5. Finn

Finn

This is a first.

I’ve never had a client react like this when I brought up the bit about the big thing . Mostly, it’s a way to avoid weeks of reaching around for something obvious. For example, my last client was a boxer, and when I said that, he admitted that he felt much worse after his nights of binge drinking.

After that, I was able to get him clean and prove to him that elite athletes can’t afford any level of drinking. He went on to win the next six matches and secure a six-figure deal for a prime-time match.

But this reaction from Sammy Braun? This mild-mannered, aw-shucks man—who is much more handsome in real life than in pictures—who shook my hand when he first came in and signed every paper I passed him?

This is interesting to me. Irresistible. A puzzle I have to solve.

“Sammy.”

His name comes out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop and evaluate this. Beyond my first couple of successes, I have never chased a client. I’ve never had to, and I’ve certainly never had to beg someone to stay in my office during the beginning consultation.

Usually athletes in his position are thanking their lucky stars that I’m willing to take on their case. They’re already itching for the success they know is coming their way.

Sammy pauses at the open door, and I can see him breathing heavily, his broad shoulders rising and falling. Of course, I’ve worked with large people before—I exclusively work with athletes. But for some reason, he feels bigger. Taller, his hand dwarfing mine when I shook it. I’m a tall woman, and yet, Sammy Braun made me feel short when he first walked into the room.

“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head and turning around, then running a hand through his hair. He’s impossibly boyishly handsome, with soft blonde hair and freckles over his cheeks. I blink, surprised at myself for noticing.

“Don’t apologize.” I gesture to the chair across from my desk. “Just sit down.”

He pauses for a moment, big chest still heaving, then nods once and crosses the room, taking a seat. If he had a hat, I imagine he’d be holding it in his hands.

In the regular sized chair, his huge frame looks almost comically big.

“ That reaction,” I say, feeling the spark of passion for my job rising up inside me. “Tells me that there is something holding you back. Now, be honest with me: Do you know what it is?”

He takes a deep breath, lets it out, then looks up at me. From this close, I can see that his eyes aren’t just green, but also flecked with amber.

“No,” he says, and it sounds genuine. He runs a hand through his hair again and blinks a few times, like he’s resetting himself. “I don’t know why I acted like that.”

“It’s perfectly normal,” I assure, even though that has never happened before.

“I’m still not…I’m not sure this is going to work for me.”

I stare at him, something stirring inside me. After working with athletes at the top of their game, with millionaires and champions and record-breakers, Sammy Braun shouldn’t be this compelling to me. I’ve done great things and turned rookies into superstars. This decent NHL goalie shouldn’t be getting under my skin like this.

But he is. I want this case. I want to work with him. To prove that I can tease out that streak of genius inside him. Grey sees it, and even just sitting here, not watching him on the ice, I see it. I can see that something is bottled up, and all I need to do is let it out.

“That’s perfectly fine,” I say, crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair. His eyes flick to mine, clearly surprised. “It’s not for everybody. I only work with people I know can be great. Did you know that I have a one-hundred percent success rate?”

“No,” he admits, looking sheepish. “I didn’t know that. I don’t really know a lot about this whole…thing.”

“Well, I do.” I uncross my arms and lean forward. I’m not usually so fidgety, but there’s something about this man that’s making me restless. “Grey said you had potential. After looking into you, I believe him. But if you don’t want to reach for that—if you don’t want to be great, just tell me that now.”

Eyes fixed on the carpet, he stares, his jaw working, his hands tightening together.

“Of course I want that,” he says, his voice low. When he looks at me again, there’s an intensity in his gaze that tells me it’s true. Of course he wants to be great. What athlete doesn’t? But something about his determination is different. And I need to figure out why.

Standing, I walk around to the front of my desk, leaning against it and looking down at him. A strange thrill runs through me at the vantage point this gives me—being taller than such a big man—but I push it away, ignoring the heat in my belly.

I am a professional.

“Good,” I say, crossing my arms once more. I’m wearing a form-fitting black dress and black pumps. When he looks up at me, it makes my heart skip a beat. “Because I am your best chance at achieving that. I’m doing this as a favor to Grey, but between you and me, I hate this fucking side of the country, and I won’t be coming back for a very long time if I leave now. And you won’t get the opportunity to work with me again if you leave now.”

He nods, jaw setting, hands clasping together.

“And if you’re going through with it,” I continue, “I need your full, complete enthusiasm. I need you to be absolutely dedicated to breaking through and reaching your full potential.”

There are times, during the course of my work, that I register how my words sound self-help-y . That you might find them on a motivational poster in a guidance counselors office. But I can afford to be cheesy when I make this much money, and when I’m leaving a trail of success stories behind me.

Sammy Braun clearly doesn’t notice or care that the last bit sounds like a gimmick, because he stands, nodding and holding his hand out to me again.

“You’re right,” he says, clearing his throat. “All I have ever wanted was to be one of the greatest in this sport. And if you’re the woman to do that for me—I’m here. I’m present. I’ll do whatever you want.”

That last sentence sends another thrill through me, and this time, when he reaches out to take my hand, I notice his palm is decidedly not sweaty.

***

I’m kicking the door to the guest house shut behind me, hands full with my purse, tablet, and several files, when my phone rings.

I know which call is coming through, exactly what’s showing up on the screen of my phone. Cursing under my breath, I drop my purse on the counter and dig into my bag, sighing in relief when I manage to pinch my phone between my fingers.

Penny is running errands. It’s just me in the guest house right now, and my voice rings out, echoing through the kitchen as I answer the call.

“Finn Asher.”

“Hello, Ms. Asher, we’re calling about your request to transfer over to a different clinic. Normally we don’t honor requests on such short-term notice, but we’re thrilled with the generous donation you’ve made, and we want to show you that we appreciate your kindness. We’ve contacted the Burlington branch and had your appointments shifted to a new doctor. You can find all the information about your appointments and new doctor in your email.”

“That’s great ,” I breathe, nearly dropping my phone with relief. This was one of my biggest reservations about leaving home and coming to Burlington. I thank her and get off the phone, then scroll through my email until I find one from the clinic.

My first appointment is in a few days. I forward the email to Penny, asking her to input everything into my schedule, then grab my bag and start unpacking.

I need to get serious about my plan for Sammy Braun. First, we’ll need to work on identifying that primary thing—the biggest issue in his life holding him back. It was clear from his reaction today that it was certainly present.

Tapping my pen against my mouth, I think through my options. I think about Sammy sitting in my office. I think about the game film I’ve seen of him, the way he plays. By no means would anyone imply that he’s not intimidating or huge, but he also has a certain level of timidness, a certain shy demeanor that comes through when he’s on the ice. We need him to be bold. To know that he’s owning that rink. That nobody is getting a puck past him.

Sammy Braun needs to find his boldness.

I take out my laptop and start typing, my fingers flying over the keys as I outline a plan of growth that will help him do just that.