Chapter 2 #2
"This fake engagement idea is crazy," I said, steering us back to safer ground. "It could backfire spectacularly. It could ruin my professional credibility. And there's a massive ethical issue with the team publicist dating a player."
"Which is why Coach Sully, Rocco, and Marcus were in that meeting this morning," Logan countered. "The brass knows. The agent knows. It's contained."
"For now. But if it gets out – "
"It won't." Logan's certainty was almost reassuring. "Look, I get it. Your reputation matters. Your career matters. But this isn't just about Cam being able to hawk sneakers. This is about security."
"I get it."
"Hockey's not forever, Lana. You know that better than most." He tapped his knee meaningfully – a reminder of his own surgery a few years ago that had nearly ended his career. "One bad hit, one torn ACL, and it's over. A deal like this? It's insurance. It's what comes after."
He had a point. Hockey players had short career spans at best. My brother Drake's playing career had ended after just three years. Like my Dad, he'd made the move to coaching. A major marketing deal like this could cushion Cam financially for decades.
"There's still Zayne to consider," I said, grasping at my last excuse. "You know how protective he is."
Logan actually smiled at that. "Yeah, your brother's…intense. But he's also one of the most loyal guys I know. When he understands what's at stake for his teammate, his best friend, he'll come around."
"You clearly don't know Zayne as well as you think," I muttered. My brother once broke a guy's nose at a team function for asking for my number. His protectiveness bordered on prehistoric.
"Maybe not. But I do know Cam." Logan rose to his feet. "And I know this matters to him. A lot."
"The deal, you mean."
Logan paused at the door, his expression softening. "Sure, the deal. But also... just think about it, okay? You're the only one he's ever actually cared about."
By five o'clock, I'd written and rewritten what I was now mentally calling "The Contract of Mutual Professional Destruction" at least fifteen times. The legal pad beside my laptop was filled with crossed-out clauses, revised terms, and doodled hockey sticks.
The final version stared back at me from my screen:
CONFIDENTIALITY AGREEMENT AND TERMS
The undersigned parties, Cameron Murphy and Lana Decker, along with St. Petersburg Slashers management representatives, agree to the following terms regarding the temporary public relationship between Mr. Murphy and Ms. Decker:
1. Duration: This arrangement will begin immediately upon signing and continue until 30 days following the execution of the Redline endorsement contract, the conclusion of the NHL Awards ceremony, or by mutual agreement, whichever comes last.
2. Public Conduct: Murphy and Decker agree to present themselves as a committed couple in public settings, including but not limited to team functions, social media, and the NHL Awards.
3. Physical Boundaries: Physical contact will be limited to appropriate public displays of affection (hand-holding, brief kisses, etc.). No overnight stays are expected or required.
4. Media Strategy: Neither party will explicitly state they are "engaged" to any media outlet. If directly questioned, responses will be limited to "We're very happy together" and "We prefer to keep the details private."
5. Social Media: Any relationship-related posts must be approved by both parties before publishing. A minimum of two joint appearances on social media per week is required to establish credibility.
6. Ring: A ring will be procured for Ms. Decker to wear at public appearances. The ring remains the property of Mr. Murphy after the conclusion of this agreement.
7. Confidentiality: All details of this arrangement will remain strictly confidential. All parties acknowledge this agreement constitutes a binding NDA.
8. Termination: Following the completion of this agreement, a mutual, amicable, no-fault "breakup" will be announced through approved, mutually agreed upon media channels.
9. Zayne Decker: Mr. Murphy accepts full responsibility for any negative reaction from Zayne Decker should he discover this arrangement.
The last clause gave me pause, but I knew it was necessary. Zayne would never understand – and more importantly, he'd never approve. Better to ask forgiveness than permission in this case.
I printed copies for everyone, my hands surprisingly steady considering I was about to formalize the most professionally questionable decision of my career.
My phone lit up with a text from a number I saw exactly twice a year – Christmas and my birthday.
CAM: Update?
I stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The smart move would be scheduling a proper meeting in my office tomorrow. The safe move would be texting back a simple yes or no.
Instead, my traitorous fingers typed:
ME: Breakaway Bar, 30 minutes. Come alone.
CAM: Are you having me kidnapped?
ME: Only one way to find out.
Breakaway was a small hockey bar a few blocks from the arena, popular with staff but rarely frequented by players who preferred more upscale establishments. I chose it deliberately – neutral territory, away from both team oversight and public scrutiny.
The bar smelled of beer and decades of sports celebrations – a comforting, familiar scent that reminded me of my childhood, when my dad would take us to similar places after Zayne's juniors games.
Old jerseys and memorabilia decorated the walls, including a faded Slashers pennant from their inaugural season.
I arrived first, selecting a booth in the back corner where the lighting was dim enough for privacy. I ordered a glass of pinot grigio to settle my nerves, and was halfway through the glass when Cam slid into the seat across from me.
"You came," he said, as if he'd half-expected me to stand him up.
"I said I would." I pushed the agreement across the table. "These are my terms."
He skimmed the document, expression unreadable in the dim bar lighting. The sound of a hockey game played low on the TV overhead, punctuated by occasional cheers from patrons at the bar. When he reached the end of the agreement, his eyes flicked up to mine.
"Wait. You're saying yes?"
"I'm saying I'll help you," I clarified. "Under these very specific conditions."
Cam signaled the waitress, ordering a beer before returning his attention to me. "Why? I thought for sure after this morning..."
"I thought about what you said," I admitted. "About how I helped create this image problem for you. I feel... responsible."
"Logan talked to you, didn't he?" Surprise flickered across his face.
