Mr. Charming (Nest #4)

Chapter 1

One

Tedi

“I don’t know, maybe Gill has a talent none of us appreciates.” I drop the pictures from the Chicago Falcons social media campaign on the conference table.

Mindy, my assistant, picks them up and scans through the player photos. “What exactly would that be? It looks like the Falcon players work on the board of an insurance company.”

“Exactly! Anyone who can get Tweetie Sorenson to look like he’s knocking on your door to give you a complimentary quote on life insurance deserves some credit.” I slide his picture across the table toward the other members of my team, not wanting to look at it any longer.

When the national league promoted me to put together a social media campaign for each franchise—hoping to improve attendance across all arenas, increase social media engagement, and improve viewership—I was thrilled. This is my opportunity to shine and show them what I can do, even if I know that my new position was formed because of the commissioner’s ego. His brother is the commissioner of the football league, and they have a sibling rivalry going on. In the interview, my mission was clear—make every hockey team and player household names to ensure there are more hockey fans than football fans.

As I sit in a plush chair in a conference room that overlooks the Manhattan skyline, living a dream I never even envisioned for myself, my stomach sours as the picture of Tweetie gets passed around, each one of my team members commenting about how well he cleans up.

The thirteen years since we first met don’t seem to have aged him, only made him more handsome. Of course it did. Meanwhile, I’m hunting down every face serum and lotion that promises to keep my youth intact.

No one in this room knows my past with the man who is still the best left wing in the league except, for Lyric since we’ve become close friends. It’s a past so twisted that just seeing his picture makes that almost healed crack in my heart fracture again.

“No offense, but none of these guys look fuckable.” Mindy slides the pictures back in front of me. Thankfully, it’s Tweetie’s teammate Rowan’s picture on top.

“Yeah, we need them looking rough and tough,” Jasmine says before sipping on her green smoothie.

“Exactly. They need to look like they can pick you up over their shoulder and drag you into the bedroom,” Lyric says next to her. “I get that Henry Hensley is a dad, but damn, he looks like he works a nine-to-five and wears black socks and sandals mowing his lawn in the summer. We want a daddy, not a dad.”

We all laugh.

I knew Gill wasn’t the norm of who I usually hire, but finding thirty-two people to put out in the wild on their own was a challenge. We had lots of applicants, but I had to make sure they weren’t going to be fangirling or fanboying over the players. Or in it just to try to springboard the job into furthering their own social media following. They were hired to do a job. The last thing I need is to have to tell the commissioner that one of my hires is sleeping with a player.

“Look at the Florida Fury. Aiden Drake doesn’t look like the old man in the league here.”

I stop the sliding picture Lyric pushes across the table at me, and I bite down my smile. “I’m not going to ogle my best friend’s husband, but yeah, Aubrey did a great job on their campaign. Slide over the others.”

After I have them in my hands, it occurs to me that maybe I purposely sent Aubrey to Florida because they’ll always have a special place in my heart.

“Warner looks good too.” Seeing him and Aiden and even Kane as the coach reminds me of what they all have. We all started there together, and somehow, I’m still the single one with no kids, ovaries drying up by the minute.

“Aubrey is the best.” Mindy looks at me. “You played favorites with that one.”

I drop the pictures. Mindy’s not wrong. And I have a sinking feeling that I did the opposite to the Chicago Falcons for personal reasons as well.

“Well, we have to fix this. They’re positioned to win the Cup this year.” Jasmine leans back in her chair. “Want me to go over there and straighten Gill out?”

I examine everything Gill sent me. The meet-and-greet photos that look like a grade school class picture, the videos that look as though they belong on a ten-year-old’s lip-synching social media account. I could easily send Jasmine and wash my hands of this. She’d do a great job. She’s young and vibrant and has the eye to make the Falcons the “it” team in the league.

“Knock, knock.”

We all swivel in our chairs to find the commissioner, Mr. Herington, in the doorway.

I straighten in my chair. “Mr. Herington, good morning.”

He steps into the room. My boss, Calvin, follows, cringing behind him. What does that mean? Are my entire team and I about to be fired?

Mr. Herington takes the seat at the end of the long conference table. He’s tall and lean and intimidating as hell. Not at all what you’d think the league commissioner would look like. His piercing blue eyes land on me. “Tedi, I received a phone call yesterday.”

