Page 2 of Cold Feet
"It would be," Ryan continued, "except they're concerned about Cam's...personalimage."
And there it was.
"Specifically," Marcus jumped in, "there's a morality clause in the contract. They want someone stable. Family-friendly. Someone who screamstrustworthy spokesmaninstead of…uh…collect them all.”
I looked at Cam, whose eyes were now locked on mine with laser focus, intensely blue and unmistakably accusatory.
Ryan slid a contract across the table. "One-point-five million annually for three years. This isn't just sneaker money…this is positioning Cam as the face of hockey for mainstream America."
I flipped through the pages, scanning the morality language. Four-and-a-half million dollars.Holy shit.
"So what exactly about Cam's image is the problem?" I asked, though I had a sinking feeling I already knew.
Cam gave a short, humorless laugh. "Gee, wonder what it could be? Maybe the fact that you've spent three years marketing me as the NHL's resident fuckboy?"
"I wouldn't use that terminology in my media materials," I shot back, stung.
"No, you prefer 'hockey heartthrob' and 'the league's most eligible bachelor,'" he said, air quotes and all. "My personal favorite was 'Win a Dream Date with the Slashers' Sexiest Forward.'"
"That Valentine's promotion sold out the arena in sixteen minutes," I reminded him. "Your jersey sales are second only to Logan's, and you’ve got the highest likability scores in the NHL"
"And now it's costing me the biggest deal of my career." His voice stayed level, but I could see the tension radiating from his shoulders. "You know that's not who I am, Lana. I played along with this... hockey Casanova bullshit for the good of the team, and now it's biting me in the ass."
"As I recall, you weren't exactly opposed to one-night stands back in college,Hitman."
Shit. The words hung in the air like a puck about to drop, heavy with the weight of everything we'd never talked about.
Cam's eyes flashed with something I couldn't name, and suddenly I was twenty years old again, waking up alone in my dorm room with nothing but the lingering scent of his cologne and a hollow ache in my chest.
"Cam and Zayne were teammates at BU," I explained quickly to the room, as if that somehow justified my highly specific knowledge of his college dating habits. "Sorry. That was unprofessional."
The truth was, Cam wasn't wrong. For all his swagger and magazine cover boy looks, he was notoriously private off the ice. I'd crafted a public image for him that worked brilliantly for the team, amplified it into something that sold tickets and jerseys – but apparently not family-friendly sneakers.
"Okay," I said, switching back to problem-solving mode. "We can work with this. Charity appearances, kids program of some sort, maybe a feature on his off-ice interests. Social media reset. Give me three months and I can shift the narrative."
Ryan and Marcus exchanged one of those looks that made my stomach drop.
"We don't have three months," Ryan said. "The NHL Awards are in two weeks. Redline will be there, watching. They need to see concrete evidence of change by then, or they walk."
"Two weeks?" I looked around the table like someone was about to tell me this was an elaborate prank. "Shoot, I forgot my magic wand at home. I can't completely rebrand someone in two weeks. I'm good, but I'm not a miracle worker."
"Actually," Ryan leaned forward with the smile of a shark who'd just spotted blood in the water, "I have a moreimmediatesolution." His gaze landed squarely on me and I half-expected his undoubtedly forked tongue to flicker out like a snake’s. "Cam needs a girlfriend.A serious one."
I laughed, then quickly realized I was the only one.
"You want me to find Cam a girlfriend in two weeks?" I asked. "What am I supposed to do, hold auditions? Post on LinkedIn?"
"Not exactly," Marcus said carefully.
And that’s when it hit me. The way they were all looking at me. The careful setup of this meeting. The strategic positioning of the only empty chair directly opposite Cam.
"Oh, hell no," I said when I finally found my voice. "Absolutely not."
"Think about it," Ryan pressed on like a man who sensed weakness. "You've known each other for years. You're at the same events constantly. Cam's close with your brother. Your family is hockey royalty… I mean, Frank Decker's daughter dating a Slashers player? The optics are exactly what we need. Plus, your position with the team explains why you'd keep it private."
I could feel Cam's eyes on me, but I refused to look at him.
“This is insane,” I said, my mind already racing through the implications, pitfalls, the type of media strategy we’d need. It was sickeningly logical from a PR perspective. "You can't seriously expect me to pretend to be Cameron Murphy's girlfriend.”