"Apparently he considers himself your personal publicist now."
Cam's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "What did he say?"
"That you're not actually the player I've made you out to be. That you watch cooking shows and call your mother every Sunday." I paused, studying him. "That she has MS."
His smile faded. "He had no right to – "
"Is it true?" I interrupted.
Cam held my gaze for a long moment. And then…"Yes."
"Then why did you let me build this whole playboy persona around you if it wasn't accurate?" I asked, genuinely confused. "We've worked together for three years, Cam. You've never once objected to the strategy."
He shrugged, but the casualness felt forced. "It seemed to make everyone happy. The fans, the sponsors, the team. You."
"Me?" I echoed.
"You seemed so…excited about it. The whole strategy. Turning me into hockey's most eligible bachelor. It was clearly working for the team, and you were..." He paused, searching for words. "You were good at it. Really good. I didn't want to mess that up for you."
The waitress delivered his beer, and Cam took a long sip, using the moment to collect himself.
"Besides," he continued, setting the glass down, "it was easier than the alternative."
"Which was?"
"Having to actually date. Having expectations. Having people ask why I was single." His voice dropped slightly. "Having to explain why I wasn't interested in…
“In?”
“I really don’t want to talk about this.”
I was stunned into silence. Had I completely misread him all these years? Constructed an entire persona that he'd just... accepted? For what? To avoid awkward conversations?
"I don't understand," I finally said.
"You don't need to." Cam tapped the agreement. "So we're doing this? For real?"
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision. "Yes. All parties will sign the NDA tomorrow, and we stick to the terms. Period."
"Agreed." He looked almost relieved. "What about Zayne?"
"No," I said firmly. "Not unless we absolutely have to. You know how he is. He'd never understand. I know Marcus thinks he’ll just tell him to go along and he will, but we both know he won’t"
Cam nodded slowly. "Okay. When do we start?"
"Immediately. The NHL Awards are only two weeks away. That doesn't give us much time to establish a believable relationship." I pulled out my tablet, shifting into PR mode. "We'll need to be seen together gradually. Small appearances, casual settings. Build a natural progression."
"That rescheduling really worked in our favor, huh?" Cam commented. "If they'd held the awards in June like usual, we wouldn't even have had this opportunity."
I nodded. The California wildfires had been devastating, sending smoke drifting all the way to Las Vegas, creating serious health concerns and forcing the NHL to postpone the annual awards ceremony from its traditional June date to October.
"It's certainly convenient timing," I agreed. "We'll need to craft a backstory. How long we've been together, how it started – "
"How about, we reconnected after I was drafted to the Slashers. Started as friends catching up, slowly became more. Been keeping it quiet because of your position with the team and your brother?"
I raised an eyebrow, impressed despite myself. "That's... actually believable. We'll need to agree on specific details though – favorite restaurants, movies we've seen together, little things couples would know about each other."
"I can be creative when motivated," he said with a hint of the charm that made him such a fan favorite. Then, more seriously: "But we'll need more than just a story, right? We need proof. Photos. Social media. Evidence that we've been together for a while, just keeping it private.”
"Yeah, I'm working on that."
He pulled out his phone. "Check your texts."
My phone buzzed, and I opened his message to find a photo I'd never seen before – Cam and me at a team charity event last year, standing close together, both laughing at something off-camera. We looked... comfortable. Happy. Like a couple.
"Where did you get this?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
"Team photographer. I asked for the outtakes months ago." He shrugged at my questioning look. "You looked nice. Happy."
"There are more?"
"A few." He swiped through his phone and showed me another – this one from the Stanley Cup celebration, one from Logan and Coco’s party when she won Nationals, Cam with his arm casually draped over my shoulder as we posed with the team.
Another from the holiday party, where I was explaining something animatedly and he was watching me with an expression I hadn't noticed at the time – soft, almost fond.
"These are good," I admitted. "But we'll need more recent ones. And more, you know... couple-like."
Cam nodded, suddenly businesslike. "So what's next?"
I drained the last of my wine and stood up.
"Tomorrow, we get these agreements signed.
Then we start being seen together – casually at first, more intimate as we get closer to the awards.
" I hesitated, then added, "And Cam? Outside of the people in that room today, and Logan, obviously, no one else can know.
The fewer people who know the truth, the better. "
"Understood." He also rose, towering over me even in my heels. For a moment, we just looked at each other, the weight of what we were agreeing to hanging between us.
"This is crazy," I said softly.
"Completely insane," he agreed, a small smile playing on his lips. "But we're doing it anyway."
I nodded, gathering my purse and the agreement. "I'll have my assistant schedule a meeting tomorrow. Nine AM, probably."
As I turned to leave, Cam caught my arm gently. "Lana?"
"Yes?" The way he said my name made me forget what I was going to say next. This was the exact reason I made it my personal mission to avoid him whenever possible.
"Thank you. I know what this could cost you, and I know you don't owe me anything. But I won't forget this."
Something warm and dangerous unfurled in my chest, and I immediately tried to stamp it out. This was business. Professional courtesy. Nothing more.
"Don't thank me yet," I said, sliding out of the booth. "We still have to convince the entire hockey world that you're madly in love with me."
His smile – slow, devastating, and, fuck, entirely too knowing – made my knees forget how to function properly.
"That,” he said, “might be the easiest part."
As I walked out of Breakaway Bar, leaving Cam Murphy sitting in our corner booth with that enigmatic grin, I told myself the shiver that ran down my spine was from the October chill in the air. Not from the way he'd looked at me like I was something he'd been searching for his whole life.
I mean, it was only 84 degrees.
This was just business.
So why did it already feel like it was going to be everything but?