Page 97 of Cold Feet
I struggled to maintain my professional composure, my mind spinning with questions. Had Cam known about this last night? As we'd made love for hours, as he'd whispered tender words against my skin, had he already been planning his exit strategy?
The thought made me feel physically ill, a wave of nausea rising in my throat.
"The timing is complex," Ryan continued, oblivious to my internal turmoil. "With the Redline announcement coming Thursday, we need to coordinate how we handle this news. Montreal's eager to start negotiations immediately."
My gaze fixed on Cam, who was studying the table intently, jaw tight, a muscle working in his cheek. He wouldn't look at me.
The meeting continued, details washing over me in a blur. PR strategies. Timing considerations. Team realignment. The potential fan reaction. I nodded in all the right places, made appropriate notes, asked professional questions – all while feeling like I was being waterboarded in my own bathtub.
"Cam's got a no-trade clause in his contract, so obviously he'll need to approve any potential trade," Ryan explained, gesturing expansively. "But I think we all know that the Slashers will never be in as strong a position as you are today to get, well, pretty much anything you want in exchange for Cam. First round draft picks for a decade. A Brinks truck full of cash. The moon."
He chuckled at his own joke. No one joined him.
"And obviously those negotiations are between you and Hughes, Marcus," Ryan continued, unperturbed, "but I think Cam and I can rest assured that Montreal will lay out the red carpet for him and give him the deal of a lifetime. A career-making deal worthy of a superstar talent like the Hitman."
My chest felt tight, making it hard to breathe. Everything I'd worried about from the beginning was coming true. The situation had become too real, too complicated. I'd dropped my defenses, allowed myself to hope, to feel… and now I was facing the same heartbreak all over again. Fucking deja vu.
"Plus," Ryan added helpfully, leaning toward me with a conspiratorial smile, "this lets you two break off your fake engagement earlier than planned – everybody knows long distance relationships never work out. Win-Win!"
“Win-win,” I echoed, disconnected.
I felt Cam's eyes on me finally, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I focused on my tablet, jotting notes I would never read, my handwriting increasingly shaky.
Coach Sully cleared his throat. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. No decisions have been made."
"Of course, of course," Ryan backtracked smoothly. "Just laying out all the angles."
As the meeting wound down, I became acutely aware of the sapphire ring on my finger. What had felt like a promise just hours ago now felt like a fucking mockery. I twisted it absently, the weight suddenly uncomfortable.
Marcus turned to me, his expression serious. "Lana, did you know about this?"
The question hung in the air. Five pairs of eyes turned to me, including Cam's – blue and intense, pleading for understanding. The silence stretched, tense and expectant.
I straightened my shoulders, finding my professional mask. "Nope," I said, my voice cool and controlled. "Because I'm his fake fiancée, not his real one."
The words landed like ice, and I saw Cam flinch as if I'd slapped him. Good. Let him feel a fraction of the hurt coursing through me.
And never let it be said that Frank Decker's daughter doesn't know how to deliver a body check.
"Right," Marcus said after an awkward pause, exchanging a quick glance with Coach Sully. "Well, everyone, let's maintain a media blackout on this for at least 48 hours while we figure out next steps. Agreed?"
Murmurs of assent sounded around the table. I gathered my notes with trembling hands, not meeting anyone's eyes, especially not Cam's. I could feel his gaze burning into me, but I refused to look up.
Coach Rocco, who'd been silent throughout the meeting, gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passed behind my chair. A small gesture of solidarity that nearly broke my composure.
"Lana," Marcus added as everyone began to disperse, "we'll need a comprehensive PR strategy for both scenarios: Cam staying or Cam going. Can you have something to me by tomorrow afternoon?"
Professional. I needed to be professional. "Of course."
As quickly as dignity would allow, I exited the conference room, making a beeline for my office. I just needed to be alone, to process, to breathe through the tightness in my chest that threatened to suffocate me.
Once inside, I closed the door and leaned against it, finally allowing my professional mask to slip. The morning's happiness felt like a cruel joke now, a brief glimpse of something I desperately wanted but couldn't have. I blinked rapidly, fighting back tears that burned behind my eyes.
Cam Murphy.Again.
I looked down at the sapphire on my finger, the deep blue stone catching the light. Yanking it off, I placed it in the center of my desk, where it gleamed accusingly at me. I never should have agreed to the whole fake fiancée insanity.What was I even thinking?
I'd barely had time to collect myself when the door opened again. I hadn't even heard the knock.
