Before my meeting, I call Kevin and arrange to meet again later to put together a statement for the media.
When Kevin slides into the booth across from me in the coffee shop, I have my lecture prepared. Just call me “mom.” Ha.
“Okay,” I begin. “First of all, tell me why what you did was wrong.”
He chews on his bottom lip. “Um. It was…wrong.”
“It was assault.”
“It wasn’t that bad. I didn’t hurt her. And nobody’s gonna know about this.”
My eyes widen. “That doesn’t matter! The woman knows about it!”
He grimaces. His naïveté about this is concerning.
“It was that bad,” I continue. “You did hurt that woman—she didn’t want to be groped. You need to own what you did and apologize. Sincerely.”
He nods.
“This could be an important moment, if we handle it right. But…it’s not only about PR.” I lean forward. “I want to make sure you understand what happened.”
“Of course I understand.”
I’m not convinced. “It’s not okay to touch women without their consent. Ever. The ‘boys will be boys’ thing is a myth. You’re not a boy. You’re a man. What you did wasn’t blatant assault, but it crossed an acceptable boundary.”
“I wasn’t thinking at all,” he mutters, looking down at his hands. “I was hammered.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.”
“You were flirting. Even if she was friendly to you, that’s not an invitation.”
He nods.
“Look, Kevin.” I lean forward. “I know you’re a good guy. But I want to make sure you’re aware of your male privilege, so this never happens again. As a professional athlete, you’re held to a higher standard. We all know the guys in the league who’ve gotten in trouble for worse than this, right?”
“Yeah.” His mouth sets.
“I don’t want that to be you. Okay?”
He meets my eyes and I see the genuine remorse there. “Yeah.”
I expect my clients to have high professional standards, as I do for myself. It’s tempting to make this just go away; it’s my nature to look after things. But then Kevin won’t learn anything. “Okay. So. We’re going to apologize. You express remorse for what you did. You take responsibility and acknowledge how it was hurtful to the waitress.”
“I can’t just say I was drunk, huh?”
“No.” I swallow a sigh. “That’s not an excuse. Is there any way you can make amends?”
His head jerks back. “What? I don’t know.”
“You could send her a hand-written card apologizing. And we can say you were wrong, and you hope she can forgive you. You can vow to respect women and physical boundaries in the future.”
“Yeah.” He nods.
After that, I head home and write up the statement which I get Kevin to review, then I send it out. Hopefully this blows over but if it doesn’t, Kevin will learn some even harder lessons.
In the agency I first worked at, I heard about one agent who peed into a bottle and gave it to his client for a urine test so it would be drug free. I’m not that kind of agent. If that’s what I have to do to attract clients, I’ll…well, it just can’t be. I may be slow in growing my client list, but I’m not going to resort to things like that to do it.
I’m sitting in my home office a few days later when my cell phone rings. I don’t recognize the number. “Kate Bridges.”
There’s a brief silence, and I open my mouth to repeat myself, but a low, husky male voice says, “Kate.”
“Yes.” I roll my eyes with impatience.
“Hi.” Another pause. Then, “It’s Hunter.”
A tingle starts at my chest and spreads all over my skin…up into my face, down to fingers and toes.
Hunter.
I blink several times rapidly, and my heart knocks against my breastbone.
“Hunter?” I croak.
“Hunter Morrissette.”
I only know one Hunter. He didn’t need to tell me his last name. Images swirl through my mind, images of Hunter…deep-set hazel eyes, brown hair with coppery glints, square jaw…his lean, muscled body and thick thighs…his big smile as he laughed with me. When I first met him, that smile had been non-existent, but gradually it had become more frequent and he’d become more at ease. More fun. Then images from those days in Cancun after the Frozen Four championship our last year in college flood into my head…sun, surf, lots of tequila…also lots of bare skin and horny hormones.
I give my head a sharp shake. “Wow. Hunter. What a surprise.”
We haven’t talked in nearly four years.
“I know.” I picture him shoving his hand into the thick curls that used to aggravate him. “Uh, how have you been?”
My eyebrows lift. “I’ve been great, thanks. And you?”
“Eh. Doing okay. I guess you heard we’re out of the playoffs.”
“I did hear that, yes.” My tone is dry. I didn’t “hear it”; it’s my job to know what’s going on in the NHL. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. It was disappointing.” He pauses. “Did you also hear about Vern?”
I frown. “Vern?” Then it clicks. “Vern Tayhan?” Hunter’s agent. “Oh my God, yes. How is he doing?”
“He’s doing okay. He had to have major surgery. There were some complications…it’s been a rough ride for him.”
I hear the strain in his voice.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too. It sucks.”
Why is he calling to tell me this? Ohhhh…I jerk back, my eyes wide.
“I need a new agent,” Hunter says, confirming my hunch. “I’m a UFA at the end of June.”
I nod. I haven’t talked to Hunter for years, but I’ve followed his career.
It’s my job.
He’s followed mine, too. At least, superficially. He apparently knows I’m working as an agent now.
“Yeah,” I say slowly.
My mind is racing, and it should be thinking of numbers—Hunter’s stats, dollars, cap space, and my potential commission. But instead I’m thinking about Cancun and Hunter’s mouth and soft laughter beneath moonlight and rustling palm trees…
Oh God. Heat washes down through me and I wave a hand in front of my burning face.
“I held off for as long as I could,” Hunter continues. “We kept hoping he’d make a quick recovery and be back to work but looks like he’s not going to be able to work for a long time. I’m hoping you can take me on as a client.”
Me?
I might as well be on the floor comatose for how well I’m dealing with this unexpected call. One thing I’ve learned in this business, though, is not to show any weakness or lack of confidence, no matter what I’m feeling inside. On the outside, I am as cool as the ice my clients skate on. Usually, I am confident. Right now, I’m a shamble of uncertainty, self-doubt, and, frankly, disbelief. My hockey-ice cool is melting rapidly.