I’m not sure I even register what she says before I blurt, “He got a cat.”
Her brows pinch. “Who did?”
I clear my throat. “Moskins. Thomas. He adopted a cat from the shelter. Her name is Oreo, and he took her to the food bank with him. They may have gotten a photo or two of her,although he asked to keep them away from the portfolio they were compiling to send to his agent.”
Maybe that’s too much information, but my filter doesn’t seem to work when I’m nervous.
“Why would he bring a cat to a food bank?” she asks, just as confused as I was seeing him with the carrier.
I shrug as casually as possible. “Apparently, he didn’t realize he could leave her home. I don’t think he’s ever had a pet before.”
Janel hums, then picks up her phone and starts typing something in. “He hasn’t posted about it. I’m surprised his agent hasn’t said something to him about posting a photo of her. It would be great press. People were receptive to the images the shelter shared, but there was a sixty-forty split in his interview questions when he spoke about his plans for the future. Barely anybody brought up the scandal and asked more about if he adopted any of the animals.”
I saw the pictures when they were shared on Furrever Home’s page. They’d tagged his Instagram, which had photos of him in a bright yellow shirt holding a cute pug puppy that was licking his face. He looked so boyish in them, so carefree compared to normal. In those images, he wasn’t the superstar athlete who got paid millions to play hockey. He was simply a man enjoying his time with some animals.
The only problematic question that was asked, despite it being off the approved questions list, was whether or not his wife would be coming to support him at his first game. He’d simply said, “Next question,” while scratching between a pit bull’s ears.
Anything pertaining to his wife was off-limits. Except, apparently, when it came to me. He’s told me things nobody else knows. So why do I feel jealous whenever somebody gets close to him like he’s mine to claim?
I cringe, thinking about the jealousy I felt when it came to Honor slipping him the piece of paper. When I got home that day, I logged onto an old social media account I hadn’t used in years and started searching for her name. Sure enough, Thomas wasn’t lying to me. Honor Hoffman is married to the Fireflies’ new head coach and is the daughter of the Rangers’ coach in New York. She’s an advocate for epilepsy awareness, has adorable photos of her service dog, Puck, and is an amazing photographer. Plus, she’s gorgeous. And so, so kind. Which made being pissed at her that much worse.
It was bad enough watching Kayleigh go after him, but seeing him go to Honor had been a punch to the gut I had no right feeling.
I’d felt…used. Like I was simply any other girl he’d ever been with. Wanted until he got what he wanted and disposed of. It reminded me of how little I open myself up to people, because then they have the opportunity to hurt you. Worse. They have the opportunity to get toknowyou. And the more Thomas learns, the more he’ll understand how truly messed up I am.
“He didn’t want it to be posted about,” I explain to her, trying to brush off the heaviness sitting on my chest. My heart feels like it’s jammed in my throat.
Janel looks up at me with a blank expression.
Rubbing my lips together, I sit a little taller to try to relay his reasoning. “He didn’t adopt her for attention. He wanted a pet to…”To feel less lonely like me.“To fill his space.”
She blinks, then lowers her phone to the desk in contemplation. “I suppose that’s better than filling his home with women. Not quite what I expected of him, though.”
“Me either,” is out of my mouth before I can stop myself from saying it. But Janel doesn’t seem to think too much about it, so I continue on with my shameless ramble. “He’s a bit unexpected. An ass, for sure. But definitely not what I was anticipating.”
Just like I wasn’t anticipating being attracted to him. Go me.
My boss nods, as if she understands. “I’ve worked with clients like that before. You see a different version of them sometimes. Other times, they’re exactly as they seem. What’s that saying? Don’t meet your heroes. I’ve certainly been let down by too many people to believe in them the way I used to. You have to err on the side of caution in this job, because you never know who will come into your life or how they’ll change it.”
She says it so casually, but there’s an undertone to the words that sink in a little too deeply. I chalk it up to a guilty conscience and try not to seem fazed.
“Yeah,” I agree, wetting my lips. “You’re probably right.”
“I’m having a meeting with his agent today, if you’d like to sit in,” Janel offers with a kind smile when I meet her eyes. “That’s actually why I invited you to talk. Ashton will be here any minute. I figure you’re an important part of this project, so you deserve the credit for all you’ve done. Even after he had his reservations.”
Excitement mixes with nerves at the invitation, and I suddenly wish I’d worn something better than the old pair of leggings and cute polka-dot tunic I found thrift shopping. I know I have nothing to prove to this man, because Janel’s approval is all I need. But according to Thomas, this is the same man who pulled me from the Furrever Home event, which means he doesn’t like me. Whichalsomeans that he may know things I’d rather he not.
I swallow down my nervousness. “Do I need to prepare anything?”
She shakes her head. “It’s just a little debrief and next steps, so they know what to anticipate for their client’s upcoming schedule. Since we only have the charity gala left, it’s vital we speak to them about what comes after he’s done makingappearances. We can try doing meet-and-greets at different locations over the following two weeks after those events are over, but he’ll be busier than usual from now until the start of the season. It’ll be harder to schedule that on top of his other PR obligations. That’s why it’s imperative we speak to his agent.”
I noticed some of the photos he took with fans were going viral. His smile wasn’t forced in any of them. They were genuine. So was the way he spoke to the kids who raved about hockey. Not only about him playing, but also about others. I didn’t realize how passionate he was until seeing him interact with fans.
“So we’re almost done,” I theorize, wondering why I’m not more relieved to wipe my hands of him.
“With the hard part,” she replies, gathering papers and putting them to the side. “Now, it’s about consistency. I have a basic formula I use on all of our clients after they’re done making plans. You’ll hear more about it when—Oh! There he is. Come in, Ashton.”
I turn as a man enters the room in a suit that probably costs more than my rent. But I barely have time to appreciate the designer material before I see his face.
