“They hacked the screen,” Abbey repeated. She had every right to be concerned because the words Garrett Howell pays money to fuck men was the worst kind of statement to appear in an arena full of families. Not to mention it had been pasted over one of the photos from the naked body shoot.
The Jason-bodyguard guy stood in silence and watched the heated debate. In his navy suit, he had a look about him that screamed danger and arrogance, suggested that he could handle himself. Almost as if he could break the law at the drop of a hat.
“It’s for the best, Garrett,” Coach murmured. I couldn’t remember him ever calling me Garrett. It was usually Hooly or my jersey number, and the name sounded wrong coming from him.
Shaun and I were isolated against the others who appeared ready to want to lock me in a box and only bring me out for games.
“I don’t need a bodyguard,” I repeated and stared at Jason who didn’t move a muscle.
“I can’t imagine the consequences if something worse had appeared up there,” one of the marketing team on the edge of the meeting stated miserably, ending the prophetic statement with a shake of his head. That was enough to have everyone in the room grumbling their agreement, but everyone stopped the moment Abbey cleared her throat.
“Mr. Howell, why are you saying you don’t need a bodyguard?”
“Sorry, ma’am?”
“I thought I was quite clear, young man.”
Shaun nudged me. “She wants to know why you think—”
I shot my agent a glare that had him subsiding into silence as he mimed zipping his lips. I’d heard her, but I wasn’t sure why she was asking me.
“With respect, ma’am, just because the team is worried that someone could hack the screen at a big game…” I stopped talking when she tutted.
“What about protecting the team, should this stalker of yours take things further?”
“We don’t know it’s a stalker.”
Abbey stalked to the table and picked up a piece of paper, sliding on her glasses and reading it, before looking at me.
“The transcript of what appeared on the screen says you pay money to fuck men.” The curse word sounded wrong coming out of her mouth.
I cringed. “I don’t think—”
“Do you?”
“Sorry?
“Do you pay to have sex with men?”
Everyone stared at me, and I was mortified at having to answer any question regarding my non-existent sex life in front of team management. “No, ma’am,” I bit out.
She considered me for a moment and then chuckled, “I should imagine men would pay you to sleep with them.”
Silence, and a couple of people joined in with her soft laugh, only to stop when she sent them a glare.
“No, ma’am,” I defended, my head spinning as I tried to imagine where this was going.
“I was joking, Mr. Howell.” She tapped the paper in front of her. “Is there a reason you feel you don’t need protection?”
What did I say to that? I decided to be honest. “I can look after myself.”
“Hmmm. Is that because you’re a big strong male hockey player?” she asked.
Why did I feel as if this was a trick question? “No.” I caught Jason moving from his spot and taking a chair, looking to the world as if he wasn’t interested in the outcome either way.
“So, you’re not a big strong male hockey player?”
“Yes, no. I mean, I’m a man…” I stopped talking because abruptly, I knew I was fighting a losing battle.
“Are you implying that a female hockey player would jump at the need for protection from a stalker?”
“No, but yes, I’m sure that…” What was the point?
She nodded as if I’d just tacitly agreed with her plans, and was I really going to sit here and disagree with the woman who paid my salary?
“Because of your concerns, we will concede that the protection will be discreet. We’ve hired Deamax Security, and they are providing the very best they have to offer to shadow you while tasking a team to investigate the other issues such as hacking.” She placed the paper back onto the desk, then brushed at her skirt. “Gentlemen, ladies, we should leave Mr. Howell to discuss his situation, and there is an understanding that none of this leaves this room.” Everyone murmured their agreement, and then she slipped a hand through Shaun’s arm. “Please explain to me the…” I didn’t hear the rest as she gently guided my agent out of the room with the others.
I nearly fell out of my chair when Jason stalked toward me, but stopped myself before I came off as an idiot. I was aiming for casual, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t tense and ready to be slammed into a wall.
“Jason Dearing.” He extended his hand. “Deamax Security.”
I stood up and we shook, although what I actually wanted to do was turn my back to him and leave the goddamn room. “Garrett Howell.” I had the immediate impression that he scared a lot of people. Taller than me by a head, he was built solid like a defenseman, but walked with the purpose of a power forward. He had brown eyes, and I swear his cheekbones had to have been sculpted with a chisel.
“Garrett Howell, jersey number twenty-three, first-round draft pick, second-line center, this season twelve goals, seventeen assists, in thirty games played, eighteen minutes in the box, plus five on the plus/minus, restricted trade contract extended until 22/23 at approximately six million a year.”
I blinked at him. “Uhmmm. Yes. You like Dragons hockey then?”
“No,” he was blunt, “but I’ve done my research. The first thing you found was the bird, and the second was the flowers, then the words on the car, finally the hacking.”
“You know about the flowers?”
“We do.”
“How?”
“We have our methods.”
Fuck. Could this get any more men-in-black?
“What else has there been that we’ve missed?” he asked, then crossed his arms over his chest, even more intimidating than he’d been before. What would it take for him to crack a smile, and why did it suddenly seem vital that I know?
“Nothing,” I lied, because I wasn’t entirely sure about the other things that had seemed odd, and saying them out loud would make me sound like an idiot.
“You’re lying.”
I looked up at him, and for a brief second, I was going to confront this, but the way he was staring back at me, with a softness in his eyes that was at odds with his hard-man posturing, made me blurt it all out.
“I got a box with a bath bomb on my birthday, and it made my fingers itch.”
“Uh, huh,” he murmured, and I felt stupid. “And?”
“My music app keeps changing playlists, and someone has signed me up for three magazine subscriptions.”
I waited for him to laugh at me.
“What magazines?” he asked.
“Gun stuff, politics, nothing I would read. I mean, what the hell?”
“And the music part?”
“It’s stupid.”
He raised an eyebrow, and it drew my attention to his eyes. Not just his eyes specifically, but eyes in general were my kryptonite. I could stare for hours into another man’s eyes, and attempt to get a read on the person behind them. Of course, that could cause trouble, and maybe this was what I’d done to upset someone. I tended to get lost in daydreams, when I stared into the distance.