One of his thick eyebrows jumps up. My word, these eyes. I mentally shake myself.
“Oh?” he asks.
The waiter comes by with water and a Diet Coke for me. He asks Jordan if he’d like anything, but he sticks with water. I already know my food order, so I give it and then suggest something for Jordan, which he takes, and thankfully we’re left alone. I temper how antsy I am to hire Jordan and make this deal. That’s my impetuous side getting the better of me, and I need to keep a level head. I’m an experienced businesswoman, but I’m so eager for this new chapter, it’s like I’m forgetting all the important things I’ve learned over the years.
“Jordan Atkinson.” I lean my elbows on the table in front ofme and try to be relaxed. “I’ve done a little research and happen to know you were an intelligent, solid player. Eight years with Houston—a nice, long career in hockey, I’m told. And all with the same team because you were reliable and a guy a lot of players called a coach on the ice. You were an assistant captain your last four years, and you won your team’s Coach’s Award three times. You probably have a nice career in coaching ahead of you, if that’s what you want to do.”
Jordan has a slight smile on while I recite the résumé I had one of the firm’s detectives gather. “If I tell you that I was the veteran assigned to rookie camp for my last two years and one of the mentor players, will that up the amount you’re going to give me?” he asks smoothly, ticking up one corner of his lips.
Yes, I have noticed that they are nice, full lips, but I move past that quickly. “If I didn’t already know that, maybe,” I challenge on a tease. He makes slipping into the same laid-back manner he has easy, and I feel comfortable right away, like I did at the fundraiser. I check myself—that’s exactly why I have to be careful with him. It could make our working relationship great, as long as I can keep him from flirting with me.
I will also have to keep myself from flirting with him.
I reach into my purse and pull out an envelope, then set it on the middle of the table. Jordan’s gaze jumps to it immediately, but he keeps his hands in his lap.
“That,” I say, nodding at the envelope, “is a check for ten million dollars.”
Now both of his thick (and somehow sexy…) eyebrows jump up.
“And I’m going to hand it over to you,” I continue. “If you’ll do me a favor in return.”
He blinks at me. He’s probably tempted to say, “Anything,” but he’s also smart enough to wait for the terms.
“And what would that favor be?” he asks. His voice is so full of hope, and I know, whatever he says to me right now, he’s going home with that check. I knew that when he told me howmuch he needed to save his small town from total ruin. I knew when I looked it up and saw how it was suffering because of businesses closing and longtime residents losing their homes.
“I am buying a hockey team,” I say. “A minor-league one. Whatever you call it.” I take in a quick breath. There are specific leagues that pro hockey uses for development. They have names, and I know them. Why does Jordan have me so flustered? I’m the one that just put ten million dollars on the table. “I need a … partner, for lack of a better word. A consultant. Someone to help me make it the best.”
“Hockey?” he says, with the same surprised expression as my sisters’. The insinuation that I’m from a football dynasty is layered in his tone.
“A calculated business decision to make sure I have the people’s attention.”
He nods and then shrugs. “Done,” he says, his tone holding confusion, like this can’t be it.
Well, it’s not. I hold up a hand. “There’s more.”
He tilts his head in ago ongesture.
“It’s in Denver. You would have to move there,” I start.
He nods slowly, considering. He’s still going to take that ten million. Honestly, I knew it before I walked in here. No matter what I throw at him, he’ll sacrifice for that money.
You know what Jordan never mentioned when he told me the story? That he lost most of his retirement fund himself. And that money? It’s just gone. Jordan’s not trying to recoup that with the fundraisers. The foundation has shown that everything Jordan and his sister have raised has gone right back to Redhaven except for a pitifully small salary for his sister.
“And…?” he asks. Maybe he can sense in my tone that I saved the part that he might object to for last.
“I have also signed contracts for a reality TV show that would focus on my ownership of the team. You would have to appear … probably significantly. The network won’t want to hide someone like you away in the background.”
Jordan leans forward, mimicking my posture. He studies me for several long seconds before saying, “That’s it? That’s all I have to do and you’ll give the Redhaven Foundation ten million dollars?”
“You’d have a salary as my partner.” Jordan needs something to live off. “Since the ten million is for the foundation.”
He lets out a breath. “Okay. What’s the catch, Libby?”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “The catch? This. Moving to Denver, running a hockey team with me, the reality TV stuff.”
“It’s an easy call. It’s done. Send me contracts. Whatever.” He leans back in his seat, his turn to laugh. But it’s full of incredulity. Like he can’t believe any of this is real. He straightens. “But this is real? You’re serious? That check is for ten million?”
“I’m very serious.” I swallow. “Owning this hockey teamhasto be to be a success, and everything I’ve researched—” Small white lie, since it was mostly the firm’s private detective, Adam, who researched it. “—says you’re the guy for this. That you can help me make the White Wolves a premier development team.” Which will ensure that every eye is on me when I show who Libby Bennet really is.
