Chapter 7
. . .
Will
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I whisper the words softly enough so Candice—who’s currently lying naked in my bed—can’t hear as I yank open the refrigerator door and hang my head inside.
There are only green smoothies and meal preps for the next week in here and definitely not the answers I’m searching for. Still, the cool air is a welcome distraction from the fact that we shouldn’t have done what we just did.
At twenty-two, I’ve been with a lot of females—around fifty percent more than I’ve admitted to my mom—and not once have I regretted hooking up with any one of them.
I love sex. I love women. I …
Fuck.
“Is everything okay?”
Dressed in only her top and panties, Candice stands in the entryway that separates my living space from the hallway.
When I invited her over to my place, I had every intention of going several rounds with her.
In the end, I didn’t even come once, and that was by design.
Conversely, she did—because there’s no fucking way a girl is leaving my bed unsatisfied.
The second she finished, I was pulling on a pair of athletic shorts and making my excuses to leave the bedroom.
My forced smile falls flat, and I move toward her, setting my hands on her shoulders. The last thing I want is for any woman to think they aren’t sexy or did something wrong.
Equally, the worst thing I can say is, It’s not you; it’s me. Because no one ever believes a person when they say that, even if it’s true in this particular scenario.
I breathe out slowly and scramble for something to say right as my intercom buzzes.
“I’d better get that. The front desk doesn’t call unless it’s someone who doesn’t have the code to access my apartment.”
With a tight nod, Candice steps away from my grasp, quizzical eyes moving between mine. “Is it okay if I grab a shower?”
I walk a few paces up the hallway and open my linen closet, handing Candice two fluffy white towels. “Are these enough? If you want a bath, just help yourself. It’s huge, and it has a whirlpool feature.”
She wets her lips and moves closer, full tits pressing against my sternum. “It would be better if I had some company.”
I thumb behind me, and the buzzer rings again.
Candice drops her shoulders in frustration, and I’m wondering why the hell I feel relief more than anything else. Jumping into a whirlpool bath with a hot girl is always at the top of my agenda.
Saying nothing, I move down the hallway and toward my intercom, the soft sound of the bathroom door clicking shut in the distance.
“Yeah, sorry,” I say as soon as I press the button by my front door. “I just had to throw on some clothes.”
“Um … okay.”
“Drew?”
There’s a long pause, filled with nothing but cringe.
“I have clothes on now, just to confirm.”
“That’s … really great to know, William.” Drew sounds about as pained as I feel. “In case you haven’t already figured it out, I’m downstairs in the lobby. The front desk wanted to make sure it was okay with you for me to come up.”
Fuck.
Only I could bang the PT and have my publicist show up straight afterward.
Body temperature rising, I think through how to get out of this. Turning Drew away will look really rude, but she cannot find out about Candice.
The only person who might be proud is Dad, and that’s only because he was a fuckboy, too, when he was my age.
Until he met my mom and became a boy obsessed.
“You left me hanging in Riley’s Bar. We were supposed to meet for an hour before I went to the gym.”
Shit. We were.
“I’m really fucking sorry.”
Drew murmurs something inaudible, and I figure if I can turn her around before Candice emerges from the bathroom, there’s an outside chance I’ll get away with the shit show I’ve created for myself.
“The code for the private elevator is 8825. It’ll bring you right into my apartment.”
A couple of minutes later, I’ve thrown on a white T-shirt, and Drew’s standing in front of my fireplace, looking suspicious.
“I’m curious,” she says, gaze roving the room, which I had decorated in a monochrome finish. It looks fucking brilliant. “But is your private elevator code a combination of your dad’s and your jersey numbers?”
Taking a seat on the gray leather couch behind me, I nod once. “Yeah, same as the passcode on my phone.”
She dips one hand into a fucking huge black tote bag she has slung over her shoulder, and I probably shouldn’t laugh when she fetches out a notepad and pen, but I can’t help it.
“Rule eight: The client won’t make ridiculously easy-to-guess codes in order to access his apartment and phone. Switch them up, William. Before you find a random girl lying naked in your bed or snooping through your phone.”
Too late for that.
As Drew finishes up writing and drops the pen and pad back into her bag, I take in her outfit. “Do you frequently wear knee-high black boots and a gray sweater dress to the gym?”
Drew’s eyes ascend my body, and I get a flush of heat similar to when I answered the intercom.
“Just out of curiosity,” she says, completely ignoring me, “how quickly do you need me to leave your apartment?”
With a sense of dread rising up my throat, I follow her line of vision across the room, and my eyes fix on a black bra slung over one of the floor lamps.
“I’m assuming you already have a random girl in your apartment, and right now, she’s in the shower. Or possibly hiding.”
For the first time in my life, I’m rendered speechless, and I’ve no idea what to do with that or the hot mess I’ve managed to land myself in.
Still, at least Drew doesn’t know the random girl is actually Candice.
“The bath water is still hot if you want to come join me …”
Eyes ablaze, Drew aggressively points to my PT, who is now standing a few feet away from us, wearing only a black thong, with one arm covering her tits.
“Are you for real right now?!” Drew exclaims. “That’s the team PT, Candice Hale.” She huffs out a despondent breath. “And before you get all nosy and ask me how I know, Dad had a Christmas party for his staff, and I swear to God …” Voice climbing higher, Drew pauses to catch her breath.
