Chapter 3
LIBBY
It seems like fate that Mrs. Carter dropped Jordan Atkinson right into my lap like that.
The stroke of genius hit me as soon as she mentioned that he used to play hockey.
I need my new team to be a smashing success so that my new show will also be a smashing success.
As long as I bring money in to the network, they’ll let me stay in control of the narrative—and that’s the whole point.
Prove to the world that Libby Bennet is not the emotional, dramatic teenager I was portrayed as ten years ago.
But the truth is, I grew up on football.
I don’t know anything about hockey. Of course, I’ve been learning about it since deciding to buy the Denver White Wolves: watching games and YouTube videos, reading books, and everything else I can think of, not to mention the business strategies I need to know.
But having an advisor? Someone to help me hire all the right people and formulate the right strategies?
That’s a great idea.
I think Jordan might be my guy.
Well, not my guy. Not in a romantic way like that might sound.
Jordan is actually the type of guy I stay far away from.
I won’t hold his good looks and pro-athlete résumé against him, but the charming guys are the ones I keep at arm’s length.
Is there such a thing as stilts for arms?
I would keep him at stilt-arm’s length. Because those charming ones are the ones that get ya.
Don’t ask me how I know.
Since I got the idea after meeting Jordan, he’s the first hockey player I look into.
My impulsive side wants to hire him right away and go with my gut, but I make myself find a few other guys that could be possibilities as well, including a couple former players who already live in the Denver area after retiring in the last five years.
But even the basic research I do on Jordan has me pretty confident he’s a good fit for what I need.
By the next week, everything I’ve found makes me confident that he knows his hockey and is the man for the job. It’s nice to have private detectives on my payroll for things like that. I have my assistant get in touch with Jordan to set up lunch for next Thursday, because I’ve made up my mind.
I choose a quiet little bistro that’s loyal to my family—they never publicize if we’re there, always seat us out of the way, and take care of other customers trying to get nosy. Jordan is already waiting when I arrive, which tells me that he might be eager enough to take my crazy proposition.
I mean, he’d be crazy not to as well, considering what I’m about to offer, but asking him to move to Denver for a job is still a lot.
He jumps up when I get to the table. “Good to see you,” he says, holding out a hand to shake.
I hesitate. Not because I don’t trust Jordan, but because I don’t trust myself.
He’s so good-looking it’s disarming. He has short, dark blond hair, slightly longer on top.
It’s thick and has a little curl to it, giving him a boyish look.
His eyes are bright blue and, well, show-stopping.
I happen to know he was voted in the top ten of hockey’s hottest players three years ago.
All of this is probably how he talks ladies like Mrs. Carter into opening their purses.
But he was welcoming at the benefit last week too. His smile was warm and genuine. And he gave me the story about his sister and Bryce Hayes straight—a story I already knew before coming to the fundraiser. But he didn’t shy away from it, and he was honest.
I hesitate because, at the fundraiser, I liked having my hand folded up in his too much. There was a spark of something that I need to quash. I have to keep this professional.
Still, I need to greet him like a normal person.
So I steel myself and let him take my hand, pulling it away quickly and taking my seat.
I should work harder at charming him, the way Ellie always does in business meetings.
She knows exactly what to say to people to soften them up, or exactly what to say to put them in their place without them realizing it.
Normally I’m better at that too, but Jordan has me a little upended. Which is stupid. He’s a guy I want to do business with, and he happens to be hot. It’s not a big deal.
“I’m excited to work with you,” he says as he slides into his own seat.
“That’s good to know.” I decide to jump right in. “Because this meeting is about more than how much money I’d like to donate to the Redhaven Foundation.”
One of his thick eyebrows jumps up. My word, these eyes. I mentally shake myself.
“Oh?” he asks.
The waiter comes by with water and a Diet Coke for me.
He asks Jordan if he’d like anything, but he sticks with water.
I already know my food order, so I give it and then suggest something for Jordan, which he takes, and thankfully we’re left alone.
I temper how antsy I am to hire Jordan and make this deal.
That’s my impetuous side getting the better of me, and I need to keep a level head.
I’m an experienced businesswoman, but I’m so eager for this new chapter, it’s like I’m forgetting all the important things I’ve learned over the years.
“Jordan Atkinson.” I lean my elbows on the table in front of me and try to be relaxed.
“I’ve done a little research and happen to know you were an intelligent, solid player.
