Chapter Two #2
Isn’t he hot? It’s got to be at least seventy-five today. Summers in Connecticut aren’t brutal, but I’d be sweating through that if I were him.
“Like Charlotte,” I offer sheepishly when I realize I haven’t replied to him.
He stares at me blankly.
I shift on my feet, trying not to wince at the pinch of pain from the heels. My sister was right. I should have gone with flats. “You know. The author?”
He remains silent because, of course, he wouldn’t know who Charlotte Bronte is.
I’d taken a class on her work in college and developed an interest in her novel, Jane Eyre.
Maybe because her character is an orphan girl too, simply trying to survive in a world that tries its best to chew her and spit her out.
I swallow nervously. “Not that there’s any relation,” I babble, waving my hand in the air. “I don’t think there is, anyway. I’ve never done a DNA test or anything, but—”
“What the fuck happened to your shirt?” he asks, cutting me off.
I stop yammering and flinch when I remember what I must look like. A mess. All that work I’d done this morning was for nothing thanks to the wet stain. “Uh, I had an unfortunate incident with my coffee on the way to the meeting.”
Our client stares at me for a moment longer before turning his chair toward Janel with skepticism written all over his face.
“You expect me to believe she’s put together enough to be on my case?
My manager said your agency was the best possible team to help me wipe my slate clean.
She can’t even carry a cup of coffee without messing up. ”
I withhold from dropping my jaw at the asshole who clearly isn’t going to offer me the same courtesy of a judgment-free zone. “I was attempting not to get run over by a scooter. I’d like to see twenty-six if I can help it.”
He deadpans before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Christ. They hired a child to clear my name.”
This guy has got to be kidding me. “I’m twenty-five,” I inform him firmly. “I’ve got a dual bachelor’s degree in public relations and online media management. The reason Janel hired me as a communication strategist is that I’m qualified for the job and know what I’m doing.”
Janel pats my arm in comfort before lowering her palm. “I can assure you, Mr. Moskins, that you’ll be well taken care of. Winter was hand-selected for this specifically. Her ties to the community will enable us to provide the best results for your predicament.”
He leans back in his chair and studies me carefully. I can’t quite tell what color his eyes are—they aren’t entirely blue but mixed with gray. What I can tell is that they’re intense. I don’t know what he’s looking for or what he sees, but I can tell he isn’t impressed.
The feeling is mutual.
“Look,” I tell him honestly, “I may not be what you were expecting, but I’m probably what you need.
Because who better to take charge of your persona than a millennial girl who grew up in the digital age?
I know exactly what people want to see, and it’s not”—I wave a hand in his general direction—“this. Clearly, your charming personality isn’t winning you any favors, or you wouldn’t be here.
So you can either sit down and listen to our pitch, or you can walk out and find another agency with half the reputation that we have. ”
Janel stills beside me, but she doesn’t speak up or scold me. Instead, she lets Thomas Moskins mull it over. Maybe I could have been a little nicer in my delivery, but I don’t owe him anything if he’s going to be a dick to me.
And, frankly, I’m not lying. Starrs Strategy has won numerous awards since Janel started it almost ten years ago. Her client list is expansive, and the connections she has with agents and managers means that our clientele will grow. She’s trusted not only in Fairbanks but on the whole East Coast.
It feels like far too long before the slowest grin curls up the right side of his mouth. “Okay,” he says, leaning forward and resting his crossed arms on the edge of the table. “You’ve got my attention, kid. Better make the most of it before I lose interest and find someone else.”
I don’t let him bait me with his nickname. “I saw the way you looked at my chest, Mr. Moskins. You don’t think I’m a kid at all.”
His shoulders square back, but he remains silent as I sit beside Janel and open up the folder she collected on the notes and previous calls she’s had with his team.
Eventually, he mumbles, “I was looking at the stain.”
We both know that’s a lie. “You can call me Winter since we’ll be working together.
” I scan over the notes my boss gathered over the past month, leading up to this meeting.
It’s no wonder his agent reached out to us to help bring him back in favor with people.
He’s got quite the rap sheet going for him.
Adultery.
Rumored divorce.
