Chapter 5
Lily
My father expected perfection.
In everything.
That’s why anytime I went to my parents’ house or met one or the other for shopping or a meal, I was usually overdressed. Not today. Today I wanted to be comfortable. I deserved it after everything I’d been through.
Wearing jeans, a favorite albeit old tee shirt, and my beloved knee-high boots, I strolled into the quaint Italian restaurant that had been a mainstay in our family for years. My father used to bring me here after piano recitals or when I’d achieved a perfect period-ending report card at school.
That’s why I knew whatever he had to say meant something to him. And quite possibly might add an unwanted detour in my life. At least I was confident I could stave off or compartmentalize whatever he had to tell me. Today, I felt like a warrior capable of handling anything.
Even if in checking my bank account over coffee I was reminded of how dire the situation would soon become.
“Punkin. You look… different,” he said politely as he rose to his feet, kissing me on the cheek.
“I’m cleaning today,” I told him on a whim. The reason for my attire sounded plausible. As I sat down, I studied the interior of the restaurant. The owners kept homage to the famous people who’d dined in the establishment over the years. My father included.
“Ah, I see. Nothing like chasing away the cobwebs before starting a new life.”
Uh-oh. Here we went.
Suddenly, a waiter appeared highlighting whatever bottle of wine my father had selected. After he gave the obligatory nod, the young man proceeded to put on a show. I was only vaguely amused. My father had a smug look on his face, another telltale sign he had a speech prepared.
Good for him.
I’d only be half listening.
The last thing I needed was being chastised for my choice in professions.
Once the wine was served, he waited until I took a decent sip, studying me intently as he always did. The calm before the storm.
With the ceremonial gesture complete, I looked him straight in the eyes and leaned forward. “Spill it, Dad.”
He chuckled. “What does that mean, Lily?”
“That means you have something explosive to share with me or an offer to make. I know that because in the space of three minutes, you’ve called me punkin twice. If it had been three times, I’d be certain the world was coming to an end. So just do us both a favor and cut to the chase.”
His expression hardened briefly before he pushed his wineglass aside. “I think fate finally told you he has something else in store for you.”
He. My father had always believed there was a magical man in the clouds determining our lots in life.
“Okay. Why don’t you share with me your predictions from that magical eight ball of yours.
” I still owned one of those gimmicky toys and in truth, I’d used it several times while trying to make tough decisions. Maybe I was my daddy’s girl after all.
“I know you want time to complete your novel.”
That was unexpected. “Yes, I do. I’m close to the end.” Well, maybe another thirty thousand words or so, but I was getting closer. “Why the sudden interest?”
“You’re in between jobs and I thought I could help.”
“Are you offering me a loan?” I wouldn’t accept one.
“I’m offering you a job.” He dropped the slight bomb before enjoying a swallow of his wine. Somehow, the disaster I called my life had fit into some plan he’d had.
“In your public relations firm?”
“What other business am I in, pun—”
I gave him a stern look, which forced him to pause.
“Sweetheart,” he finished. “You need to pay your bills so you can have time to create a masterpiece and I need help.”
“I’m not interested in being your secretary, Dad. Sorry, but you’re a tough boss.”
His laugh was genuine, his eyes lighting up. “That’s not what I’m asking you to do. You have an innate knowledge of my business, a talent for turning the lives of public figures around like no one else I’ve worked with. You have a degree, for God’s sake.”
Which he believed I’d floundered away on a whim.
I’d heard this speech before. All that talent wasted on sitting behind a desk acting like a schoolmarm. I tried to be nice, even keeping a plastic smile on my face. For some reason, I sensed he needed my help. Something had come up he wasn’t quite certain how to handle.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s going on?”
Reaching down, he extracted something from the briefcase he took everywhere he went.
When he pulled out a manila file, I tried to keep from becoming angry.
There was no sense in lashing out at my father.
I was curious why he seemed desperate. Not that anyone could tell that but me.
I knew my dad far too well. He needed to be in full control over everything.
“I was approached by a former client with what he called an emergency situation.”
Now I laughed. Emergency meant someone had fucked up.
