Chapter 6
JORDAN
Libby
Can we meet up to talk? There’s been some … developments.
My insides automatically clench at Libby’s text, but I convince myself to relax. Libby has already made it clear that no matter what happens, the ten million dollars belongs to Redhaven, so short of her suddenly going bankrupt, the money is safe.
But developments does sound ominous.
Jordan
Yeah. Want to get dinner or something?
Libby
Can you come over? I think this conversation would be best with no possible eavesdroppers.
That also sounds ominous, but given Libby’s background, I’m not surprised at her caution.
I tell her I’m happy to meet at her house, and we set a time for this evening. I spend the couple hours between her text and when I get to her house convincing myself that things are fine. The money is already being distributed. Libby can’t take it back—but what does developments mean?
Her building is fancy, with a doorman who buzzes me up and everything.
Libby opens her front door with a cautious smile and holds it wide.
I follow her into the apartment. The entry hallway is as luxurious as I expected Libby to live in.
The floor is a light hardwood with a long, colorful rug that runs the length of it.
There’s a small table on one side with a potted plant and a picture of Libby’s family.
Unlike our last family picture, which my uncle snapped at a reunion a couple summers ago, Libby and her family are all wearing formalwear, even the children in the picture, in shades of gray, white, and black.
There’s nothing in this entryway that makes it seem like this is a place Libby actually lives—no shoes or bags tossed aside, no keys or pocket litter on the table, not even a jacket on the tall, wrought-iron coat rack.
It’s projecting a clean, sophisticated image, just like Libby herself.
“Thank you for coming over on short notice.” She closes the door behind me. Her expression is taut, which worries me, but I’d do anything to ease it.
I pull out my charm, which always works on women at the fundraisers. Well, on women I meet in general. I wink at her, which makes pink rise in her cheeks. “I’m at your beck and call, Miss Bennet,” I say warmly. “That ten million buys you extra-special service.”
She grimaces. “Oof, don’t say that.”
“Um?”
She waves me off. “Sorry. You’ll understand when I tell you what I’ve done.”
I freeze, even though she’s already started to lead me through the hallway to the living area, which is decorated in the same high-end minimalism as her entryway.
“We’ve already begun paying some of the Redhaven residents,” I say.
She can’t actually try to take the money back, can she? Her shoulders are tense as well.
She whirls, and when she sees my expression, she shakes her head. “Oh, no, no, no. This has nothing to do with the money. That stays with the Redhaven Foundation, no matter what happens now. I told you that.”
I blow out a breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” I make my feet move forward again.
She sighs. “That’s my fault. I was vague, and I can see where you might worry.
Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?
” She motions to one of the couches in her living room.
They are soft-looking, at least. There are more pictures on the side tables, the walls, and the low shelves below her mounted TV, but like the one in the entryway, they’re all meticulously posed.
Even the crocheted throw over the back of the couch looks like it was folded perfectly.
I sit down—more like perch—on one of the couches and lean forward. “I think we’d better get to the point, if that’s okay.”
She nods. “Absolutely.” She takes a seat in a chair kitty-corner to the couch and chews on her lip.
“I had a meeting with the governing board for the league today,” she says.
She presses her hands together and stares at the floor as she says it.
“For them to give the go-ahead on the purchase. Well, that’s what I thought. ”
I furrow my brows. “They’re backing out?”
She looks up, fire in her eyes. “They tried to.” She clenches her jaw and shakes her head. “And I made some rash promises to seal the deal back up.”
I squint at her, wondering where I come in. Is she telling me that she doesn’t need me anymore? Maybe she had to accept someone else to come on as her consultant. “Okay,” I say, drawing it out and using my tone to encourage her to go on.
“I told them you and I are engaged and about to get married,” she says so quickly I’m sure I’ve misheard her.
I blink. “And that … that convinced them?”
She bites her lip some more as she nods slowly.
“I’m pretty sure, yeah. They were worried about my age—well, that was part of it—and saying I would be married soon seemed to tip the scales.
Married to you specifically. Someone who knows a lot about hockey.
