“Cain Prescott. I’ll be the lead counsel on your case and manage your portfolio going forward.”
“Sounds good,” I reply, keeping it short like Caleb told me to.
“Let’s sit,” Maxwell says, gesturing to the long, glossy table at the center of the room.
The table’s flanked by sleek chairs that probably cost more than my first car, and in the middle is a neat row of chilled water bottles with a variety of snacks. The windows facing the rest of the offices are still frosted but behind me is floor to ceiling glass that shows the snowy city below us.
“Nice day today, isn’t it?” I say trying to crack the tension in the room.
Maxwell blinks at me and Cain gives me a forced smile. Caleb glares at me like I’m an idiot.
Shut up, Boone!
As we take our seats, I grab a water, twisting the cap open. If I’m going to sit through whatever this is, I’m going to need something to keep me grounded—and cold. Just the way I prefer to be.
Maxwell settles into the chair at the head of the table, folding his hands in front of him. He doesn’t waste a second. “Okay, Boone, I’m not here to sugarcoat things. Let’s cut to the chase.”
The water goes down like an ice luge, cooling my throat as my pulse kicks up a notch. Whatever he’s about to say, I have a feeling it’s going to hit me like a puck to the throat.
Don’t ask me how I know how that feels, just trust me, it fucking sucks.
“Okay…”
“Your reputation is fucked and if we want to tackle this legal case the right way, we need to work on repairing that before your next court appearance.”
I nod because, yeah, I already know my reputation is trash. That’s why we’re here—to clean it up and give me a shot at winning this case.
“I’m good with that,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
“And you’ll do whatever it takes?” Maxwell asks, his sharp eyes boring into me like he’s waiting for me to flinch.
Before I can answer, Caleb jumps in, his voice steady and firm. “He’s already been briefed. Boone understands he needs tofollow all instructions exactly as they are given to him. You’re his best shot, hisonlyshot left in the city, and he knows it.”
Yes, please remind me how I'm fucked if this doesn't work out.
Maxwell’s expression softens by a fraction as he nods. “Good. Then the first step in fixing your reputation is simple. We've shipped your case out to our PR firm who works in the same building downstairs and the results in our anonymous focus group have all come back with the same feedback:you need to get married.”
I choke—on nothing, apparently, because I haven’t taken another sip of water. There’s no way that I heard him right.
“I’m sorry. I need to dowhat?”
Maxwell doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink, like dropping life-altering bombs is just another Tuesday for him and I’m having trouble processing words and sentences.
“Marriage. It’s the cleanest way to turn things around quickly. A stable personal life goes a long way in reshaping public perception. It's been proven for centuries that people trust persons of interest more when they're in a loving, committed, marriage.”
“Is my reputation reallythatbad?” I ask, my voice tinged with disbelief. But Maxwell’s sharp glare shuts me down before I can even process my own question.
He looks at Caleb, who shoots me a warning glance so intense it feels like the temperature in the room drops by ten degrees. It's the look that saysyou better shut the fuck up because I put my neck on the line to even get you this lawyer.
Apparently, yeah, my reputation isthatbad.
Maybe I should’ve paid more attention to the headlines my mom’s been texting me or the snippets on ESPN, but honestly, I’ve been avoiding all of it this past month.
Why does it matter what the news, or social media world says about me when my career speaks for itself? I'm the best player in the NHL right now. I get the most goals. I don’t date anymore. I don’t drink anymore.
Now I’m regretting not paying better attention to what the outside world was saying about who they think I am.
“Okay,” I say, though my stomach’s doing somersaults.
