She licks her lower lip. “Does it matter?”
I grin. “Not even a little bit.”
By the time the club closes, I've collected phone numbers from multiple women, posed for dozens of photos, and said at least three things to reporters that I'll probably regret tomorrow.
I gave Hudson the evening off, and Jake tries to drop me home, but I wave him off. “I'm good, man. Going to grab some food.”
What I actually do is wander the streets of Manhattan for an hour, my head spinning from the alcohol and the confusion in my mind.
Being Nova is losing its appeal, but without the party-going persona, without the player everyone expects me to be, I don't know who the hell I am. Strip away the headlines, the image, and what's left? Just some guy from a broken home who's really good at putting a puck in a net.
I end up on a bench in Central Park, staring at my phone. Still no messages from Avery. Not even as my PR person.
Why the fuck does it bother me, though?
Sunday morning’sheadlines are brutal.
RENEGADES' NOVA PARTIES THROUGH ALL-STAR WEEKEND!
NOVAK'S WILD WEEKEND: MULTIPLE WOMEN, HEAVY DRINKING
IS NOVA OUT OF CONTROL?
The photos are worse. Me kissing the brunette at the club. Me looking drunk and sloppy.
There are dozens of missed calls from Jennifer, my agent, and teammates. But still nothing from Avery.
I'm scrolling through the worst of the coverage when my phone buzzes with a text. For a split second, I think it might be her. Instead, it's from an unknown number:
Had so much fun. Call me! XOXO – Sasha.
I stare at the message, then delete it without responding.
5
Avery
“Let me introduce you to the team properly,” Jennifer says, leading me through the maze of the PR department. “Friday was such a whirlwind, we barely had time for introductions.”
I follow her into the open workspace area. The department has an interesting layout. Senior staff like Jennifer, Matt, and I have individual offices that line the perimeter, but we also maintain desks in the collaborative open space for when we need to work directly with the team.
“Matt Ross, my deputy director,” Jennifer says, stopping at a corner desk where a dark-haired man in his thirties looks up from his computer. “Matt, this is Avery Carter, our new crisis management specialist.”
Matt stands and extends his hand. “Welcome to the madhouse. Heard you're taking on our most challenging client.”
I snort. “That’s one way to put it.” Controlling Liam is turning out to be what I imagine wrangling a pack of feral cats would be like.
“Matt handles our media relations,” Jennifer continues. “Former sports journalist, so he knows how reporters think.”
“Which means I know they're all vultures,” Matt says with a grin. “But useful vultures, if you handle them right.”
Jennifer moves us along to a workstation where a young woman with bright eyes and perfectly styled hair is scrolling through social media feeds on multiple monitors.
“Eliana Reynolds, our digital media manager. She keeps our players from saying stupid things on social media.”
“Most of the time,” Eliana says, standing to shake my hand. “Though your client makes it particularly challenging.”
Don’t I know that.