Calvin cringes again as he sits. So, it wasn’t a good phone call, I take it.

“Oh?”

“Bud, the GM over in Chicago, called. Usually I’d send something like this down to Calvin, but Bud and I go way back. He saw some of the other campaigns and feels as if theirs is lacking.”

At least he’s being polite. Gill’s campaign is god-awful and certainly wouldn’t make me want to find out more about the team or watch or attend any games.

“Who do we have there?” he asks.

“Gill Gregory.”

He looks at Calvin.

“He was an editor or something for the website, if I remember correctly,” my boss says.

“He was a copy editor but looking to venture out,” I say.

“I think we can all agree that he might be a better editor than promoter.” Mr. Herington leans back in his chair, and his gaze falls to the papers in front of me. “What are you all discussing this morning?”

“It’s funny you ask. We were going over some of the campaigns,” I say.

He rolls his chair closer to the table, his elbows landing on top, and waves his hands toward him. “Great, let me see what Gill Gregory is doing over there in Chicago.”

My stomach sinks. I do not want him to think I was sleeping on the job. As if I wasn’t already about to address the situation with Gill and the Falcons.

“Okay.” I push the folder to Calvin, who passes it to Mr. Herington. “We were just talking, and I think we should send Jasmine to Chicago. Give Gill some tips on how to make the campaign more of what we’re looking for.”

Mr. Herington doesn’t look up at me, and Calvin has little beads of sweat lining his hairline. His anxiety only raises my own.

“Jasmine?” Mr. Herington looks up then around the table.

Jasmine lifts her hand, sucking the last of her smoothie from the straw and making the sound echo through the room.

“Hmm,” he says, his long, thin fingers riffling through the images. “Bud does have a point. I think my granddaughter could do better.” He shuts the file and passes it to Calvin. “Did you know that the Falcons are favored to win this year?”

“Technically, they were last year too,” I say.

Calvin coughs or chokes on his saliva, I’m not sure. Either way, I probably shouldn’t have said that.

Mr. Herington laughs. “Very true, but I heard the chemistry is good over there. That Tweetie Sorenson has stepped up as a real leader.”

I school my nonverbal reactions since they usually have a mind of their own when it comes to the topic of Tweetie.

“Bud and I were in the same frat way back in college, and he did me a few favors back in the day. I owe him one. And since the Falcons are the team to watch this year, they need the best person on their campaign.”

His gaze lingers on Jasmine.

She’s young, but that’s who has an eye nowadays. The only thing I worry about with her is whether she’d be too intimidated by the players to ask them to do certain things.

She sips her smoothie—out of nervousness, I think—and the air coming through the empty straw makes that terrible sound again.

“I think it’s all gone, Jasmine,” Mr. Herington says.

Jasmine flushes.

“This is your ship to steer, Tedi, so I think you should go to Chicago. This whole experiment is new, and we need to really know if it can get the results we want.”

The way he reminds me that this is an experiment is no accident, I’m sure. If it doesn’t pan out, all my people and I are out. I didn’t come this far to not make a name for myself in the hockey realm. But at the same time, the angry, heartbroken girl inside me is screaming that she doesn’t want to go to Chicago.

“Me?”

Calvin’s head whips around, and he widens his eyes at me. “Save the sinking ship, Tedi.” His voice is cool and on the edge of demanding.

“It’s why we hired you to run the program. Go up there and make us proud. Show your team what needs to be done and how to do it. Plus, with the right campaign and them winning the Cup, we’ll easily turn people into die-hard hockey fans. Chicagoans alone will think to themselves, who are the Grizzlies?” Mr. Herington stands and straightens his suit jacket. “I’ll call Bud and let him know you’re coming. Have a good day.” He nods to the rest of us and walks out of the room. “Calvin?”

Calvin scrambles to get up, almost falling off his chair. “I’ll see you in your office,” he says, rushing after Mr. Herington.

“So, you’re going to Chicago?” Mindy asks.

I stand from the table. “It appears so.” I attempt to keep the dread from my voice.

Lyric gathers all the folders, but they slip from her hands, and Tweetie’s picture slides across the table to me. She gives me an apologetic look, knowing our history.

His chin-length blond hair, his devilish blue eyes, and defined jawline. God, I hate the man, but just looking at him still makes my core ache.