Molly Sinclair.
She’s dressed in a tailored blazer and skirt, her hair pulled back into some sort of elegant twist. She looks like she walked straight out of a boardroom and into my personal hell. Professional, poised, and completely unimpressed by everything happening around her.
Of course, she’s annoyed to be here—loaned out like some favor to help me.
I get it.
But she’s here.
And despite the fact that she’s probably plotting my demise, I’m grateful. More than she will ever know.
Her presence makes the whole situation a little more bearable.
A little less humiliating.
Not much, but enough that I’m still sitting here.
Which is saying something, considering the fact that I’m at a condom company endorsement meeting.
It’s not that I’m not one for safe sex—of course I am—but to be the face . . . ? Yeah, no.
I would never be able to face my mother again.
“Now, Hudson,” one of the suits says, leaning forward with a grin that makes my skin crawl. “Your . . . reputation precedes you.”
I glance at Molly, who raises an eyebrow but stays silent. And here it goes.
The moment they pitch me as the party boy everyone thinks I am because I’ve never wanted to correct anyone.
“Right,” I say, forcing a smile. “Happy to hear that.”
“And that’s exactly why we want you to be the face of our new campaign,” the suit continues. “You’re young, you’re handsome, and you’re known for being a bit of a . . . ladies’ man.”
Despite knowing this was coming, my jaw still tightens. Yet, I manage to keep my expression neutral. This again.
“We’re thinking something edgy,” another suit chimes in. “Like ‘Hudson Wilde: Scoring on and off the ice.’”
I blink, stunned into silence. Did he actually just say that? Molly shifts beside me, her posture stiffening. Yeah, he did.
“And,” the first suit adds, “we’d like to lean into your ‘bad boy’ image. Maybe even some tongue-in-cheek ads about—”
“No,” Molly says abruptly.
The entire room turns to look at her, including me.
“Excuse me?” one of the suits says, confused.
“I said no,” Molly repeats, her voice calm but firm. “Hudson is an athlete, not a punchline. If you want him to represent your brand, you’ll focus on his accomplishments on the ice, not some fabricated reputation you’re trying to exploit.”
The room goes silent.
A pin could drop, and you’d hear it right now.
I stare at her, shocked. Molly Sinclair, the woman who has made it her life’s mission to torment me, is . . . defending me?
If I could discreetly pinch myself right now, I would, but since I can’t, I sit motionless and stunned instead.
“Ms. Sinclair,” one of the suits begins, his tone condescending, “we believe this campaign is exactly what Hudson’s image needs.”
“No,” she says again, her eyes narrowing. “What Hudson needs is to be taken seriously. He’s not some one-dimensional stereotype you can slap on a billboard. He’s an athlete. And a damn good one at that.”
My chest tightens at her words. Damn. Who knew Molly had it in her to defend me like this? I’ve always known she’s smart and passionate . . . but fuck.
The suits exchange uneasy glances, clearly unsure of how to respond.
Molly leans back in her chair, crossing her legs and fixing them with a pointed stare. “If you’re not interested in showcasing Hudson’s talent and professionalism, then we’re not interested in this deal. Thank you for your time.”
She stands, grabs her bag, and turns to me. “Hudson, let’s go.”
I blink, still processing what just happened, but her tone leaves no room for argument. I follow her out of the conference room, trying to keep up with her long, determined strides.
We step outside into the cool October air, and she spins on her heel to face me, her expression unreadable. It takes me a second to shake myself out of the stupor I’m in, and when I do finally come to, I grin at her while nodding.
“Don’t say it,” she warns, holding up a hand.
“Say what?” My smirk deepens.
“Whatever sarcastic, infuriating thing you’re thinking right now.”
I lean against the side of the building. “You know, for someone who hates my guts, you just defended me like a pro in there.”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late,” I say, unable to help the laugh that escapes me. “Seriously, though . . . thanks. That was unexpected.”
She crosses her arms, her gaze softening slightly. “You’re welcome. Someone had to step in, and clearly, your agent isn’t showing up for you.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy, but well, he’s got bigger fish to fry,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
She raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t mean you deserve to be treated like that.”
“A part of it’s my own fault. I don’t give him much to work with.”
“That’s not true. You do. You deserve better than this, Hudson. You’re a damn good player. Remember that.”
I tilt my head, studying her. “You know, Hex, you’re kind of amazing when you’re not plotting my downfall.”
“Don’t push it,” she says, but there’s a faint smile tugging at her lips.
I can’t help it, I grin back at her. For the first time in a long time, I feel like someone’s in my corner.
And damn if it doesn’t make me like her even more.
I can’t help grinning like an idiot. Molly freaking Sinclair just walked into a roomful of sleazy marketing execs and turned the whole thing upside down. For me.
And now we’re standing outside the building, her arms crossed and her scowl firmly in place, but I know I saw it—that little smile she tried to hide back there.
“Come on, Hex,” I say. “Admit it. You like me.”
Her eyes narrow, and she takes a deliberate step back like she wants to get as far away from this conversation as humanly possible. “I just defended you because I didn’t want to sit through another second of that train wreck. Don’t get it twisted.”
“Defended me like a damn hero.” My grin widens. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were starting to like having me around.”
“Wrong.” She rolls her eyes.
“Oh, come on.” I step away from the wall, prowling closer to her. “You were incredible in there, and you know it. If I didn’t already think you were hot, that whole taking-no-bullshit act might’ve done it for me.”
She blinks at me, her face going blank for half a second before she recovers with a disgusted look that’s almost theatrical. “Ew,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “You’re gross.”
“Am I?” I tease, tilting my head.
“Yes,” she says firmly. “And don’t you forget it.”
I take another step closer, grinning down at her. “You’re standing awfully close for someone who finds me so gross.”
“You’re the one moving. Not me.” Her eyes flash, and she steps back to prove her point, holding up a hand to stop me. “Just because I defended you in there doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what an insufferable, cocky, perpetually late pain in my ass you are.”
“Don’t forget charming,” I add, smirking.
“Gross,” she repeats, spinning on her heel and heading toward the parking lot.
I follow, unable to wipe the grin off my face. “You know, most people would say thank you after a compliment.”
“Most people don’t get their compliments from walking red flags,” she shoots back over her shoulder.
I laugh, jogging to catch up with her. “Red’s a good color on me, don’t you think?”
She stops abruptly, turning to glare at me. “If you say one more word, I’m stealing your keys and leaving you here to figure out your own ride back to the rink.”
I hold my hands up in surrender, still grinning. “Noted.”
The drive back is quieter than I expected, but every time I glance at her, I catch that little crease in her brow and how her lips press together like she’s holding back something biting.
She can pretend all she wants, but I know I’ve gotten under her skin.
And if I’m being honest? She’s gotten under mine, too.