Chapter 2 #2
Before Mo could say anything else, the twelve-foot door to Orson’s office opened, revealing Audrey Levigne, PR manager extraordinaire, in a smart pencil skirt with her hair pulled back into a bun so tight, it was giving Mo a headache.
“Moritz,” she said smoothly. “Thank you for being punctual.” The for once hung between them, unsaid. “Please come in.”
Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.
Mo shot Miss Daisy a weak smile and entered the lion’s den.
Orson sat in the wingback leather chair behind his massive desk. His décor was so subtle and understated. He might as well have hung a portrait of some long-ago monarch behind him just so that the crown rested above his own head.
Claire stood at his right hand. Once upon a time, Mo felt bad for her. She had been an Olympic skier in her younger years. Despite access to the world’s best tailors, she never seemed comfortable in the businesswear she dressed in for the office.
Claire spoke first. “Moritz. There you are.” The warmth in her voice might have fooled someone she hadn’t raised.
“Hello, Mother.” Without trying, Mo slipped on his polite-but-distant-son persona. “Father.”
“Moritz.” As usual, Orson didn’t bother feigning warmth. “Have a seat, please. Audrey, lock the door, would you?”
Audrey nodded sharply and did as he asked, then sat ramrod in the chair next to Mo’s before flipping open her tablet.
Orson cleared his throat. “Audrey, would you do the honors, please?”
“Certainly, Mr. Du Pont.” Audrey rotated twenty degrees toward Mo and flipped her tablet screen around. “This morning, a member of our professional image team flagged some video of you and Adam Murphy that raises concerns for us.”
Mo glanced at the screen. Unfortunately, it did look damning.
One of the bachelorette party girls must have gotten video of his dramatic stumble toward Adam.
What had he been angry about? He didn’t remember.
Probably, he’d blamed Adam that his so-called friends had run off with the Canyons. Obviously not his finest moment.
By now, he knew better than to assume anything, so he waited for the video to finish playing before asking, “Concerns?”
“Expansion talk has everyone taking a closer look,” Orson said, his mouth puckered. Rumors of the NHL adding a team in Seattle had buzzed around sports talk for the past year.
Audrey stepped back in smoothly. “You recall earlier this month there was an altercation between two Canyons players after Adam Murphy was named captain.”
No, Mo did not recall. That would require him to expend valuable brain cells following his parents’ hockey team and, by extension, their favorite adopted son. “I didn’t know that.” He flicked his eyes toward his parents. Orson’s mouth was a flat line.
“With the recent allegations of domestic violence against other members of the NHL…”
Oh no.
Shit, shit, shit. Maybe he could delay the inevitable by playing dumb? “Rumors?” Three sets of incredulous eyes stared at him. Or maybe not.
Before anyone could call him on his bullshit, a buzz sounded from the phone on Orson’s desk. He cast it a glance, then jabbed the button. “He’s here?”
“Yes,” Miss Daisy confirmed.
“Send him in.”
“Who—” Mo cut himself off. Asking questions would only get him into more trouble. It always did.
He wasn’t left in suspense for long, because Audrey stood to unlock the door and Adam fucking Murphy walked in. Mo should have guessed.
Murphy looked shocked to see the assembled party, but he recovered quickly and approached, if somewhat hesitantly. “Good morning.”
Not even close. But Mo wasn’t about to call Adam out on it in front of the Du Ponts, both of whom were smiling at Murphy like he’d arrived to save the day.
“Adam,” Orson said amiably. He stood and motioned for him to take the only available remaining seat.
Murphy, being the good role model he was, followed direction and settled into the chair.
“Thank you for joining us, Adam,” Orson continued as he resumed his seat.
He didn’t sound warm—he never did—but at least he conveyed friendliness.
Or some mutant version of it. “As you may be aware, video of your… conversation with Moritz last night was posted online, and there is already much speculation as to the nature of your interaction.”
Murphy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I had been made aware, sir.”
Mo fought to keep from wincing. He might not like Adam very much, but even Mo had to admit he didn’t deserve any scrutiny for last night’s activities.
“Well, we’ve asked you here so Audrey can figure out how to do damage control.”
Another nod from Murphy, who shifted his gaze to Audrey. “Damage control?”
“The narrative of course will depend on the truth—not that we need to tell the truth, of course,” she soothed as if she assumed the truth was damning, “but it will inform our choice of options.”
