Page 3 of Cold as (N)ice

“No. That’s why they are pushing so hard. They asked me what it would take to get you on board and…”

“What did you say?”

“I told them that you wanted a major brand endorsement immediately…”

“Good.”

“And that you wanted a contract for a minimum of five years, or if they cut you they would have to pay out the contract…”

Barrett chuckled.

Dang, Jimmy was the best. The man was like a shark with a chum bucket. If he smelled blood in the water, he was all over it. This meant that if he got cut or traded, Quebec would have to pay him out the five million dollars. It was a gold mine waiting to happen.

“They want you to keep up with the charity functions…”

“No problem.”

“There’s one slight issue,” Jimmy began and then laughed. “It’s ridiculous, and I don’t think it’s anything, so let me handle it. You know me and contracts.”

“I do,” Barrett grinned. “I’m not saying ‘no,’ but I’m interested. Get the problems worked out, get something solid, and call me after hours when you have it laid out and ready to present.”

“You know I love ya man…”

“Because I make you a fat load of cash,” Barrett quipped bluntly, only to hear Jimmy laugh before he ended the call. Yeah, they had a very blunt, very open, very business-like arrangement that simply came down to money. If he earned it, Jimmy would get him more. If he blew it, Jimmy would cut him and find another player.

Driving home, he was lost in his thoughts. He loved his team and got along with them for the most part, but man, that was a lot of money to consider. If he took a deal like that, then he would be starting over in a new city… but back in his home country. He was a Canadian citizen and had gotten his visa to play when he came to the United States because that was once where the money was.Not anymore, apparently…

There was a lot to consider and he didn’t have all the answers yet, so until it was ironed out, nothing was happening.

Period.

Pulling into his garage twenty minutes later, he shut off his SUV and pressed the remote to close the heavy door behindhim. Privacy was a constant battle—people occasionally snooped around his property, hoping to snap a picture or, worse, snag something personal.

Just three months ago, he’d caught someone rifling through his trash and had to call the police. Since then, he’d taken extra precautions: the garbage stayed in the garage, his mail was routed to a P.O. box, and everything was addressed under "B.C. Heart"—a nod to "Coeur," the French word for "heart."

Some fans got strange, but others?

They crossed the line.

His house in Dallas was in a decent neighborhood—not one of the ritzy gated communities, and it didn’t sit on acres of land. It was practical, convenient, and good enough for now. As the garage door rumbled shut, he keyed in his passcode to disarm the alarm and exhaled deeply, feeling a small measure of relief as he stepped inside.

Home.

And he hesitated.

Looking around with open eyes as he replayed Batiste’s conversation regarding his maid. The counters and stove were spotless from the last time he’d hired Merry Maids to clean the house for him. His beloved couch was sagging in the middle where he plopped down on it every night – and sometimes slept. There were cords strung all over the floor because he hated game remotes that worked on Bluetooth. It never failed. There was always one that lost connection and ended up getting you killed in the middle of a game.

He had a massive television the size of a full-size mattress mounted to the wall and speakers that stuck out on the sides… but that was it.

No pictures.

No décor.

No cozy scents,he thought sniffing and frowned, moving to sniff under his arms – and wincing. Yep. He stunk. Walking back to the luxurious bathroom, he paused, giving it the same cursory look from earlier. Pretty standard – shower, tub, toilet, sinks – but no cologne bottles, no pictures, no nice towels hanging on the rack. He didn’t even have a bathmat, but rather tossed his dirty towels down and stepped on them until he did laundry.

“Maybe I could use a maid…” he hesitated and texted Batiste as he turned on the shower, letting the water warm up.

I’m not saying yes – but would she be opposed to cooking something every once in a while so the place smelled nice? Does she do your laundry? How’s she feel about doing the shopping for me?

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