Chapter 4
RAKE
I look around Vince Vincent’s office at the mass of photos he has on display of himself with athletes from our team and others. In each, his arm is thrown around whoever’s next to him, even though he’s a foot shorter, and he’s wearing a shit-eating grin like they’re fucking besties.
I know it’s not my business what this man has on every inch of his office walls, but for cripes’ sake, could he be any more desperate to impress?
I want to say to him, we get it, man. You’ve met a lot of athletes. Famous athletes, even. But do you have to let everyone who comes to your office know? Are you that hard up to look like a player?
Excuse the pun.
Seriously. I think it’s weird to have so many photos of yourself, for one, and two, he reminds me of the kid in school who’s desperate to prove he’s part of the ‘in’ crowd. Have a little game, dude.
Another stupid pun.
“What can I do for you, Vince?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and slamming my feet on his desk.
He hates that.
And the look on his face is worth the price of admission. His eyes bug out of his head so hard you’d think I just smeared his desk with feces.
“Could you… remove your feet from my desk,” he asks with a sniff.
Ohforchrissake.
I know I’m pushing my luck, though I can’t help but taunt a man named Vince Vincent, who thinks his shit doesn’t stink, and that he’s assigned to be my personal babysitter.
“What do you mean, man?” I ask, pointing at the bottom of my shoes. “My sneakers are clean, look at them. In fact, I just took them out of the box. They were sent comp to the whole team by some company that wants our endorsement.”
Vince presses his lips together. Maybe it’s time to back off. Not give him such a hard time. But he’s so damn officious, and he has a massive hate-boner for me.
So I’m gonna be a dick. That’s all there is to it.
“I can see your shoes are clean, Rake. But I still don’t want them on my desk.”
I stare him down for a moment, a battle of wills I would undoubtedly win if push came to shove, and drop my feet to the floor with a big sigh. I’m worth more to this team than our freaking new PR guy. Ask anyone.
That’s what it comes down to, isn’t it?
“Thank you,” he says. “Now let’s get down to business.”
Yup. Sure. Whatever you want, buddy.
Practice today was a bitch, so I’m just glad I’m sitting down. I partied far too much this weekend, and Coach, who knows me better than I know myself, really put me through the paces when he realized how hungover I was.
In fact, my partying this weekend went a bit too far, and that’s why I’m in Vince’s office right now.
“First, I want to thank you for attending the auction today. That’s a huge first step in rehabilitating your image.”
The nerve of this jerk.
I lean forward in my chair. “Rehabilitate? My image? What the hell are you talking about?”
Vince sighs and looks out his office window. “Rake, I was brought on board here to make sure the Aftershocks are the darlings of the hockey league. The more respectable you guys are, the more sponsorships you get, and the more money everyone ends up with in their pockets.”
Fucking sports. Always boils down to the almighty dollar.
“Yeah, I know. So?” I ask.
“This weekend was the third brawl you’ve been involved in this year. If the owners weren’t as well connected as they are, you might have enjoyed a lovely night in jail with San Francisco’s finest.”
Oh. That.
“Look, I told Coach that wasn’t my fault. Some asshole was giving a woman a hard time, and I stepped in—”
Vince raises his hand and cuts me off. “Rake, you are not the savior of put-upon women. You know when you see trouble that you are supposed to exit the situation. You’ve been told this time and again.”
I straighten up in my seat. “I don’t think I can do that, Vince. I can’t just walk away from something like that.”
Vince leans onto his desk, his fingers clasped. “I’ve been told, Rake, that if this happens one more time, you’re out.”
I drop my head back and laugh. Hard.
Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen.
“It’s true, Rake. You’re just about out of chances. That’s why the owners have tasked me with cleaning up the shit you leave behind everywhere you go.”
I am so not down with this punk giving me the what-for. I’m tired, still hungover, and sore from Coach’s punishment. And I want something really good to eat for dinner. I’m fucking starving.
Maybe when I’m done with this stupid conversation, I’ll head over to Presidio Heights for a Spruce Burger. I love Spruce. They always give me a great table even though I never have a reservation.
And the hostess is hot as fuck.
“Okay, Vince,” I say. I’m too tired to argue with the man. He needs to just tell me what the hell he wants so I can get out of his office, so creepily wallpapered with photos of his damn face.
