Chapter 4
Chapter Four
CHELSEY
“Is there anything else you need?” my boss, Stella Smith, asked as we double-checked the backdrop for the player profile photos was positioned exactly where it was supposed to be.
“No, I think I got it under control.” To tell the truth, I was pretty nervous. This would be the first time I worked one-on-one with the players, and it could set the tone for the rest of the season. I needed today to go well.
“You’re sure we’re better off taking the photos here than on the ice?
” she asked, cocking her hip as she studied the fabric backdrop.
It had been styled to look like ice and, while not particularly exciting in itself, it would provide a nice background for the portraits that would allow viewers to focus on the player rather than whatever was around them.
“I’m certain. For one thing, it means the pictures for all of them will be consistent.
For another, we can control the lighting here.
” I’d already set up lights to illuminate the faces of the players in a flattering way without casting them into harsh relief.
“Doing them here means we won’t have any distractions in the back of the photos, and it will reduce the chance of photobombing. ”
Stella pulled a face. At the end of the day, many professional athletes could behave like overgrown children. They worked hard, so they liked to play hard too, and from what I knew of this team, they didn’t always know when to stop. Photobombing wasn’t out of the question.
“Lastly, we’re less of an interruption to the training here.”
She sighed. “Yeah, Coach Dunn is happy to do whatever needs doing, but if we can avoid inconveniencing him, that would be best.”
“I’ll be back up in the office once I’ve got photos of all the players.”
She nodded and headed upstairs, where the corporate offices for the Chicago Chaos were housed. I sat on the chair against the wall to the side of the backdrop, unhooked my camera from around my neck, and switched it on to check the settings.
Once I was ready, I wandered over and stood outside the changing rooms to greet the players as they arrived.
As they funneled past me, I asked each one to come around the corner and get their photo taken once they were changed and before they went onto the ice.
I’d timed things well because the first player emerged in their gear after I’d already spoken to the better part of the team.
“Are we doing this?” Daniel Elliott asked, his stick in one hand and his helmet in the other.
I dithered, uncertain. If Elliott was ready for his photos, then I needed to do them before he became impatient. However, there were still a few players to arrive, and someone needed to tell them to find me before joining the others.
Elliott glanced behind me. “Morning, Matthews.”
My stomach dropped. Just great. I’d known I couldn’t avoid Matt all day, but it had been pretty good getting started without him. I turned toward him and dipped my head in acknowledgment.
He looked between us, a furrow forming between his fair eyebrows. “What’s going on?”
“I’m taking photos this morning,” I said, getting into it before Elliott could. The sooner I was away from Matt, the better. “Elliott is ready to get going, but someone needs to tell the rest of the team to each come see me before they start training.”
Matt shrugged and a lazy grin spread across his face. “I’ll do it.”
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to owe him, but I also didn’t see a better alternative. If not him, then someone else would end up doing it, and then I would look petty for refusing his help.
“That would be great,” I forced myself to say. “Thank you.”
He flashed me the smile that used to make me weak at the knees. “No worries.”
I led Elliott to the backdrop and showed him where to stand.
“Helmet on or off?” he asked.
“Off.” It would be better if the fans could see the players’ faces, especially with guys like Elliott, who were easy on the eyes.
I aimed the camera at him and fiddled with a dial until the focus was just right.
I snapped a few photographs before asking him to change his position and put down his helmet.
We did a few that were serious and a few where I asked him to smile and goof around a bit.
People reacted well to seeing their idols relaxed. It made them seem more human.
When I had enough, I showed him the ones I intended to use and gave him a form to fill out to approve them. Another player, Rasmussen—whose first name I couldn’t remember—was waiting to go next.
I worked through the players one by one, getting each of them to agree to the use of a serious pose and a more playful pose in the team’s marketing.
Some of the players were friendly, some were obviously impatient to get on the ice, and one or two were curt but did as I asked while grumbling under their breath.
Then there was Jesse Young. He was in a category all his own.
The man flirted as easily as he breathed—despite the warning from his coach to be professional—and it was almost completely impossible to gauge his sincerity.