“Hi,” is all Candice says, her free hand raised in a small, awkward wave that summarizes the situation perfectly. “I’m going to get going,” Candice adds after a few more seconds.
Then she scurries back down the hallway, and the bedroom door slams shut.
Drew can’t even look at me, and I don’t fucking blame her because now I know why sleeping with Candice was nothing like all the other sexual encounters I’ve experienced before.
It was a selfish, high-stakes move that wasn’t just dangerous for our careers, but for my publicist’s too. And that makes me feel like the shittiest person ever.
“Do you know what will happen if this gets out?” Drew’s tone is low and accusing.
I force my eyes to look at her because it’s the respect she deserves, and when I do, I see the disappointment in her gaze.
Something I put there.
While Drew was waiting for me to show up in town, I was busy doing what I do best.
Being a fucking prick.
“I’ll have fines coming out of my ass,” I bite out. All the anger I’m feeling is directed internally.
Drew steps toward me, and I’m surrounded by a scent of lemon and bergamot. “Fines are the least of your worries, Hotshot.” She says the name with a mocking undertone and points back toward where Candice just disappeared. “That girl will likely lose her job, and guess what will happen next.”
Before I can answer, Candice reenters the living room. Now fully dressed.
I stand so I can show her to the front door. There’s no way she can stay, given the charged atmosphere, and I need some time to calm Drew down.
Candice holds up a hand, tears pooling in her eyes. “I promise I won’t say anything about what happened. I’ve had a really shitty time lately, and this was a complete misjudgment on my part.”
On a sob, she heads toward my front door, and Drew races after her.
I hear muffled voices for approximately thirty seconds before my front door closes, and Drew comes to sit beside me on the couch.
We both sit facing the floor-to-ceiling windows and stare out at the darkened cityscape until, finally, Drew breaks the tension with a line that has me chuckling despite everything that’s just gone down.
“Rule nine: The client agrees to stop doing things that make his publicist want to commit a felony.”
Still amused, I turn to look at her properly, and that’s when I see her disappointment has been replaced with despondency over my careless actions.
My laughter fades, and if I hadn’t been the total opposite of professional already, I’d wrap my arms around her slender shoulders.
“You look really nice, by the way.” I don’t know why I say it, but the words tumble from my subconscious. “No one, not even your client, has the right not to show up when you’re looking like you do right now.”
Drew playfully nudges her shoulder into my upper arm. “That kind of sweet talk doesn’t work on me, Jones. Save that for the girls you can bang without breaching any contracts.”
I stare at Drew for a beat, examining her unreadable expression.
“You know what’s weird?” I point out.
She shakes her head once, and I know we’re now talking as two people who have known each other for years and no longer in a professional capacity.
“Hooking up as a pro player doesn’t hit the same as it did when I was in college.”
Drew offers me a tight smile. “Frat parties have no place in a pro hockey player’s lifestyle. It’s all drinking and beer pong and waking up, not knowing where you are … or who you’re with.”
I pull back, jaw popped open. “Are you talking from experience, Miss Callaghan?”
Drew and one-night stands do not belong together in the same sentence. She’s too much of a good girl for that.
Or maybe that’s just the way I’ve always seen her.
She blushes, and I’d be blind to deny how cute it is.
“Maybe you haven’t got me all figured out after all, Hotshot.”
She stands, and all I want is for her to stay and tell me exactly what she meant by that statement.
“Candice won’t breathe a word.”
Back in professional mode, Drew walks across to the floor lamp, tossing my PT’s bra at me. I catch it against my chest.
“You need to return this to her at your next session. If that’s who it belongs to.”
Drew’s halfway out of the living room when I drop the bra and move to catch her by the forearm.
She spins around, and her perfume hits me again as her blue eyes stare up at me.
“I’m really fucking sorry for letting you down today. I promise it won’t happen again.”
I’m not sure if she believes me, but the softness in her expression reveals that she’s at least accepted the apology.
“It’s okay. I just need you to cooperate and stop doing stuff that could endanger your future.”
Drew glances at my front door, and I consider telling her to take the elevator. That way, I can talk with her a few seconds longer.
“You have an awesome career ahead of you, and it’s my job to get the best out of every opportunity that comes your way.”
Her voice is warm and caring, and it wraps around me like the feeling of a hot summer’s day on the beach.
“I also posted on your behalf because you weren’t getting back to me and we needed to acknowledge your arrival with the Rogues before it was too late.”
Heart racing, I slide a hand into my pocket and pull out my phone.
I fucking hate the picture she used, and the caption is absolutely not in my own words.
“Repeet liked my post,” I say.
Drew rises to her tiptoes so she can see the screen. “They’re the ones who pulled out of a collab with you, right?”
I nod once, remembering how pissed I was at the time. “I thought they’d turned their back on me and forgotten about my existence.”
A palm lands on my forearm, and we lock eyes again.
“And that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you, Will.
No brand—unless they’re totally idiotic—would burn bridges with you.
Repeet is just waiting in the wings to see how you present yourself now that you’ve turned pro.
They want to see you demonstrate the kind of brand that will align with theirs.
If you can hold yourself together and follow my lead, then the deals will start rolling in soon. I promise.”