Public indecency.
Public intoxication.
Career probation.
I look up at him through my lashes. “It looks like you have a stain too,” I note.
His eyes go down to his shirt in confusion.
Before he can say anything, I continue. “Lucky for you, I can fix yours. It’ll take time, but if you want to win back the trust of your new team, you’ll have to let someone take control. ”
When I meet his eyes, his bluish-gray hues flash with something unreadable that tightens my stomach. “And you’re the type of woman to take control?”
From kid to woman.
Interesting.
“I’ve had to take control of my life a long time ago,” I inform him, not that I owe him anything. “So, yes. I am.”
Janel clears her throat. “We think we’re quite capable of handling this situation with a few tweaks to your…lifestyle. At least, your lifestyle as the public views it. We’ll organize a few events, some interviews and photographs, and get ahead of whatever online narrative is being formed.”
Thomas doesn’t look at Janel as she speaks.
He stares at me.
With far, far too much interest in his smile.
His head cocks as his focus dips to the top half of me, visible above the table. His lips curl up higher at the corners, and he says, “Good. When do we start?”
*
Thomas Moskins, as I learn, is trouble with a capital T.
After our meeting ended and he left to do God only knows what, Janel gave me a stern talking to regarding my people skills. Specifically, how not to let someone like Thomas get under my skin.
While the scolding made me flush and apologetic over my behavior, I could tell Janel was secretly impressed by my ability to bite back. She turned to me with an arched brow, told me she didn’t know I had it in me, and…smiled.
It’s the only reason I held my tongue rather than begging her to remain on the case despite how I acted toward the hockey MVP. Was it unprofessional to give him attitude? Absolutely. Would I do it again if he spoke to me with disrespect? I sure as hell would.
Which is how I wound up with a six-inch binder full of everything I need to know about the two-hundred-and-twenty-pound professional right-winger.
According to his file, the thirty-five-year-old has won a lot of awards throughout his career—everything from the Calder Memorial Trophy as a rookie to the MVP Hart Memorial a few years ago.
He’s good, based on whatever standards these awards are measured by.
I’m certainly not going to YouTube the inner workings of his sport to figure it out, but I don’t need to.
My job isn’t to praise him on the ice and remind people why he’s an amazing hockey player. The world already knows that. His stats prove it. My responsibility is far harder.
It’s to make Thomas Moskins look like a decent human being.
And based on every tabloid printed out in front of me, that is no easy task.
Perhaps taking this on is biting off more than I can chew.
Maybe I’m overzealous for acting as if I can fix his reputation, like all it needs is a bubble bath and a pretty bow slapped on top of it.
Scrubbing a hand down my tired face, I lean back in my dining room chair and sigh.
“What did you get yourself into, Win?” I ask myself before glancing back down at the latest headline.
NHL right-winger Thomas Moskins is seen leaving the Yokav Center in Fairbanks, Connecticut, following the accusations of his latest affair reported by TMZ.
There are rumors that Mikhail Yokav, owner of the Fairbanks Fireflies and father-in-law to Moskins, plans to suspend the one-time MVP award winner after images of him leaving a hotel with a mystery woman went viral three weeks ago.
A source close to Moskins claims there is no tension between him and his wife, Emaly Moskins-Yokav.
However, it appears the meeting with the Fireflies owner did not go in Moskins’s favor as seen in the images below.
I cringe at the pictures taken in rapid succession of Thomas knocking down a planter and then kicking a dumpster so hard it looks like he dented it.
With the current tensions rising between the right-winger and his father-in-law, it doesn’t appear that the star offensive player will start in the Fireflies first season with the NHL without a major overhaul to clear Moskins’s name.
I can understand why Janel told me not to judge when she started discussing the reasons Thomas needed our assistance. It also makes sense why I had to sign a nondisclosure agreement that was as thick as his file.
Based on all the articles about him, this is the third time over the last year and a half that he’s been seen with women who aren’t his wife.
A year before that, he’d been seen with the same blonde over the course of six months in Boston.
The year before that, during his last season with New York’s team, it’d been a brunette he was constantly spotted out with in Seattle.
None of them his wife.