Chapter 5
LIBBY
With Jordan accepting the job, by the time Monday morning rolls around, I’m more than confident about how well my plans are working out.
He’s already sent me over a few ideas that line up well with things I’ve researched, as well as player and coaching decisions I wouldn’t have known the first thing about.
All that’s left is one last meeting with the league’s governing board for the final approval of the sale.
The morning drags on, even though I try to busy myself with work. There’s plenty to do with me handing over the reins of my firm to Candace, and the last case I oversaw still needs my notes added to it in case the firm has to revisit it for any reason.
With an hour left until the meeting, my custom notifications alert me to my name showing up in a post from Celebrity Newz.
It’s a gossip site that has been a blessing and a curse to the Bennet family over the years.
They’ve always been big fans of the Bennets, a plus.
But that also means they report on every little thing related to us.
Unfortunately, my lack of concentration means I’m all too happy to put aside reviewing the case to check the post out.
I can’t decide if it’s a mistake or not to look when I see that they’re posting about Grayson’s latest motion to get a reduced sentence because of some sentencing guideline changes in the last few years.
On the one hand, thinking about him right before my meeting is a distraction I definitely don’t need.
On the other hand, being referred to as “Hollis’s victim, Libby Bennet” steels my resolve to make sure I’m referred to alongside Grayson as little as possible from now on.
What’s wrong with “successful businesswoman Libby Bennet”?
I’m tagged in comments on the post, of course. I never read comments like that, but thanks to the algorithm, they’re right at the top, including one from @bennetfanz100: Libby had lunch with a former Outlaws player last week. Athletes are her Achilles heel. Stay away and stay safe, @libby.bennet.
I close my eyes, praying for patience. Fans like this have good intentions.
They’re the kind of fans that rallied when Ellie called them to action ten years ago to help find me.
But it proves why I need to change things.
They’ll never stop seeing me as the seventeen-year-old girl they need to protect.
I close out of the app and turn off the notifications for a while. I need to focus.
I pull up one of the emails Jordan sent me yesterday with a list of coaches we should look at.
The old coach retired at the end of last season, so we really do have to start from the ground up.
I’m guessing there are guys on staff or something that want to move up, but I do want the best. I just don’t know who that is.
I lose track of time until Erin, the assistant director for Being Libby Bennet, taps on my open door and then steps inside. “The camera guy is here. You okay for us to come in and set up?”
I nod. “Yep. Getting ready to log on.” The crew here today is small. They’re going to film the meeting, edit out anything proprietary, and use it as part of the first episode to set up my story.
My nerves jump as she waves the crew in.
It’s happening. “This is a formality,” I tell myself softly.
The deal is as good as done. When the camera guy is in place, I open my laptop and log in for the video meeting with the league president and a handful of the executives at the central office.
This meeting is so they can pass on the approval of the governing board—representatives from the teams in the league—for the sale.
I rub my sweaty hands on my pencil skirt and nod firmly to myself.
I put Erin and the camera guy out of my head and focus.
Pretending they’re not there comes back to me quickly.
When people start joining the call, I’m ready and smiling.
I greet them warmly and professionally, remembering names and everything.
I’ve been around executives like this my whole life.
My dad owns the Houston Pumas professional football team.
Even the most casual backyard barbecues at my house growing up always had other team owners or league executives included.
“Hello, everyone,” I say when they’ve all logged on. “I want to remind you that my camera crew is here. They’ll be sending the edited footage over to you later to make sure you approve of what they keep.”
The league president, Kenneth Stevens, who loved the idea of featuring the White Wolves on my show, gives me a thumbs-up. “Let’s get down to business,” he says.
“Sounds great,” I reply, and inwardly cringe at that awkward response. It’s fine, Libby, totally fine.
“I’ll be honest—” he begins, and I freeze, slight smile still in place.
I’ll be honest never prefaces good news.
It’s fine, I repeat to myself. Whatever concern they’re about to bring up, I can handle it.
I’ll convince them. I have to. I glance over at Erin, who’s taking notes on an iPad and not looking at me.
The contracts are already signed for Being Libby Bennet, and it includes running a hockey team as the hook.
I quickly snap back to attention as Mr. Stevens goes on. “The board has brought up some concerns about your ownership,” he continues.
I wait patiently for him to address them. No need to look overeager by jumping in. Stay calm and cool, Libby. Easier said than done. My brain starts spinning on what I’m going to do to fix whatever problem he’s about to bring up.
“You’re young.” He nods at me indulgently, and I adjust my expression to one of professional understanding. “And there is the fact that you’re not experienced with hockey.”
Movement in my peripheral vision tells me Erin’s gaze has come up. Maybe letting them film this meeting was a bad idea—but I thought this was just the bow on top of a done deal.
Besides, all those concerns have already been brought up.
Since when is my money not enough? “I understand that concern. While I am only twenty-seven, I still have years of ownership experience.” I give a soft, indulgent laugh of my own.
Others chuckle, and even Mr. Stevens smiles agreeably.
“The principles of success are the same—hiring the best. To start with, I’ve already hired an expert consultant to help me.
I’ll expect the best from existing staff and any new hires as well. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Oh?” Mr. Stevens raises a brow, but even that one word expresses that he’s humoring me. “You’ve hired a consultant?”
“Jordan Atkinson,” I say calmly. Mr. Stevens and company may be harder to convince than I anticipated coming in, but I’ll keep my cool.
That’s the Bennet sister way. After years as being portrayed as the emotional younger sister, I’ve worked hard to turn that image around.
To show I’ve grown up and grown out of that kind of behavior.
I push away thoughts crowding my brain, tempting me to demand to know who’s balking and what happened to make them second-guess this deal.
