Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
brODY
The condo is quiet and empty except for me and my new partner in social media crimes, Hamish Jett.
Coach gave the team Sunday off, thank fuck, but we’re up early anyway, early enough to watch the sunrise over the harbor. Not that I’m enjoying it.
I’ve ignored Coach Logan and Coach Nash’s texts and calls since yesterday’s fiasco. I need to regroup and face them—and everyone else—on my own terms with our plan to salvage Brooks’ career locked down.
I don’t care much about my reputation, though the Jett Agency’s crisis management consultant is apoplectic about it.
Something about endorsement concerns. But Jett and I agree that we can iron out the wrinkles without much trouble since parading around as a married couple isn’t a crime, especially in this day and age.
The only glossing over that needs to be done is around that one night I wish I could forget now that I remember it, spent with the infamous showgirl-turned blackmailer, Tammi Morrow.
Jett sits across from me in one of the two club chairs positioned to take advantage of both the harbor view and the giant TV at the same time.
He picks up the bottle of Courvoisier L’Essence, a gift from Sabien’s dad, who happens to be a connoisseur of brandy and richer than fuck, so he can afford it, and pours more than a shot’s worth into his coffee.
The television is on mute, with the channel tuned to TMSZ, normally the last show I’d ever watch.
But Jett insisted we watch it today since I’m the exclusive feature story.
Me and Brooks. He recorded it, and I finally put it on mute after the third rerun of Bigelow telling the story like it’s his, including the scene where I carry Brooks off the fashion show runway like she was about to be kidnapped.
Or maybe I look more like the kidnapper now that I’m watching the scene without the sound.
The whole piece is salacious, full of innuendo and half-truths. The usual shit. Courtesy of Bigelow, they have photos of us, including Tammi and Sabien, mostly taken from hotel surveillance footage.
Jett takes a healthy sip from his mug. “I got an email with a letter attached and a call from a purported attorney representing your showgirl—”
“She’s not my showgirl.”
He flares his nostrils at me. “Apparently she intends to sue you for libel and breach of contract for a million dollars.”
I snort a laugh because even my untrained legal mind knows it’s a crock of bull.
“That was my exact reaction. I sent them a suitable response. I’m not going to bother returning the call.”
“Good plan.”
“However, technically I can’t represent you in a civil case, so you need to hire your own attorney.”
The first person who comes to mind is Brooks.
She’s an attorney and the only person I know for certain who has my back one hundred percent, ride or die.
But that feels like an impossibility. Mostly because she’s not answering my calls right now.
Technically, she’s not answering anyone’s calls because her phone’s shut off. Either way, I’m out of touch.
And I don’t like it. Of all the things about this fiasco that make me feel uncomfortable, not being able to talk to Brooks right now is the worst.
“I can recommend someone to represent your interests, from outside of the agency. Actually, she’s someone Brooks suggested—”
“You spoke to her?” I sit up and lean forward, gripping the arms of my chair like they need to be punished for unspeakable crimes against upholstery.
He nods. “She highly recommends Heidi Lawless. She’s a sports and entertainment lawyer from Boston with civil litigation experience, a no-nonsense attitude, and a ruthless reputation.
Apparently, Heidi was ahead of her at Pepperdine Law School, but they bonded over their East Coast roots and a stint on the law review. They’ve been fast friends ever since.”
“Text me her contact info and I’ll call her.”
“Already done. I let her know to call you first thing tomorrow. I think she’ll be very helpful to us in dealing with some of our stakeholders.”
“Like the NHL and the Whalers organization?”
“And some of your sponsors, like Cavalaro Motors.”
I snort. “I bet Martino is thrilled with all the extra publicity.”
“Not sure. The reactions are a mixed bag so far, which gives us the perfect opportunity to spin it—”
“To tell the truth and unapologetically say that I would do it all again if it meant having a chance to get close to Brooks and have that special time with her.”
“You sure that’s your message?”
“I’ve already said it, and since it’s true, I’m not taking it back.”
He nods. “It just seems like a personal message more than a statement to the public.”
“This whole mess is all about our personal lives being on display for the public. Too late to carve out that exception now.”
The condo’s doorbell rings, and I frown at Jett. “The doorman is supposed to call before someone gets to the door.”
“Don’t look at me for security. The only thing I carry is a pen.”
