As I type out the date and time, ready to begin taking notes, Colton rests his elbows on the table and clicks his tongue.
“We secured the Rogues contract.”
My head whips up, my eyes bulging out of their sockets. “But I thought you weren’t expecting to hear if we’d been hired for another couple of weeks.”
Colton looks delighted. “I actually have you to thank for that.”
Interest piqued, I sit up straighter in my chair. “How so?”
“Will Jones.”
I stop typing and eye my boss over the rim of my screen. Will signing with the Seattle Rogues this season isn’t exactly fresh news, although I remain clueless as to why that has anything to do with me.
For the past four years, Will and I have kept in light touch, only seeing each other at family events and the holidays. That said, I haven’t been totally oblivious to his time spent in college or while playing in the NCAA.
It’s hard to miss anything that boy does with his daily movements constantly shared on social media.
I internally roll my eyes at the memory of his posts from last week, when he arrived in Seattle and immediately bought a McLaren Artura Coupe in racing green with gold detailing, captioning the post:Touchdown in Seattle. Time to go Rogue.
From the first memories I have of Will to when I last saw him at Christmas, he’s always been the same—incredibly self-assured, to the point where he’s arrogant and impulsive, especially with money; committed to hockey, but not much else, especially women. He’s the ultimate alpha playboy with a bank balance and athletic skill set to match.
Really not my type of man.
Yet, beneath all that bravado, there’s a person the world has yet to see. A kind heart that occasionally reveals itself in the gold flecks of the deepest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
“What about him?” I ask, playing a little dumb.
Colton knows about my association with the star rookie forward and especially the history between our parents.
He hesitates for a beat when we lock eyes. “The Seattle Rogues have expressed some … concerns over his online conduct and public image.”
He scratches at the back of his neck. My boss is a huge Rogues fan, so I know he’s all too aware of the reputation Will carries.
“Ordinarily, the Rogues keep their PR in-house, especially for rookies, but when we pitched to them a couple of weeks ago and they started talking about Will being a potential client”—he winces a little—“I kind of dropped your name, and with your dad being the head coach, I explained that we would be well suited to offer Will the support he needed as he made the transition from collegiate hockey to the pros. Since he won’t be spending a year playing in the AHL, he’ll need all the help he can get to successfully navigate the huge jump.”
Other than the date, time, and a couple of lines, I’ve barely made any notes since I sat down a few minutes ago.
My fingers pause over the keyboard. “You want me to assist you with representing Will Jones?”
When Colton shakes his head, I feel a stab of disappointment. Sure, even in the infancy of his pro career, Will is already a bigger name than any of my existing clients, but I have a head start over anyone else working at First Line. Even my boss. The new Rogues forward is a complex character, and I have him all figured out.
Colton points at me, eyes sparkling with something like excitement. “I want you to take the lead with Will and represent him. The Rogues think it’s a great idea, and I agree with them.”
Although I aim to sound more casual when I ask, “Are you serious?!” I actually come off as an overenthusiastic puppy who’s just been shown a bowl of their favorite food.
My boss chuckles low, nodding his head a few times. “Yes, for real. Naturally, we’ll have weekly check-ins so you can ask any questions and we can talk about the progression of Will’s public profile, but I think you’re ready to expand your client list and take on something—or someone—a little more challenging.”
I shut my laptop, brain spinning out and rendering me incapable of making notes.
“Does Will know anything about this?”
Colton’s eyes flick up to the clock positioned on the wall above my head. “He will in around an hour. The general manager will call him in for a conversation ahead of the preseason getting under way.”
“And my dad?”
Despite moving out of my parents’ home in Kirkland six months ago, I still speak to them almost daily, and Dad hasn’t breathed a word about Will or the contract being awarded to First Line.
He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not sure how much Coach Callaghan knew about First Line’s interest in representing his players.”