He winked and dished out compliments, and I couldn’t tell if he was like that with everyone or if he’d act on the flirtation if I gave any hint I might be interested.
Fortunately, he was just a flirt and not a creep, so I didn’t feel uncomfortable. He was too playful, too boyish, to unsettle me. He also gave me the best photos of anyone so far. The fangirls would go crazy for him.
I knew the team’s previous management had done all they could to keep him out of the limelight because of his reckless behavior, but I wasn’t sure that was the best decision.
He had all the makings of a fan favorite if managed properly.
He was charismatic, outgoing, and good-looking in a relatively nonthreatening way.
Unlike Drew McKinley, who was currently scowling at me from his position in front of the backdrop, his messy hair flopping over his face and his eyes narrowed as if I’d personally pissed him off.
“This is a waste of time,” he grumbled, reluctantly repositioning himself when I asked him to. “Smiling for some pretty pictures has nothing to do with winning a game.”
“Maybe not,” I started as I focused the camera on his face and checked that he was all in frame. “But you need fans to fund the game or else there’s no way to make money from it.”
It was a shame that Drew seemed to have a chip on his shoulder about publicity.
If he didn’t, he could potentially be a good representative for the team too.
He wasn’t as clean cut as Jesse, with his tattoos and his permanent grump face, but he had an edgier look that would appeal to a less mainstream audience.
He huffed. “No one wants to see me. Why don’t you just photograph Harris and Young and call it a day?”
I was about to explain why it was important to make all the team members at least partly publicly accessible when Matt strode up, glaring at Drew.
“Pull your head in, McKinley,” he snapped, the set of his jaw showing how tense he was, but then he glanced over his shoulder, grimaced, and rubbed his temple.
“Sorry. I’m not trying to start anything.
Just, if she says she needs photos of all of us, then that’s what we have to do. This probation thing is serious.”
Drew’s lips parted in surprise, and I just blinked at Matt, astonished.
I opened my mouth but then closed it again, honestly not sure what to say.
I didn’t know whether to be pleased by the show of support or annoyed that he’d interfered when I was handling things fine on my own.
Drew hadn’t intentionally been causing problems, just expressing his opinion.
“Yeah, whatever,” Drew muttered, but he didn’t say anything else as I finished taking photos. Before he left, he stopped and quietly said, “Sorry if I was an ass. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I didn’t take it personally,” I said truthfully. Plenty of sportsmen didn’t like publicity. That didn’t mean they had anything against me.
My phone buzzed with a message from Layla.
Layla: How are you enjoying the man candy?
I laughed and tapped out a reply.
Chelsey: Keep an eye on the team’s socials. I’ll try to get some of the shots up later today.
Layla: Are any NSFW?
Chelsey: No. Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m a professional.
Layla: Boo.
“My turn?” Matt asked.
I jumped. Somehow, I’d forgotten he was there. Go me.
“Sure. Just tuck your helmet under one arm, have your stick in the other, and stand facing forward in the center of the backdrop.”
He did as I asked, lowering his chin in a way that told me he’d remembered the tips I used to give him about how to pose for the best photos.
I gave all my attention to the camera, doing my best to treat him like any other subject.
If I could pretend he was a waterfall or a mountain rather than a sexy man, that would be great.
“Lose the helmet,” I instructed. “Hold the stick across your body and angle yourself forty-five degrees.”
He transitioned easily and I kept snapping.
Once I had enough serious pictures, I told him he could smile and let loose a little.
He sent the camera the most wicked grin I’d ever seen.
My heart rate picked up, and I tried not to remember how he used to look at me like that before he buried his face between my thighs.
Dear God, was he trying to kill me?
My finger twitched on the button, and I inhaled slowly and forced myself to calm down. Another few photos and I could send him on his way.
Then the asshole winked at me.
Seriously, fuck him.
“I’ve got what I need,” I snapped, dismissing him with a wave of my hand.
His face fell. “Are you sure? I—”
“I’m certain.”
He bent to pick up his helmet and sidled over to me, glancing around as if to check whether anyone was paying attention to us. “Look, Chelsey, we need to talk. I’m really sorry about how—”
Mitch Davenport, a veteran goalie, stomped up behind him just in time to provide the perfect interruption.
