Chapter 3
Avery
Three months later
“I'm going to throw up.” I stare at the boxes scattered across my nearly empty living room floor, each one’s contents labeled. Kitchen, Bedroom, Office Supplies.
It’s the kind of organization that usually calms me down. Today, it's doing absolutely nothing for the nausea rolling through my stomach.
I turn to my ongoing FaceTime call with Sadie. My own face fills the screen, except this version has paint streaks on the hair.
“Why?” she announces cheerfully. “Still worrying about the best sex of your life guy?”
“I'm meeting him in two hours.” I sink onto my couch, which is the only piece of furniture not wrapped in bubble wrap. “What if he brings it up? What if he makes some comment about Chicago in front of Jennifer?”
“He won't,” Sadie says. “Real men don’t talk about their conquests, and from how you described him, he’s a real man.” She draws out the last two words.
“But what if—”
“Avery.” Sadie's voice goes firm. “You're spiraling. Take a breath.”
I do, but it doesn't help much. “I should have researched the roster before I signed the contract. I should have known.”
Liam Novak is a forward for the New York Renegades. I'm supposed to meet him to discuss his image rehabilitation. I bury my face in my hands. I’m such an idiot.
“Hey, look on the bright side,” Sadie says. “He probably won't even remember you. From what I know about hockey players, they sleep with a lot of women. You're probably just a blur in his memory.”
“Thanks for that confidence boost.”
“I'm being realistic. These guys have groupies throwing themselves at them constantly. One night three months ago?”
“He'll remember.” There's no way in hell Nova doesn't remember that night.
The way he looked at me like I was something he wanted to devour. The way he said my name when he came. The way he held me after. Those aren’t things a person forgets. Fuck boy or not.
My face heats up as the memory of the following morning floods my mind. I had slipped out of his hotel room at five AM, taking one last look at him sprawled across those white sheets.
I'd wanted to stay. God, I'd wanted to curl back up against his chest and see what his morning voice sounded like. But that would have been breaking my own rules, and I don't break rules.
When Jennifer told me who my client was, I'd already signed the contract. Backing out would have ruined my reputation in the industry. Besides, it’s the job of a lifetime. I can’t throw it away because I made one stupid decision in Chicago.
“That was the most stupid thing I’ve ever done,” I say, misery in my voice.
“Stupid?” Sadie's voice rises. “You said it was incredible. You called me the next day, glowing through the phone.”
“It was a mistake. I’m not cut out for one-night stands. I’m an idiot.”
“You're not an idiot. You had incredible sex with a hot stranger. That's called living.” Sadie leans closer to her camera. “Besides, maybe this is fate. The universe is giving you a second chance.”
I’m horrified at the implication. “A second chance at what?”
“At getting laid properly again?” Sadie grins. “You said he was like a god in bed. Maybe you can pick up where you left off.”
“Absolutely not. He's a client now.”
“Your loss.” Sadie shrugs. “So tell me about New York. How are you settling in? Have you checked out the art scene yet?”
I gesture vaguely at my boxes. “I've been busy unpacking.”
“Avery, don’t tell me you haven't even walked around your neighborhood?”
“I've been to the grocery store downstairs and the subway station. That's enough exploring for now.”
Sadie rolls her eyes. “You would know every train schedule and transfer point before you'd notice a single gallery or street mural. You're hopeless.”
She's not wrong. I've already memorized the subway map and timed three different routes to the arena. I know exactly how long my commute will take during rush hour.
“I should go,” I say, checking my watch. “I need to get to the arena.”
“Avery?” Sadie's voice goes softer. “You've got this. You're brilliant at your job, and you don't let anyone intimidate you. Hockey player or not.”
“Thanks.” I end the call and stare at my reflection in the black screen. I look professional in my tailored black blazer and pencil skirt. Everything about my appearance screams competent, untouchable PR executive.
Nothing about my appearance suggests that three months ago, I was naked and writhing beneath Liam's mouth, begging him not to stop. Except, he told me that his name was Nova.
The name that the media has given him. It makes my stomach churn knowing I spent the night with a man who leaves a trail of chaos and headlines in his wake.
The articles had laid it all out in excruciating detail.
The parties. The women. The scandals. Photo after photo of him leaving clubs with different women.
