My gaze moves to Logan, finding him already watching me with curiosity. I don’t have the chance to think much of it, though, thanks to Louis cutting straight to the point.
“Well, I watched your press conference, seeing as I was the one who wanted you on it in the first place,” he states dryly. “Needless to say, I don’t think the little stunt you pulled at the end was my definition of lying low, or keeping the conversation on hockey.”
“I did the best I could to keep them on hockey. But you saw for yourself; once they asked about the video, all bets were off.”
“I was talking about your relationship status, actually.”
Oh.Thatpart.
“The mic was hot,” I explain, as if that’s a worthy excuse. My gaze shifts from Logan to the floor, embarrassment once again cresting within me about making such a rookie mistake. “I’m sorry, Louis. I thought I was out of range, but obviously—”
“No need to apologize. It might be just what we need.”
“What we need?” I echo.
Louis is quiet for a moment—a thing he does when he’s mulling over his words, I’ve come to realize. Unfortunately, there’s no telling if what he has to say is good or not until he finally does speak, which leaves me waiting in anticipation.
“Your name was being thrown around as a top pick for goalies before the season even started. You know that, I know that, Coach Reed knows that. Your talent speaks for itself, as you tried to remind the press tonight, so it’s no surprise I’d been getting interest. But then this video came out and it made a few GMs and coaches a little more apprehensive.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, struggling to read between the lines.
Fortunately, he puts me out of my misery by spelling it out so well, even a dyslexic can understand.
“Well, just in the last hour since your little reveal, I’ve fieldedthree calls from different managers who’ve all changed their tune.”
A humorless laugh leaves me. “Just because I said I’m dating Logan Reed?”
“It seems that way,” he states rather blandly. “I don’t put much stock into using relationships for good press, but in your case, a relationship with Logan Reed is mending the scar that video made on your reputation. Logan might not play the game, but the league still recognizes him as one of their own in many ways.”
Damn. Logan was right.
From his self-satisfied grin, he knows it too.
“All this isn’t even mentioning what ties to the Reeds will do for your career in terms of sponsorships, brand deals, things like that. They’re a well respected name in the industry for a reason, and people want to work with them or those closely associated with them.”
My brain screeches to a halt.
Repairing my reputation is one thing—and I had a hard enough time accepting that. But to think I’d get brand deals or any other kind of special treatment because of who I’m dating rather than all of my actual dedication to the sport leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It reeks of nepotism—albeit by proxy, but I don’t think the distinction really matters. I’ve worked goddamn hard to get where I am today. I’ve put in too many hours on the ice, in the gym, and watching film to let something like that fly.
That damn reporter from earlier, who literally said as much, only makes it worse.
“I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?”
“It’s never too early to start weighing options.”
My teeth sink into my lower lip, and I shake my head. “I don’t know, Louis. There was a woman tonight—someone in the media. She asked if I was using the Reed name to get ahead.”
“Are you?”
I don’t want to, but it sure feels like I am the way this conversation is going.
I glance at Logan, who is shaking his head vehemently, so I respond with a firm, “No.”
“Okay, then consider this practice at shutting out the media noise. People are going to have opinions, good and bad, but we’ll get on a call with Logan. See if there’s a way we can frame this to work in our favor that doesn’t feel so…calculated.” He pauses, then hums before musing a gruff, “Perhaps the two of you fought against this budding relationshipbecausehis uncle is your coach and his ties to the NHL, but the pull you felt for each other was too strong to fight. Young love wins out or whatever bullshit will sell the press on this.”
Despite my unease about this whole thing, I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. “Look at you, waxing poetic, Louis. You missed your calling as a novelist.”
“The point is,” he snaps, not having any of my shit, “by using this relationship as a way to paint you in a new light, we can almost guarantee the coaches and general managers will look at the video as a dumb mistake, not a common occurrence.”