Last I spoke with Mr. Stevens, he insinuated that everyone was on board.
I relax my shoulders—again—and give a little bit of Jordan’s résumé, explaining why he’s a great fit for working with me to make the White Wolves a success.
Mr. Stevens nods, but there’s hesitance in his expression that says I haven’t quite secured him yet.
What more can I promise this man? I involuntarily glance over at Erin again, who’s an ever-present reminder that the success of my show and the ability to direct the narrative relies on me being the owner of a hockey team.
“You’re clearly as ambitious as your sister, Ellie. I admire that,” Mr. Stevens says. There’s an unspoken but at the end of that sentence, probably about her being ten years older than me.
“We both know Ellie could’ve bought the Devils years ago at my age and stopped them from their spiral,” I say, raising one eyebrow knowingly.
Mr. Stevens chuckles. “That might be true. She had Will Pemberton at her side even then, though.”
I keep a pleasant smile on, all while wanting to strangle him.
Will and Ellie are definitely in a partnership in their ownership of the Devils, but she doesn’t need him to do it.
“Are you implying that a Bennet would need a man at her side to understand football ownership?” I chuckle lightly, as though I’d never believe that Mr. Stevens could have meant it that way. The Bennets are a football dynasty.
Mr. Stevens’s cheeks redden, and he chuckles too, though it sounds forced. “Of course not. But appearances matter in these things.”
The idea that me or my sisters need the men in our lives for our business ventures to seem legitimate makes my blood boil.
But with both the cameras from the show on me and the executives watching my every move—waiting, I’m sure, for me to prove I’m still that emotional girl I’ve always been portrayed as—I can’t lash out at what he’s implying.
“Thankfully, I’ll have Jordan,” I say brightly. “That should help with appearances.” I can’t help the shade that sneaks into my tone on that word.
“The consultant.” Mr. Stevens nods, but his tone dismisses Jordan’s value. It’s all I can do not to growl.
It feels like I’m losing this deal I’ve worked so hard for, and why?
Because I’m a woman. A young, unstable woman.
Maybe it’s not just old fans and celebrity media sites that still see me that way.
Maybe these people do too. It’s a catch-22.
I can’t show the world how I’ve grown up without this team, but they won’t give me the team unless I’m grown up.
An idea hits me. It’s wild, but something I’m sure would secure this. It could turn a young, twenty-something single woman into a mature young adult. At least in Mr. Stevens’s eyes. He’s already insinuated it.
Marriage.
It’s ridiculous, but I need this team. I look over at Erin.
She’s paying very close attention, and there’s no doubt that she’ll report to Victoria whatever happens here today.
I have to buy this team, or they get control over my story.
They’ll pick the new hook, and it will be whatever brings in viewers.
The reinvention of Libby Bennet will turn into the sequel of her old story.
I need to prove to everyone that I can be as successful as my sisters. I can do this. I have to do this.
I don’t stop to think about what comes spilling out of my mouth.
I’m too desperate. “Well, perhaps there’s another announcement that I’ve been keeping under wraps that will help the league feel better about this deal,” I say with a bit of tease to my voice.
A side look at Erin shows her leaning forward.
“You see, hiring Jordan was a bit of nepotism.” I give a good-natured grimace and am rewarded by some light laughs.
“We’ve kept it a big secret, for obvious reasons.
We don’t want paparazzi at the wedding, if you know what I mean.
” I put a finger to my lips and play to my crowd.
When I look over at Erin to see her reaction, her eyes are as wide as saucers.
“Well,” Mr. Stevens says, surprised. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I say demurely. Ugh. I want to puke.
Mr. Stevens’s expression is already adjusting, changing his view.
Because I’ve told him I’m getting married.
My stomach roils that I’m doing this, playing to his misogyny to get what I want.
I grit my teeth. I will still run things.
In the end, when I have a championship team, it won’t matter what Mr. Stevens thinks.
I’ll play the game now and stick it to him and all the others later.
“We’re excited, of course,” I go on. I haven’t acted this much since my last episode of Being the Bennets.
“So, I’m sure we can agree that with Jordan and me at the helm together, alongside the vast experience of the Bennets, this would be a great move for the Denver White Wolves.
” I smile sweetly, raising my brows, telling Mr. Stevens and the execs to make their move.
I tilt my head ever so subtly toward the camera.
“I’d be happy to add capital to the escrow to cover a couple years of operating costs as well as discuss any capital for facilities upgrades if this would ease concerns more. ”
Mr. Stevens is already nodding, along with several others. “Yes, I think that would put any lingering concerns to rest. I’ll touch base with the board and call you tomorrow.”
“Of course. Thank you for allowing me to discuss the issues with you all today.”
We sign off. I think I can say now that I have the ownership in the bag.
I turn to Erin. “Everything you heard about the wedding is top secret,” I admonish firmly. Erin nods. “If I hear that anyone has leaked this—” I turn to eye the cameraman. “—I will have people fired without feeling bad about it. And since you two are the only ones in the room right now…”
The cameraman’s jaw drops at the implication.
“Of course, Ms. Bennet,” Erin says.
I nod. “I need the room, please.” I keep my voice in control, even though my brain is screaming at me. Cool, calm, confident in any situation. That’s who Libby Bennet is going to be now. “My assistant will be in touch to confirm our next scheduled shoot.”
Erin nods again, and she and the camera guy scurry out of my office. I shut the door and lean against it. Then I slide down so I’m sitting on the floor.
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no…” I say.
What did I just do?
It turns out that being the new Libby Bennet is way more complicated than I thought. Kept her cool during an infuriating conversation? Check. That’s the new me. Still impulsive? Check. I slap a hand over my face.
What should I do?
My only hope now is convincing Jordan Atkinson that marrying me is a good business decision.