I also promised some other things, extra money and all that, but marrying you seems to be the linchpin.
” She cringes. “I’m really, really sorry.
It just came out of my mouth. I’ll take it back, of course. But I wanted to pitch it to you first.”
I gulp back a laugh. Only because this is absurd. She’s talking about marrying me like it’s a business deal, which I guess in this case it is. I keep up with my usual coping mechanism for awkward situations: more flirting. “Are you proposing to me, Libby Bennet?”
Her cheeks turn pink again and she giggles nervously. “I think I am. Does that make me horrible?”
For some reason, my insides relax at her words.
She’s being honest with me, and that’s important, especially after what Bryce did to Baylee.
“Definitely not horrible,” I assure her.
I sit back, hoping to ease her mind that even if I don’t accept this odd proposal, I won’t judge her for it.
“I can see you definitely don’t want to back out on the sale… ”
She shakes her head quickly. “I’ve already signed contracts with the network based on me buying this team.
I have to make it happen somehow. And besides, I’m not going to fail at this.
” Determination sits solid in her expression.
Libby Bennet is already a very successful woman, even at twenty-seven. What does she need to prove?
“And you think marrying me will keep the sale on track.” I can’t wrap my brain around it.
She shrugs. “Sports is one of those places women are still fighting every day. I’m only qualified if I’m married to someone who knows hockey. For appearances.” She says the last like it’s a dirty word.
“They wouldn’t go for it when they knew that I was your hands-on consultant?
” It feels baffling to me. I can’t imagine someone only taking me more seriously if I had a wife—and yet, Baylee is dismissed every day because she’s a woman.
Rich men have even insisted that they needed to talk numbers with me, when she knows them all as well as I do, if not better.
Libby shakes her head tightly. “Nor does the fact that I’m the one that’s putting up all the money.” She shrugs, like it’s not a big deal she’s being dismissed like this.
Anger tightens in my stomach. “Is there any way we can make them sell even without getting married?” I can’t help asking. Her shoulders fall in defeat, and I know she thinks it’s because I’m going to refuse. I go on. “Can’t we prove to them that you’re completely capable, even young and unmarried?”
“I don’t think so.” She looks down at her hands. Her jaw is still clenched, but she’s working it in a way that warns me she’s holding back tears.
“What about your family?” I ask. “Can’t they help?”
If anything, she clenches her jaw tighter.
“Yeah. My dad or Ellie could probably call up Mr. Stevens and lecture him and threaten things, but then it would be more of the same. My family rescuing me when I get into something tricky.” She laughs without any warmth.
“This might be crazy and dumb, but it was my idea. My decision. My way of fixing something.” She draws in a deep breath.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said something so impulsive to the board, but I could see it slipping through my fingers … I’ll figure out something.”
I could probably find myself a job if this thing with Libby falls through, but …
I don’t want to. What Libby offered me, the chance to shape a team, to shape the futures of young hockey players, is exactly what I want to do.
I’ve seen firsthand how a good coach or a bad coach, a good team or a toxic team, can change the whole trajectory of a kid’s hockey career.
The little things matter. Some of my favorite times were when I got to be a mentor player to a younger guy on the team.
This hockey team obviously means even more to Libby, so I guess I can understand why she said something in desperation.
“You’re actually considering this,” Libby says in shock, interrupting my thoughts.
I laugh. “Isn’t that why you called me over here?”
She opens her mouth but doesn’t say anything. She shrugs and shakes her head. “I don’t know. No? Yes? I called because…” She swallows. “It seemed like something I should tell you.”
“But we could do it,” I point out.
She shakes her head more firmly now. “You think because I gave you ten million dollars you have to.”
It’s definitely a part of it. Libby made a sacrifice for me.
I want to make one for her. Having watched my parents’ thirty-five-year-long marriage—watching them love each other, doing anything for the other—tells me that marriage is a priceless thing.
But the logical side of me? The side that has seen my friends’ marriages end after a few years because life with a pro athlete is tough.
That side says, what is a couple years with Libby for ten million dollars?
I feel guilty for dismissing something that’s so special. But when it’s real? It will be.