Chapter 5

Kali

I wait for Leon to exit the boardroom. He cheekily throws me a wink through the gap in the door before he closes it, making me roll my eyes at him. He's been sliding into my DMs for a while. God loves a trier and boy does he try. He's a ridiculous flirt and knows Michael, my ex-husband. He also knows Michael cheated on me, and went on to upgrade me with a much younger model. Predictable jackass.

I can't deny his messages did massage my ego, but Leon is so not my type. He's too upbeat and goofy. And blond like an excitable golden retriever.

The reality of having to work with him so closely is already making me feel like I need a nap.

Send help.

Looking over at Wade, whose shoulders are set, he looks oddly petrified as he stares straight ahead and not at me.

Eyes glazed in daydream, I can only assume he's thinking of the many ways he would like to escape from this room. Or kill me. Perhaps both.

With a heavy sigh, he plonks himself back down in his chair.

I sit on the edge of the desk and fold my arms around myself.

"I would like you to listen to me. You don't have to talk, Wade."

"I wasn't going to anyway." He huffs, still not looking at me.

"Great."

"Great." He mimics my tone and lets out a loaded sigh.

"Looks like we're going to get on like a house on fire."

He pushes his chair back in frustration and stands, as if not knowing where to put himself.

My eyes follow him as he paces the floor between the table and the boardroom wall. "I didn't ask for this," he blurts.

"Nope, but you got it." I tilt my head to the side and keep assessing him. I'm a good judge of character. I know a lost soul when I see one. I"ve seen many in my line of work. He needs help and I know we can all support him in the best way possible.

He runs his hands through his short dark hair, tugging on the ends as if trying to pull the strands out of their roots.

"I walked my first catwalk for Givenchy at the age of sixteen," I tell him, hoping if I open up, it will show him that I'm here to help. "I started modeling when I was sixteen—expected to make adult, responsible decisions when I felt less than equipped. My parents were too busy digging up artifacts in Egypt and my grandmother, who raised me, trusted the modeling agency to take care of me, but ultimately, I was alone and terrified. What I'm trying to say is, that I understand how it feels to be alone despite being surrounded by people and too scared to open up about how you're feeling. I want you to trust me, Wade, to believe that I'm on your side and will be with you every step of the way. I'm not going to leave you to do this alone."

Wade's hands drop down to his sides, then he slowly turns his body to face me.

Finally.

I stare at his profile. He has good bone structure, with a little bump on the top of his nose that gives it character. Crystal blue eyes the color of a tropical lagoon, brown hair shaved close on either side with a little length on the top accentuating his high cheekbone and strong jaw. The word handsome doesn't cut it to describe him.

Gorgeous does, though. Devilishly-pantie-soaking-gorgeous.

He could be a model if his team were to cut him. I'd find him work in a heartbeat and anyone would buy anything he advertised. I'm sure of it.

Shut up, Kali, you're not scouting for talent.

Confidently rising to my feet, I focus on the job I came here to do. "The modeling world is a lonely place to be, especially when you're only sixteen."

A large bump forms between his brows, and I know he's listening. "Sixteen?"

I may win him over after all.

"The world of fashion likes them fresh out of the womb." I sigh. "Whether you like it or not you're sort of stuck with me, and although you may not think it, I come from a similar world as yours."

He eyes me suspiciously, stands wide, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his dress pants that don't fit him as well as I would like them to.

That's all about to change once Emmanuel, my stylist, gets his hands on him.

"Explain." His short word is clipped and to the point.

I move from the desk onto the chair he was sitting on and park my backside on it, then cross my best asset, my legs. He thinks I don't notice, but I watch as his gaze flicks down, then back up again.

I'm not flirting, it's just human nature to want to check out the ex-model's long legs and most talked about thing on the internet. Like JLo's ass, they have a life of their own.

"I worked in an industry where looks and being a size zero were all that mattered. The weight of expectation can push you to your limits. Long hours, people prodding and preening you, paparazzi, stylists, hair, makeup, no sleep, predatory photographers pretending to be a friend to take advantage of younger models. I've seen it all."

"My job…" He air quotes his fingers around the words. "Isn't like that."

I rest my head on the hand of my bent arm. "Yes, it is. And what you do is a job." I copy his finger actions. "You've stopped excelling and now you're coasting." He's too stuck in his misery to see it for himself, so I lay it out for him. "Everyone is replaceable. I was. Someone younger, thinner, and sexier comes along. Boom. All gone." I splay my fingers out like an explosion. "Same with you. Do you know how many guys would sell their parents just to be in your position? How many hockey players want to be you? What they would give for just a chance to step onto the ice you play on? And you're blowing it. You heard it from Marcus himself. He will replace you just like that." My thumb and middle fingers click together to make a snapping sound that cuts through the silence of the room. "Without Leon, you're vulnerable. No one to fight in your corner, defend you, negotiate on your behalf. You've made yourself effortlessly replaceable."

It's what Michael did. Replaced me.

When I caught him having sex with Darcy Humberston, a ten-year younger version of me, in our New York apartment, it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would, which was confirmation he was not the one for me.

There was something intangible I felt on my wedding day. I knew it was there, hanging above me like a big red flag, but I ignored it. I'm grateful we never started a family together. Which was what I've always wanted, but then parked because, after we got married, Michael announced he didn't want children, not until I retired from modeling anyway.

Turns out that was a lie; he didn't want children at all. Not with me, not with anyone.

I wish he'd told me sooner.

I'm thirty-four; my biological clock is ticking. Loudly. With no husband or partner, it seems like a family, for me, is never going to happen.