He follows me to the door while I look out the peephole into my private lobby. There’s a woman with flaming red hair, long legs, and three boxes of pizza standing there.
I shout through the door, “Who are you?” I’m not fooled by the pizza. She could be a reporter or stalker. But when she flashes her business card in front of the peephole, the mystery woman’s identity makes me smile, and I open the door.
My new attorney, Ms. Lawless, walks in with pizza and attitude, looking the place over unapologetically as she walks and talks. “Brooks suggested you might need some TLC.”
She puts the pizza on the kitchen island, tosses her coat over a stool, and smiles at Jett.
“You must be the infamous Hamish Jett. Didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Believe me,” he says, “I didn’t expect to be here when I woke up this morning.”
She laughs. “I like you. I can see why Brooks still wants to work with you so desperately.”
Jett raises his brows, and so do I.
“I thought you were supposed to be my attorney.” I smile because I like the idea that she’s looking out for Brooks.
“I am. But I’m her friend.”
I nod and we grab some slices and head back into the living room. I pull up a third chair to take advantage of the harbor view, and we sit.
“I read a lot of shit online, Holden, but nothing illegal. I’ll call your sponsors in the morning.”
“Wait a minute,” Jett says. “That’s my job.”
“Fine. We’ll both call. Since they’re enjoying so much publicity and we can spin this all in a very harmless way with interviews, social media, and news articles, I don’t think we’ll have a problem.
I know Stubichuk. He’s a very practical guy.
He doesn’t want to tamper with the new phenom and the surge in hockey interest. So he’ll go along with the innocent slant. ”
“Especially since it’s the truth,” I say. “You didn’t need to come here today to say this.”
“Nope. But I heed good advice when given by one of my most trusted professional friends—that would be Brooks. So when she said you needed looking after, here I am.”
“Ah. I see you’re from the Brooks school of client management, doing whatever it takes.”
“In the most professional way possible.” She winks.
We haven’t taken more than a few bites of pizza when there’s another ring on the doorbell.
Ax shoulders past me into the room carrying a case of beer.
“Don’t tell me Brooks sent you too.”
“No.” His face clouds in momentary confusion. “I wanted to move back in before she called me. Thought you could use the company in this trying time.”
“This trying time?” I’m almost amused.
“How’d you know Brooks called?”
“It’s what she does.” She’s always thinking of me, trying to take care of me, and everyone she cares about.
Over beer and whatever pizza Ax lets us eat, we strategize next steps. He joins in the discussion, invited or not, and spends most of his attention on the admittedly lovely Heidi Lawless.
I pace around the room.
“Let’s set up the meeting with all the stakeholders for Wednesday after practice.”
“We have a game Thursday,” Ax says. “As long as it’s not going to run late.”
“It shouldn’t take more than two hours. Tops.”
“Are you kidding?” Heidi says. “It’ll take thirty minutes. I figure that’s the only way we’ll get everyone we need there.”
“How are you going to keep it to 30 minutes?” Jett asks.
“We’re not going to let anyone else do any talking. It’s Brody’s meeting. They either buy in or they’re out.”
I grin because I like her style. I notice Ax grinning too, but he looks more starstruck, like Heidi is some kind of goddess from the attorney world and he’s her loyal subject.
“Let’s get down to business. I think I have an understanding of the issues. What are your proposed solutions?”
Ax mostly listens, and I do most of the talking with input from Heidi and Jett.
Once the pizza boxes are empty along with all the beer and half a bottle of the Courvoisier, it’s Ax who says the most important thing.
“I hate to say this, Brody, but after listening to you and everything that’s going on, I’m betting you don’t need me as your roommate. I’m betting you want someone else named Brooks to room with you.”
I laugh, and it’s not that heavy, half-sad, and pathetic laugh I’ve been subjecting people to for the past week.
“You may be right, Axton.”
He nods and gathers up his bags to head out.
Jett stands. “About time I returned to the old homestead.”
“I hope I haven’t gotten you in trouble with your wife.” I’m serious because he should be at home with her and their new baby right now.
“No. She knows what’s going on, and let’s just say she’s a diehard romantic and rooting for you. And Brooks.”
“Why she ever married a nasty S.O.B. like you, I’ll never know.” We all laugh at that, even Heidi, who just met him.
“Means there’s hope for all of us, kid.”