Chapter 3 #2
“It’s in The Midnight’s interest to get one of our players on the show.
The potential for increased revenue, media exposure…
I know I don’t have to explain it all to you.
The owners want this, so we’re going after it,” Ava says.
“Ultimately, it will be the network’s decision.
There are plenty of other players they may want to focus on, but we have to do our part and select people.
” Ava clicks to the next slide before she speaks again, softer and more reassuring.
“Whatever happens, the biggest part of our job is making sure we protect our guys. We’ll vet everyone.
Check every contract. Be present for every session of filming.
Nothing happens without express permission, okay? ”
Three sharp knocks break the silence in my office, startling me from my review of comment requests I need to address.
I take a quick glance at my desk clock, surprised to see my ten a.m. meeting is five minutes early.
I bite back a laugh, considering who’s here to meet with me.
When I lean away from my computer screen, Nicky Baladin stands in my doorway.
“Hi.” It’s a single word, but Nicky greeting me first feels like a positive first step. The syllable is somehow warmer coming from him this time than during some of our previous interactions. I’m choosing to take it as a good omen.
He waits until I wave him in before crossing to one of the two chairs I have in front of my desk.
The space still lacks personality, the setup completely perfunctory, but I haven’t found the motivation to try and make it my own yet.
In the weeks since the baby shower, he’s trimmed his beard even more, as though he doesn’t fully want to get rid of it.
He looks more relaxed today, in a simple white short-sleeved Henley—unbuttoned; medium-wash denim; and low-top sneakers.
His hands are wedged in his pockets, but he pulls them free to grip the armrests of the chair when he sinks into it.
I’m momentarily mesmerized by the way he flexes his forearms, the corded muscle and veins climbing up his arms to the defined biceps and broad chest. The man is sexy as hell and he’s not even trying.
I shake my head to clear the thought, focusing on his piercing blue eyes, locked onto me.
“Hi, thanks for coming,” I finally say, spinning my chair to the part of the L-shaped desk that sits between us.
Nicky gives the smallest inclination of his head but doesn’t say anything.
More relaxed, not more talkative. Got it.
I pull my tablet out of the top desk drawer, tapping to open a new note and remove the stylus from its holder.
I write a header before giving all my attention to the goalie sitting in my office.
“Right. Ava tells me you agreed to the NHL Network’s documentary.
That makes everything from this meeting forward my job. ”
When Ava called me into her office yesterday, nearly two full weeks after the conference where we brainstormed players, I didn’t fully believe that Nicky not only agreed to be recommended but that the network chose him as well.
We have one week until training camp starts and only three days before the crew that will be following Nicky this season shows up.
Today is my chance to find out everything I need to from the quiet man in front of me to ensure this process is as painless as possible.
While Ava spearheads the boundaries of the team, I’ve been tasked with being present for all of Nicky’s filming and keeping the crew within the boundaries of the player’s preferences.
“Are they giving you a camera, too?” Nicky lifts a dark blond eyebrow. I blink stupidly, confused when his lips twitch with a ghost of a smile.
“Did you just make a joke?” I blurt, unable to keep the surprised thought to myself.
Somehow, I’ve always believed Nicky had a personality, but this unexpected glance into it has me off balance.
The laugh that bubbles up from me tickles with its intensity as it tumbles from me, a deep, rich timbre underwriting it as Nicky joins in.
The combined sound crests before ebbing away into softer, quieter silence, and a tiny flicker of warmth ignites in my chest. I can’t put a name to it, but I think it’s something like possibility.
“It was a good joke,” he says. Suddenly, the curiosity that has swirled around Nikita Baladin from the moment we met swells as he really does give me a boyish smile, the effect of which is devastating.
He’s entirely too handsome and wonderfully carefree, a state that is so incongruous to how I know him to normally be; I take a moment to bask in it.
“It was,” I agree. My cheeks hurt a little with how stretched they are from laughing, but Nicky leans back in the chair, and I feel welcome relief when the muscles relax, returning us to the professionals we are.
There’s a flash of silver as Nicky’s shirt shifts, the collar moving enough to show a silver chain under the material.
Before I can focus on it, Nicky readjusts, the collar falling into place, hiding the delicate jewelry.
He folds his hands in his lap, waiting patiently for me to continue where we left off.
He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t fill the quiet with mindless topics of conversation.
His blue eyes stay on mine, never straying to the V-neckline of my wrap dress like I expect.
It isn’t the dress’ fault—it isn’t even mine—I just have exceptional tits, a fact I was reminded of today.
The barista at my neighborhood coffee shop stared long enough during my caffeine stop before work that I needed to repeat my order three times.
The man walking his dog tripped over his four-legged companion when the fluffy mutt obediently sat at his feet at the corner.
Even Jim, our security guard in the employee parking lot, had a difficult time maintaining eye contact.
But Nikita Baladin is a different caliber of man.
He doesn’t look. It sends a tingle down my spine, the challenge I usually feel around him flaring to life. I want to see that control break, and the wild part of me wants to be the one to make it. For the first time in a long time, I want a man to look at me.
“How’s Nat?” I lead. “Have you talked to her about filming?”
“She’s good,” Nicky replies. “She’s finally getting excited about starting school, but I think it’s mostly so she doesn’t have to spend as much time with Ms. Margaret.”
I smile at that. Natalia and Ms. Margaret go together about as well as a balloon in the rain.
As someone who was mostly raised by nannies—some of whom I liked, some I didn’t—I understand how difficult it can be to find someone who clicks.
Having seen the pair at playoff games at the end of last season, I think Ms. Margaret is an excellent fit for Nat.
The woman is caring, patient, and kind. But I also deeply recognize what it feels like to want your parent to be the one to take care of you.
Not that my upbringing was anything like Natalia’s.
Her father would do anything for her, whereas I’m not even sure mine knows I left England.
“As for the filming,” Nicky starts, breaking me out of my thoughts. “I’m hoping we can keep it to Natalia’s school hours, unless we’re here in the facility or an away game. I want to protect her privacy as much as possible. Filming will only happen at home when she isn’t there.”
“We can make the request,” I say, writing it on my tablet and making a mental note to have legal double-check the verbiage of the contracts to see if it’s going to be a condition we can get.
“I’m not sure they’ll go for never being at the house when Nat is there, but at the very least, I will make sure that Natalia’s face is blurred in any footage they obtain of her. ”
“Good, that’s good.” Nicky seems to breathe a sigh of relief, an elbow on the armrest, bending to bring his hand to his face.
His fingers trace the shape of his full lips, rubbing absently at the bottom one as he contemplates what he wants to say next.
His eyes, which had been dutifully examining the shiny lacquer of my desktop, lift to mine as his hand falls away.
“There are things I don’t want to talk about on camera. Will that be okay?”
Nicky is a serious man—I know this about him—but the gravity of his voice doesn’t match the vulnerability in those azure eyes. It doesn’t pain him to ask this, but he seems to loathe it all the same.
“I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re comfortable.
If there are topics you won’t discuss, that’s okay, I just need to know what they are.
I need to listen to the interview segments and prepare you to respond or steer the producer away, to avoid the subject entirely.
” I try to infuse my voice with gentle understanding.
Part of being a good public relations officer is establishing trust with your client.
Working for a team makes those opportunities less personal; my responsibility is usually to uphold the company brand.
But this project shifts my loyalty to the man in front of me.
And I won’t take that for granted. I pick up my tablet and stand.
After rounding the end of the desk that separates us, I cross to the twin guest chair next to Nicky and sink down, angling my body toward him. “Want to tell me the non-negotiables?”