“It’s Mitch’s turn,” I declared, narrowing my eyes at Matt and practically daring him to try to continue this conversation.
Matt’s lips firmed and he looked like he wanted to argue, but with Mitch standing there, he couldn’t say anything unless he wanted to give us away. He’d already made it clear in the past that he wasn’t proud of his association with me, so I doubted he’d do that now.
When he walked away, I let out a sigh of relief. Whatever he might think we needed to talk about, we most certainly didn’t. If he intended to make excuses for breaking my heart, I wasn’t interested in hearing them.
“Where do you want me?” Davenport asked.
Half an hour later, I had photographs of every player who’d been at training and I was sitting at my desk in the offices above the changing rooms, examining them on my computer, when I sensed someone approaching.
I glanced around and struggled to hide my surprise as Joseph Trent, the team’s owner, sank onto the chair beside me.
“Hi, Chelsey,” he said, smiling. His blue eyes were crinkled at the edges, and he was clean-shaven and wearing a designer suit that made it perfectly clear he was in excellent shape for a man in his late forties.
It was just as well I didn’t have any photographs of him to share with Layla because I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist teasing me about him being a Daddy, and I preferred not to think of my boss’s boss like that.
“H-hi,” I stammered, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Do you need something?”
He rested his elbow on the next desk over, which was currently unassigned, and studied me in a way that made me feel like the fine print in a contract he wasn’t sure about. “Am I correct in understanding that you photographed the players this morning? All of them?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“What were your first impressions of them?”
I frowned. Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
His eyes never left mine. It was slightly disconcerting.
“I want to know how they react to changing circumstances—especially with the probation hanging over us. There’s been a lot of change over the past year, and some people handle that with more grace than others. I’d like your take on the matter.”
I pursed my lips and mentally flicked through all the interactions I’d had that morning. I knew he was my boss, but spilling everything to him felt a little like being a double agent, and I didn’t like it.
“Most of them were fine.” That was the truth. “A few clearly resented what we were doing, but none were blatantly rude to me.”
“Which ones showed their resentment?” he asked, withdrawing his phone from his front pocket and lighting up the screen.
I grimaced. “Delacrue, McKinley, and Virtanen all made comments to the effect that they didn’t want to do it, but they all did as I asked and signed off on the use of their photographs.”
He nodded and tapped on the screen. “Thank you. Were any players particularly enthusiastic in embracing your efforts?”
At this, I snorted. “Young has a future on the catwalk if he wants it. Rasmussen laid it on thick too. Kelly and Gadot were very good-natured.” I hesitated, then added, “Matthews encouraged McKinley to cooperate.”
I may not want to give Matt any positive feedback, but I wasn’t going to lie out of spite either.
“And Harris?”
I considered for a moment. “I won’t say he enjoyed it, but he went along with it willingly enough.”
Honestly, I understood Harris’s reluctance given the number of social media pages dedicated to sharing photos of his ass, not to mention what had happened with the scandalous photographs of him and his fiancée last season. If I were him, I’d be wary too.
“Good.” Those vivid eyes of his brightened. “I thought he might be…hesitant…after that awful business with him and Jane.”
“If he was, he didn’t let it get in the way of him doing his job.” I admired him for that. From my scant acquaintance with him, I could already tell the team captain was a private guy.
Mr. Trent stood and pocketed his phone. “Let me know if you run into trouble with any of them. I won’t tolerate you being disrespected because someone has a problem with you doing your job.”
I dipped my head. “Thank you, sir.”
He strode away. I looked back at my computer screen and groaned when I realized it was filled with an image of Matt Matthew’s wicked smile.
Goddamn.
I was beginning to think the only problem I’d have working with this team was keeping my heart safe.
There was a window beside my desk and I looked through it and down onto the ice, where the team was practicing.
As I watched, Matt flew across the rink, intercepting a forward, and they slammed into the barrier.
He looked up, and even though I knew it was ridiculous with dozens of yards and a layer of glass separating us, I could have sworn he met my eyes.
I shivered.
Fuck, I was in trouble.