“Options,” Adam repeated. Mo had to give it to him: the man gave nothing away when he didn’t want to.
“Of course, the aim is to limit speculation and avoid further focus on the internal drama of the club.”
Mo bit back the urge to tell them all that he was not, in fact, part of “the club.” Long experience had taught him that trying to extricate himself from the family business would only annoy his parents more.
“All of which is easier to do once we know the truth of the matter,” Orson cut in. “Cleaning up after Moritz is always easier when he’s honest, even if the truth involves starting fights with men he’s known for ten years—”
“We’re dating!” Mo blurted before he could think about it.
Silence followed. Everyone stared at him.
Figuring Adam was his most important audience right now, Mo looked at him. Their gazes locked. Adam’s eyes had widened with shock, but anyone might assume he was surprised by Mo’s honesty—even if he did manage to convey something of a what the fuck.
Mo gave him puppy-dog eyes and hoped the others would assume he was begging for forgiveness because he’d changed the plan, and not pleading desperately for Adam to play along.
“You are?” Orson looked skeptical.
“Yes.” Mo broke eye contact with Adam to meet Orson’s gaze.
He couldn’t tell the truth now. But also…
the lie was so much better than the truth.
At least, as far as Mo was concerned. No amount of protesting that the video was just a drunken trip and misunderstanding would satisfy his parents.
All they would see was the years of bickering with Adam, and Mo getting drunk and caught on camera outside a bar.
Again. One more step closer to the edge of poverty.
Dating the Canyons’ golden boy, however—intentionally associating himself with one of the family businesses…
Adam shifted in his chair and said, “It’s new.”
Mo bit back the urge to laugh. So new.
“How new?” Audrey watched them assessingly.
“Oh.” Mo turned to Adam, meeting his gaze, hoping it looked like they were consulting. “A few weeks?”
Adam nodded. “After I got back in town.”
Mo had no idea why Adam was going along with this, but thank God he could think on his feet.
“Well, that simplifies things,” Audrey said. “We will release a statement confirming your relationship and asking for privacy, the usual.” She made some rapid-fire notes on her tablet. “As for claims about violence…”
Adam stiffened and Mo, driven by instinct he couldn’t name, placed a hand on his arm. “There was—is—no violence here. I was drunk and tripped. Adam caught me.”
“What were you arguing about?”
Mo scoffed. “We weren’t arguing.”
“Well,” Adam said slowly, making eye contact with Mo. “We might have been bickering a bit, babe.”
Shocked by the nickname, Mo’s motormouth stalled. Adam didn’t wait.
“We had a small disagreement about the evening, but as you can see in the video, we settled it.” He smiled slightly and flushed brilliant red, which managed to suggest both that said disagreement ended in the removal of clothes and that Adam was embarrassed to admit it.
“Well, I guess you found a way to settle all those little spats you insisted on getting into for all these years.” Claire gave a small, brittle smile.
Mo could feel her judgment and frustration, like she wished she’d shoved them in a closet together years ago to rid herself of the headache of the bad PR—real or imagined—from their squabbles.
As if that would have worked when Mo was sixteen. Gross.
“Sometimes, you grow apart; sometimes, you grow together,” Adam said blandly.
“Of course, of course,” Orson said, like he was in a board meeting he wanted to wrap up. He even shuffled some pages around. “Now that’s cleared up, your mother and I will leave you in Audrey’s care. She can work out the details of the statement.” He waved in Audrey’s direction.
“Do we need to make a statement?” Mo asked, feeling like a petulant kid.
Claire sniffed. “Of course we need to make a statement.”
“Sometimes, saying nothing is a valid option,” Adam offered, flicking his gaze between Mo and Claire.
Audrey got the last word. “Not in this case. There’s too much speculation. Silence will only fuel the rumor mill.”
“Given your history together,” Orson cut in, “controlling the narrative now is important. The last thing we need is people thinking we’re hiding a systemic problem.
” He met Adam’s eyes and offered an insincerely apologetic nod.
“Especially as more recent events have brought unwanted attention to alleged tension in the organization, particularly on the team itself.”
Murphy nodded.
“So, you’ll go with Audrey and figure out a press release. Maybe make some plans so we don’t get caught short again.” He shot Mo a look. “And do try to keep any further… intimate moments private. You’re twenty-four years old. Your mother and I can’t be cleaning up your messes forever.”