Page 17 of Rookie Move
“Yeah, they do. Thanks, man. I’ll sleep on it. Sounds like an easy decision, though.”
“Take your time deciding,” Silas said, stripping out of his garters and socks. “I wasn’t gonna put it up on Craigslist until after our next road trip. If I’m not around to show it, there’s no point in advertising.”
“Cool. I’ll let you know.” Leo dropped the last of hisclothes and headed for the showers. The Bruisers had a gorgeous practice facility. He’d played in some pretty nice places, but this one was downright luxurious—generous rooms, good lighting, and a sleek design. The shower stall that Leo entered was done up in white marble tiles, and the dispenser on the wall held several different bath products with expensive-looking labels. The shampoo he chose purportedly contained “sea palm extract” as an ingredient. “For rich, shiny hair.”
Good to know.
While he showered, he decided to take Silas up on his offer. He didn’t really have time to shop for an apartment. If his contract held, money wouldn’t be tight. He didn’t need a roommate. But the coach could still send him down to the minors at his whim, where Leo would be one of the best paid guys who still wasn’t playing for an NHL team. That would suck, but at least if he’d been renting from Silas, he wouldn’t be leaving another signed lease behind.
And, hey, if things suddenly started looked up, Leo could get his own place in a few months if he felt like it.
As for the room’s curse—or jinx, or fate—Leo wasn’t going to worry about that. If he got sent down somewhere again, it wouldn’t be a bedroom’s fault. It would be either Karl’s or his own. To believe otherwise was ridiculous.
He got dressed slowly, wondering where he could find a late lunch in this neighborhood. He’d need to fuel up if he was going to run his engine at a hundred percent, day in and day out.
Tonight he’d stay in the hotel, and tomorrow he’d be lifting weights by eight. Whatever it took, he’d do it.
FIVE
What a difference a day made.
Georgia sat hunched over her desk in jeans and a hoodie, wondering if she should update her resume. Spread out on the desk was the call log from yesterday’s fiasco. Fully half of all the callers had asked about Leo Trevi’s hot mic incident.
And today? There had been two dozenmoreinquiries. She jotted down every single one on her pad. The requests to interview Leo had come pouring in, and not always from the most reputable news sites. When she’d followed up with the Hockey Hotties request, she’d learned that they wanted him to pose nude for a charity calendar.
They did not, however, ask for an interview with the team’s new coach.
Alone in her office, Georgia grumbled to herself as the phone began to ring again. It was Saturday, and technically the press office was closed, so she didn’t have to answer. She let the call go to voice mail. A minute later the message light lit, so she picked up the receiver to hear what the caller wanted.
“Hello, this is Randy Fenning, a fact-checker for Page Six. I need to confirm that the Georgia Worthington who appears in the Huntington Northern High School yearbookalongside Leo Trevi is the same person as the publicity director for the Brooklyn Bruisers. Please return this call at 212...”
She groaned so loudly that the sound echoed off the lonely walls of her office. It would be bad enough to see her name pop up on blogs with nothing better to do than to speculate about a high school relationship. But herpicture? This would be a total disaster. And it wasn’t just the embarrassment factor—a publicist could not be effective when she’dbecomepart of the very story that she was supposed to manage.
If they hired a new publicity director by nineAMon Monday, she wouldn’t even be surprised.
And thatpicture. Ugh. Georgia really didn’t want to see her eighteen-year-old smiling face on a newspaper’s website. She didn’t have the yearbook on hand, but she guessed the picture the reporter referred to was the one with Leo’s arm encircling her shoulders as they sat on the bleachers before a pep rally. Georgia remembered that picture well. It captured two heads tilted together like a couple of lovesick fools, their smiles wide. Youthful enthusiasm practically rose up off the page. It was a portrait of a happy, easygoing moment before she’d known what real life was like.
That picture was taken just a few months before her attack in Florida.
Georgia did not want to see it plastered everywhere. She didn’t want to see it at all. And as ornery as she was about Leo’s hot mic error, she’d bet cash money that Leo didn’t want to see that picture, either. He didn’t need the distraction, and if he had a girlfriend, that bit of public speculation was going to make things awkward at home.
At least he’d learn a valuable lesson about mics and press conferences.
After draining her coffee, she finished responding to every last e-mail. To be fair, many of the questions and interview requests were for her father and the team’s general manager. At least the announcement of the new headcoach was gettingsomeof the attention. She made a few notes to ask her father to return the most pressing calls toSports IllustratedandESPN.
Now what to do about all the requests for Leo? It was easy to grant access for something like a photo shoot. But interviews were trickier if she wanted to downplay the incident at the press conference. Interest in a playeroughtto be a good thing. Georgia’s job was to channel public interest in the team and its players. A publicist was there to amplify the team’s brand and message. But the fact that Leo had seemed tothreatenthe team captain made this a delicate situation. She would need to ask O’Doul to sit down with a few journos, too. Maybe he could give an upbeat interview about how great the rookies were fitting in...
Someone tapped on the office door, startling her. “Come in!”
The door swung open to reveal none other than the big man himself, Nate Kattenberger. “Afternoon,” he said while Georgia’s stomach dropped. “You’re holed up at your desk on a Saturday?”
She cleared her throat. “Lots of media inquiries. TheTimeswants to talk to you and Hugh about your choice for coach.”Also? A dozen professional gossips want to upstage your multimillion dollar decision with a story about my high school boyfriend.
He shrugged. “Okay. You can set something up. Shouldn’t you be down at open practice?”
Why yes, I should. But Georgia had been avoiding the rink today, even though open practice was a good time to reach out to loyal ticketholders. She usually liked to stop in and make sure the staff was handing out the game schedules she’d had printed.
“Of course, I’m heading there now,” she lied, getting to her feet and grabbing her clipboard. She wasn’t about to look like a slouch in front of Nate. And while she was down at the rink, she’d remind the players about the benefit dinner they’d be attending in a week’s time.