There was no better term. They’d fallen into some quicksand and desperately needed a reboot.
My father was well known for being able to provide a fresh start, breathing life into a corporation or a person who’d all but driven the last nails into their own coffin.
He slid the file in my direction and I had to admit I was curious who the victim was. Or maybe he or she was the perpetrator. You never knew what to expect. I drummed my fingers on the table, knowing that if I so much as touched the file, I’d be committing to helping my father.
I couldn’t seem to help myself.
As soon as I opened the file, I immediately thought about last night after my disastrous dinner.
The picture I was staring at, perhaps drooling over was the same one I’d seen on social media.
There were no adequate words for the man’s fantastic physique.
He’d been preordered, crafted, refined, and delivered from the heavens. The perfect specimen of a male.
Whoever the photographer, they’d managed to capture the man’s essence.
Rugged.
Sensual.
Dangerous.
My nipples immediately hardened, becoming way too uncomfortable in my lace bra.
He had the kind of hair you wanted to spend hours running your fingers through, a wry smile highlighting a powerful chiseled jaw and high cheekbones. Then there were his eyes. They were so blue, so luminous I could almost see through them.
His body was… just amazing.
Inhaling, I did my best to act nonchalant as I flipped through the other items in the file. When I started falling from my lust-filled plateau, I grasped what I was looking at.
I lifted my head, narrowing my eyes as I studied my father’s serious expression.
“You are kidding me. He’s supposed to be a werewolf?”
His chuckle was followed by my father, a man who’d never backed down to anyone scanning the tables in close proximity. Was he seriously worried our conversation would be overheard?
“There is an unseemly video taken by a customer inside a bar where it appears, and I know it sounds crazy, that Mr. Masters showed signs of shifting into… another being.”
Saint ‘The Savage’ Masters, center for the Chicago Wild Dogs hockey team. I briefly read his dossier. He came from a family of hockey players, his grandfather a former Stanley Cup winner and his brother a member of the American Hockey League, supposedly on his way to the NHL any day.
Saint had been a star player in college while keeping straight A’s and graduating with a degree in business economics. I flipped through the other photographs, some of which I’d seen the night before.
With every photo I looked at, a sense of familiarity swept through me. Maybe it was his luscious lips. They were rosy and perfect, meant for kissing by a roaring fire.
Wait a minute.
No, no. There was no way karma hated me that much.
My skin was tingling all over, the hint of recognition something I was unprepared for.
“Was this video taken at Neon Nights?” I asked sheepishly while I clenched my thighs together. What if this was the man from the bar a couple of nights before? I was overthinking this. That’s all it was.
“No, why?”
I allowed myself to breathe a sigh of relief. “Do you honestly believe this is anything more than propaganda, maybe stemming from hatred from an opposing team?”
“They do have an enemy in the Denver Devils, but so far, no one has owned up to creating a prank.”
“A harmful one.”
“Exactly. Mr. Masters had done no favors for himself. He’s considered an arrogant prick on and off the ice.
Half his team hates him. Pretty much everyone else in the NHL believes his hype is overrated and continues to give the NHL a bad name.
He’s been in several bar fights, caught with his pants down with several celebrities, and had even managed to get himself arrested during a promotional tour in Washington State. The man is a regular bad boy.”
“On steroids.” I loathed men like that. They were the epitome of everything I hated in the male species. Especially right now.
“No, he’s been tested several times. You’ll find the reports in the file.”
“Dad, I was kidding.” Although that would explain his penchant for violence. Maybe he was on some new form of drug that tests couldn’t confirm.
He laughed. “I know, honey. Hockey is a highly competitive sport and many players are prone to exhibiting anger in creative methods.”
Uh-huh. Like turning into a night-crawling creature? My father refused to accept clients with less than questionable attributes. That meant one too many people were taking the report seriously.
“Don’t they have their own public relations people?” I asked. Every decent company and organization did. Social media was big business.
He nodded. “They did. They still have interns who post photographs of the games and other promotional events, but the social media manager quit. It would seem she and Saint were like oil and water. And they haven’t got around to rehiring a full-time public relations manager. They’ve been through a couple of them.”