AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I frown. “Yeah, well, I don’t do that kind of stuff.”
“Yeah, well, your stupid decision has changed your options.”
“No way.” I shake my head, already knowing their angle. This isn’t the first time they’ve tried to convince me to have a public image.
“I hate social media,” I continue. “It’s fine that the other guys have their profiles or whatever, but I like to keep my life private. If fans want to know about me, they can watch the games.”
“That’s not going to cut it.” Tucker grimaces. “I agree with Frankie on this one. It’s better for you to get it out personally through your own social media channels.”
“Why don’t you guys just do a press conference or something?” I ask.
Frankie huffs. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because fans need to think you sat down and wrote this statement.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Well, technically, you’ll be the one that’s typing it into a post.”
“Deceitful,” I shoot back at the PR rep. “I don’t like that.”
Her face reddens and she leans across the conference table, narrowing her eyes at me. “I don’t like the fact that you punched a fan. You knocked him out cold, Cam. You could have done some serious damage. You’re lucky he didn’t press charges. If you want to stay on the Atlanta Glaciers, you will follow our plan. The owner is pissed at you. Make it right.”
My jaw tenses. I fight the urge to argue. Hockey is my life. My team is my family. If that means I have to create a stupid Instagram post and apologize, then... “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Great.” Frankie sighs with relief. “I’ll bring her in.”
“What? Who?”
My eyes follow Frankie as she heads for the door. She opens it a few inches and waves before saying something to whoever’s on the other side.
I turn to Tucker. “What’s she talking about?”
He shrugs. “No idea. I came here with you, remember?”
“Right,” I mutter, tapping my Converse shoe under the table.
I glance at the clock. It’s a quarter past two. I should be hanging out with my friends and teammates or catching up with my dad.
I’d rather be doing just about anything other than sitting here in this meeting.
“Cameron.” Frankie turns back to me, a nice, pleasant smile suddenly plastered across her face. “This is Nila Christianson.”
Frankie steps to the side, revealing a bombshell redheaded woman.
My jaw falls to the floor and my mind starts spinning.
Is this going to be some kind of fake relationship for a PR stunt?
Or heck, maybe even a real one?
I can’t pull my eyes away from the woman. She looks to be about my age—twenty-four, maybe twenty-five. She’s got green eyes and creamy skin speckled with freckles. She’s dressed to kill in a tight white blouse and black pants with red heels the same shade as her painted lips. And man, those curves.
She raises a ginger eyebrow at me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Nila, your new social media specialist.”
I frown.