I’m not that woman. I don’t have one-night stands with famous athletes. I’m Avery Carter. The woman who thinks three steps ahead and never, ever loses control.
Except I had. Spectacularly.
And now, three months later, that same supernova is my client. The man I'm supposed to help make respectable and transform his image into a responsible hockey player.
Focus on the present, Avery.
I grab my briefcase and head for the subway.
The train ride to Manhattan gives me exactly twenty-three minutes to get my head straight. I review my notes on Liam Novak's recent scandals, or Nova as the tabloids call him.
Photographed leaving three different nightclubs with three different women in the span of two weeks, a social media feud with a rival player that got ugly, and a DUI from last season that somehow got buried by the PR team.
My job is simple. Clean up his image, keep him out of trouble until the Stanley Cup, and make sure his endorsement deals stay intact. All in three months. It's exactly the kind of challenge I excel at.
What I don't excel at is pretending I've never seen a client naked. Well, I imagine I won’t excel at it, considering this will be the first time I’ll have to do it.
Madison Square Garden looms ahead as I exit the subway. The arena is quiet but it’s intimidating. Taking a deep breath, I follow the signs to the administrative offices, my heels clicking against the polished floors.
“Avery Carter?” A pretty, dark-haired woman in her forties approaches me, a smile on her face. “I'm Jennifer McCall, Head of PR for the Renegades. Welcome to New York.”
“Thank you. I'm excited to get started.”
Jennifer leads me through a maze of corridors lined with team photos and championship banners. “I won't lie to you. Liam is going to be a challenge. He's talented, charismatic, and completely unwilling to listen to authority figures.”
“I've handled difficult clients before.” Liam being uncooperative is not my biggest problem. At all.
“I'm sure you have. But Liam has a way of getting under people's skin.”
If she knew that he's gotten not only under my skin, but into my panties, she’d fire me on the spot.
Jennifer stops outside a conference room. “He should be here any minute. I'll let you get settled.”
The conference room has a view of the arena floor below. I set up my materials at the head of the table while trying to ease my racing heart.
Needing something to do, I pour myself coffee from the machine in the corner, adding exactly two sugars. The familiar ritual calms my nerves slightly.
Then the door opens behind me, and I don't need to turn around to know it's him. I can feel his presence like a shift in the air pressure.
I whirl around and there he is. Liam Novak in the flesh, looking exactly like he did three months ago and somehow even better. Dark hair slightly mussed, that perfectly groomed beard, and those dark eyes that make it impossible to look away.
He's wearing jeans and a Renegades hoodie, and somehow that makes this worse. He looks like the man who whispered filthy promises in my ear, not like a client I need to manage.
Our eyes meet, and I see the exact moment recognition hits him. A slow smirk spreads across his face. It’s the same expression he wore when I told him I wanted to hear exactly what he planned to do to me.
My panties dampen.
“Liam Novak,” Jennifer says, appearing beside him. “Meet Avery Carter, your new publicist. Avery, this is Liam.”
I extend my hand, proud of how composed I am. “Mr. Novak. It's a pleasure to meet you.”
His hand engulfs mine, warm and calloused, and for just a second, his thumb brushes across my knuckles. Electrical currents shoot from my hand to my already soaking pussy.
How am I going to do this, if one look, one touch, has my body craving him?
“The pleasure is all mine,” he says, his voice pitched low enough that only I can hear the double meaning.
“I'll leave you two to discuss strategy,” Jennifer announces. “Avery, let me know if you need anything.”
The door closes behind her, and suddenly we're alone.
Liam studies me, probably trying to reconcile the put-together woman in front of him with the one who rode him until we both reached oblivion.
I clear my throat and gesture to the chair across from me. “Please, have a seat. I'd like to go over your current situation and outline a plan for moving forward.”
He doesn't move. “Avery Carter. I preferred just Avery.”
My pulse kicks up, and a flutter of awareness floods me that I had hoped three months would have killed. But no, my body remembers exactly how he made me feel, and it's responding like we're still in that hotel room instead of a conference room.
I force my spine straight, calling on every ounce of professional training I have. “Shall we begin?”
His smirk widens. “Right.”
He finally takes a seat, but he doesn't settle back like a normal person. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, invading my space even from across the table.