Sitting up straighter in the uncomfortable boardroom chair, I uncross my legs. "I want to see the man you were before this." With my pointer finger, I tap on the folder full of the articles that have seriously damaged his credibility. "You have fallen out of favor with the fans. Your likeability ranking sucks. But I have a plan to make the fans forget all of that. I want to help you get the old Wade back."

"I don't remember what that guy was like."

"I have a feeling that if you unload the anger and grief you're carrying it will help you. Don't you want to be known as the greatest hockey player of all time?" I try stroking his ego. "Imagine that title. Wade Collins. The GOAT." I draw an invisible rainbow in the air with both hands. "It has a bit more clout behind it than the sexiest athlete of the year, don't you think?"

He bites the side of his mouth, then says, "You're annoying."

"I know."

He goes quiet for a bit, as if he's considering my words before he replies, "I'm not grieving."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not. She died a year ago."

"Grief takes time. I lost my grandmother five years ago and I am still grieving. There is no time limit on those feelings." Sharing my deep secrets with Wade Collins, a man I knew nothing about until last night, seems to be what is happening today. "I was mad at her for dying. My mom and dad love mummies, caskets, and pharaohs that lived thousands of years ago. They were, and still are, fascinated with the past, but my grandmother, she cared about me, lived in the present, and kept every clipping from every magazine and advertising campaign I was ever in."

A mumble so low leaves his lips, but I don't catch what he says, so I have to ask him to repeat it.

Looking out of the double-height windowed wall, he shares his words louder. "Gretchen kept mine too. She would kick my ass if she saw the recent stories about me." He points to the file I put together and his firm jaw twitches. "I kinda hate you right now."

I nod with a smug grin on my face. He's lying, and I knew I'd win him over. "I know. But you'll love me in the end. Promise."

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself. I think love is a stretch."

"You will. Just watch." Smug face disguised, I tap my fingers happily on top of the folder we're going to burn once he's in the number one position on the player likability polls.

I have my work cut out for me.

"I need Leon." He gives in to the inevitable. "And you." That seems to stick in his throat a little.

Yes! Gotcha. He's in.

"You do. And Lola, Joe, Ash, Dustin, Thomas. Marcus brought all of us in for a reason. He wants to help you, Wade. The Eagles marketing team has enough work to keep them going for the next decade, and the last thing they need is you making more for them. Marcus requested me specifically to work with you because he knows how hard I will work. He trusts me, Wade. He's a smart businessman. If he trusts me, so should you."

I may also be doing this for selfish reasons. I'm gearing up to launch a talent management agency. While I love working with businesses promoting products and services, I miss working with people, and we're going to do something revolutionary. I'm excited about it.

I'm a sucker for a challenge and I may have got exactly what I'm looking for with Wade.

"We want to help you find yourself again. All of us."

"Playing hockey for the Eagles is all I've ever wanted." In a moment of vulnerability, he shares that information with me again.

"Then show us that passion. Where is it? Where did your fighting spirit go?" I make a ball with my fist and punch the air a fraction.

"I don't know." Sad eyes hit mine, and all I want to do is throw my arms around him and tell him it's all going to be okay, but I can't.

This is strictly business.

"We'll all help you find it again, Wade, but you have to let us help."

Although I'm surprised after Wade broke his son's nose, Marcus didn't fire him on the spot.

"Okay. I'm on board," is all he says to give us the green light to get started.

I stand and almost run to him. I feel like I just won the lotto.

One article, event, interview, and media post at a time, I'm determined to make Wade a legend on and off the ice.

Toe to toe, holding my hand out for him to take, he reluctantly shakes it. His hands are big, and rough, calloused from hours of holding a hockey stick I imagine.

"You're almost the same height as me," he says.

I break eye contact with him and look down at my feet. "It's these heels."

"How tall are you?"

It's a question I get asked the most often. I should wear a sandwich board with the answer on. "I'm five ten. Almost six feet with heels, give or take." I sway my head back and forth, then realize he's still staring at me. His bluer than blue eyes make my nipples pucker against the lace fabric of my bra, and I find myself having to inhale a deep breath.

Stop it. Where the hell did that reaction come from? I'm locking that down immediately. Just… no.

"And you?" I return the question, trying to tell myself I'm only asking so I can write his bio.

"Six-four. With skates on more like six-eight. Give or take." Thinking for a minute, he asks, "You don't model anymore?"

"I always dreamed of setting up my own PR business. It fascinated me when I modeled. Had a fabulous publicist in New York. I loved what she did for me. I decided that's what I wanted to do when I retired. The constant traveling got tiresome after a while, and I wanted a change. I had already bought a house here in Edmonton, my hometown, in case you weren't aware. This is where I wanted to be. I was ready to replant my roots." Something Michael was not. "Also, my husband replaced me with a much younger model who I appeared in an ad campaign with, and he was my manager at the time too, so you know, it all became a little awkward." I'm not ashamed of my past. It was reported in every shitty gossip magazine, and I refuse to shy away from the truth. My conscience is clear, I didn't do anything wrong.

Wade's eyes spark with something that looks a lot like sympathy, and I hate it. No one should feel sorry for me. My divorce was the best thing to ever happen.

Our stares go on for a moment too long, and when something squeezes my hand, I realize he's still holding it.

I quickly pull away and brush my palm over the fabric of my skirt to straighten myself out.

Coughing to clear my throat, not that it needed clearing, I say, "Great, so I'll go and break the news to your new team. It's time to get to work." I step back and wobble a little on my pin-sharp heels.

"Looking forward to it."