Eight years with Houston—a nice, long career in hockey, I’m told.
And all with the same team because you were reliable and a guy a lot of players called a coach on the ice.
You were an assistant captain your last four years, and you won your team’s Coach’s Award three times.
You probably have a nice career in coaching ahead of you, if that’s what you want to do. ”
Jordan has a slight smile on while I recite the résumé I had one of the firm’s detectives gather.
“If I tell you that I was the veteran assigned to rookie camp for my last two years and one of the mentor players, will that up the amount you’re going to give me?
” he asks smoothly, ticking up one corner of his lips.
Yes, I have noticed that they are nice, full lips, but I move past that quickly.
“If I didn’t already know that, maybe,” I challenge on a tease.
He makes slipping into the same laid-back manner he has easy, and I feel comfortable right away, like I did at the fundraiser.
I check myself—that’s exactly why I have to be careful with him.
It could make our working relationship great, as long as I can keep him from flirting with me.
I will also have to keep myself from flirting with him.
I reach into my purse and pull out an envelope, then set it on the middle of the table. Jordan’s gaze jumps to it immediately, but he keeps his hands in his lap.
“That,” I say, nodding at the envelope, “is a check for ten million dollars.”
Now both of his thick (and somehow sexy…) eyebrows jump up.
“And I’m going to hand it over to you,” I continue. “If you’ll do me a favor in return.”
He blinks at me. He’s probably tempted to say, “Anything,” but he’s also smart enough to wait for the terms.
“And what would that favor be?” he asks.
His voice is so full of hope, and I know, whatever he says to me right now, he’s going home with that check.
I knew that when he told me how much he needed to save his small town from total ruin.
I knew when I looked it up and saw how it was suffering because of businesses closing and longtime residents losing their homes.
“I am buying a hockey team,” I say. “A minor-league one. Whatever you call it.” I take in a quick breath.
There are specific leagues that pro hockey uses for development.
They have names, and I know them. Why does Jordan have me so flustered?
I’m the one that just put ten million dollars on the table.
“I need a … partner, for lack of a better word. A consultant. Someone to help me make it the best.”
“Hockey?” he says, with the same surprised expression as my sisters’. The insinuation that I’m from a football dynasty is layered in his tone.
“A calculated business decision to make sure I have the people’s attention.”
He nods and then shrugs. “Done,” he says, his tone holding confusion, like this can’t be it.
Well, it’s not. I hold up a hand. “There’s more.”
He tilts his head in a go on gesture.
“It’s in Denver. You would have to move there,” I start.
He nods slowly, considering. He’s still going to take that ten million. Honestly, I knew it before I walked in here. No matter what I throw at him, he’ll sacrifice for that money.
You know what Jordan never mentioned when he told me the story?
That he lost most of his retirement fund himself.
And that money? It’s just gone. Jordan’s not trying to recoup that with the fundraisers.
The foundation has shown that everything Jordan and his sister have raised has gone right back to Redhaven except for a pitifully small salary for his sister.
“And…?” he asks. Maybe he can sense in my tone that I saved the part that he might object to for last.
“I have also signed contracts for a reality TV show that would focus on my ownership of the team. You would have to appear … probably significantly. The network won’t want to hide someone like you away in the background.”
Jordan leans forward, mimicking my posture. He studies me for several long seconds before saying, “That’s it? That’s all I have to do and you’ll give the Redhaven Foundation ten million dollars?”
“You’d have a salary as my partner.” Jordan needs something to live off. “Since the ten million is for the foundation.”
He lets out a breath. “Okay. What’s the catch, Libby?”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “The catch? This. Moving to Denver, running a hockey team with me, the reality TV stuff.”
“It’s an easy call. It’s done. Send me contracts. Whatever.” He leans back in his seat, his turn to laugh. But it’s full of incredulity. Like he can’t believe any of this is real. He straightens. “But this is real? You’re serious? That check is for ten million?”
“I’m very serious.” I swallow. “Owning this hockey team has to be to be a success, and everything I’ve researched—” Small white lie, since it was mostly the firm’s private detective, Adam, who researched it.
“—says you’re the guy for this. That you can help me make the White Wolves a premier development team.
” Which will ensure that every eye is on me when I show who Libby Bennet really is.
His beautiful mouth stretches into a bemused grin. “I’m in, partner.”
I barely refrain from letting out a squee of delight.