Page 77 of The Wildest One
“Over the next couple of weeks, you’re going to be seeing a lot of me. I’ll be attending some of your practices. I’ll be coming in during your weight training sessions. I want to get to know you, I want to see how you operate, and I want to get a sense of how you work as a team.” He cleared his throat. “I’m hoping, at some point over the next week, I can sit down with each of you personally to discuss the things you’d like to see implemented and talk about your concerns.” He held his chin, his other hand holding the elbow of his raised hand. “As players, you’re the foundation. You see a completely different side of this sport, a side that’s most important, and I want to make sure your needs aren’t only addressed, but they’re met.”
I stole a quick peek at Landon, and he gave me a half smile, signaling he was impressed with what he’d heard so far.
So was I.
I’d been with this team since I’d joined the league, and the previous owner never came around. He left everything in management’s hands. He’d never once asked for our opinion on anything.
When Mark’s hand dropped from his face, he crossed his arms, the movement causing his black suit jacket to pull acrossthe tops of his shoulders. “One of the biggest changes you’ll feel at your level is marketing. I’m going to be honest—and I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know—but what you previously had wasn’t up to par. I dare say … it was shit. Much of it was outsourced, and aside from game-day promotions, you didn’t have a team on-site, giving you the publicity you need and deserve.” He nodded at someone and added, “That team has been fired.” He held out his hand. “I’d like to introduce you to your new head of marketing.”
Two noises took over the room. The first was the clicking of a very high pair of heels, and the second was a murmur from my teammates.
The head of marketing came from the entrance behind me, and as she made her way toward Mark, it wasn’t her bare legs—which looked fit and gorgeous and fucking endless, half covered in a skirt—that held my attention.
As she patted Mark’s shoulder and turned toward us, it wasn’t her tits—well hidden under a blazer, but pushed out enough to hint at how perfect they were—that captured me.
What owned me, what I couldn’t stop staring at, were her light-blue eyes.
Eyes that were now locked with mine.
And her hair.
Those wild red locks that I knew far too well.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Jolie …
TWENTY
Jolie
When I first walked into the arena this morning and entered the elevator that took me to my new office, one that had a window overlooking the ice and the team practicing on it, I had to force myself not to dry-heave. Since the beginning of my father’s endless phone calls and emails, letting me know that today was the day of the takeover, the only thing I’d been able to get down was coffee. It was currently burning the back of my throat, and I was doing everything in my power not to throw up.
My anxiety was rearing its wicked head.
It was causing my entire body to shake.
It was making the guilt peak to a point that was impossible to come down from.
Or maybe it was Beck who was doing that to me.
As I stood in the center of the locker room, he was sitting at just about ten o’clock, wearing only a pair of spandex shorts, a hand towel hanging across his shoulders. His face was a tiny bit hairier than when I had left him Saturday morning in bed, his hair messy from his helmet, his skin glistening with sweat.
Oh God.
He looked beyond handsome.
But … what was running through his head?
How was he processing this?
Was he putting two and two together?
None of that mattered at the moment.
First, I needed to find my voice.
I needed to get myself under control and my thoughts together.