“Rake, today’s charity event is the first of several things you will be doing to convince your fans you’re a respectable, professional athlete, and not a guy walking around looking for fights to get into.”
“Really, Vince? I doubt my fans think that of me.”
He leans even further over his desk, like he’s driving home a point—one he really wishes I’d pay some attention to.
“Rake, how do you think the kids who follow your career, who collect your trading cards, who see your face in the morning on their box of corn flakes, who wear your number, feel when there are photos of you all over the internet, bloody, beating the shit out of some poor schmuck who had no idea what he was getting into when he pissed you off?”
Okay. Here we go. He’s hauling out the big guns, bringing up the kids. Our young fans. If there’s one thing that’s impossible to argue with, it’s the importance of the kids who follow the team.
First, they get their parents to buy all kinds of Aftershock stuff. Second, they are our future ticket holders. They are an important audience, everyone around here likes to say.
I don’t disagree. I love kids. They’re cute and funny and most of the time, smarter than adults.
“That brings me to your second activity, Rake. In addition to making yourself available for charity events, you will be volunteering to help the kids’ hockey league.”
Hmmm. That doesn’t sound so bad. But still. “I can get down with that one, Vince. But I just don’t have the time. Sorry, man.”
He looks at me square. “You will find the time, Rake. Your career depends on it.”
Huh?
“Do you know something I don’t, Vince?”
Smug washes over his face, and I wish I could wipe it right off. But I keep my shit together. I smile, pretending I’m enjoying this.
“I told you, Rake. Next time you mess up, you’re out.”
I look at him for a moment, on the verge of laughing in his face. But he’s serious. Real serious.
And this, actually, has caught hold of my attention.
“I’m not sure about that, Vince—”
He shakes his head. “You can be assured that’s a fact, Rake.”
“Okay. Fine. I did the auction thing. I’ll teach the kids. But after that, I’m done, right?”
He chuckles. “Oh no. You are far from done.”
I groan. “I’m not going out with that woman who bid on me.
One, I’m not for sale, and two, she looked about as thrilled to meet me as I did her.
I helped the charity raise money. In fact, I’ll match the amount that woman paid for me.
My very own donation. But she and I do not need to spend any time together. I’m telling you that right now.”
Nothing against the woman. She seemed pretty normal, and was nice-looking enough. In fact, she was damn hot. But that’s neither here nor there.
Vince takes a deep breath. I’m clearly trying his patience but fuck all, he’s trying mine. “Do you know anything about her, Rake?” he snips.
I shrug. “Her name is Rose, right? Her mom works at the Cable Car Museum?”
He rolls his eyes. “Her name is Petal. Petal Parker. She comes from a San Francisco family that’s been here for generations. She’s also wealthy. Very wealthy. In fact, some would call her an heiress. And her mother does not work for the Cable Car Museum, she’s raising money for it.”
Who fucking cares?
“Look, man, I got my own money, I don’t need some rich girl—”
“My point is, she’s higher profile than the women you usually… meet,” he says after a pause. “She’s smart, successful, and respectable. She has her act together. You will have a date with her, you will be nice, and you will at least pretend to be enjoying yourself. That’s all there is to it.”
How does this guy think he can talk to me this way?
“Look, Vince. I’m planning on staying out of trouble. There will be no more brawls or drunken whatevers. We really don’t have to do this.”
He raises an eyebrow like an evil little elf.
“Oh, but we do. And we will. We’re starting tomorrow.
You and I will be meeting Petal and discussing, over coffee, the particulars of how your date will go.
Where you are going and when. There will be photographers, for whom you will smile broadly.
You will say nice things about the charity benefitting from your largesse. And you will be the perfect gentleman.”
I slam back in my chair. “I don’t think all this is necessary, Vince. Look, I did the auction. Now, let me play a couple games with the kids. We’ll call it a day.”
“Rake, you can lose your job. I don’t give a damn.
But I’m not losing mine. Not over the likes of you, a spoiled, unruly athlete who thinks he’s God’s gift to hockey.
You know how many hundreds of guys are out there waiting, just waiting to take your spot?
You’re not indispensable. Nobody is. I’m not and you’re not. It’s time you learned that.”