I snuggle in closer to Hunter, to whom I just confessed things I’ve only ever talked about to Dad and Soledad. It feels safe talking to him, telling him my secrets. My heart is doing weird things in my chest, flipping and expanding and contracting, making me breathless. What is this feeling?
It feels like love.
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with Hunter. I’m about to negotiate a contract for him that will send him across the country or possibly to Canada. I have to get him that contract, for my career and for him. I know how important it is to him.
I don’t know how he feels about me. I think he feels something…but is it love? Is it happily ever after, forever kind of love? Is that what I really feel?
Falling in love with a client probably isn’t going to do my reputation good. It basically proves everything Tarek said about me. Oh God.
And yet…this feeling…it makes me feel hopeful…and safe…and strong.
I don’t know what to do!
“Want to order in food?” Hunter murmurs.
I’m thinking about how much I love him, and he’s thinking about dinner. Okay.
I inhale a slow breath.
That’s good. That helps me. Dinner. “Sure,” I mumble. “Sounds good.”
He passes a gentle hand over my hair. “What would you like?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“How about Indian?”
“Mmm. Butter chicken.”
He eases away from me and I lift my head, pretending everything’s okay.
“There’s a little place a couple of blocks from here. They deliver.”
“Great. I’m going to use your bathroom.”
While he calls in the order, I shut myself in the bathroom and try to get control of my wildly messy emotions. I run cold water and wet my hands, then press them to my cheeks, staring at myself in the mirror.
“I love Hunter,” I whisper to my mirror image.
It doesn’t feel wrong to say that. The truth is, I’ve probably loved him forever.
Oh God, that makes it even worse!
Next week is the week. After the draft, we can officially talk to other teams. I’m confident that Hunter will have offers. Which means he’ll be leaving. The ache in my chest nearly takes my knees out, but it’s what I have to do. And I have to be strong doing it. For Hunter.
19
Kate
Monday morning the offers start coming.
I’m up early and ready. I’m dressed in an Alexander McQueen pants suit, ivory, with narrow cropped pants and a fitted jacket. I have a gold statement necklace at my throat and I’m wearing a bold red lip.
Claude Faucher from Toronto is still in New York, so I hop in a cab to go to his midtown hotel. We meet in the empty bar, sitting at a round table.
“This is what we’re offering,” Claude says. “It’s non-negotiable.”
I keep my poker face firmly in place. “Non-negotiable?”
“Yes. We’re five hundred grand a year apart. You have to take this offer.”
“I don’t have to take this offer.” I smile. “What about my client and his input? Isn’t that important?”
“No.”
I sit there stunned.
“We’re the ones paying the money,” he continues. “So we determine what’s fair.”
Calmly, I pick up my bag and stand.
“Where are you going?”
“You’re saying my client’s not important in this process and you’re not going to listen to us. You’re saying you’ll determine what’s fair. Since we can’t accept your offer, I’m leaving.”
In a miracle of perfect timing, my phone buzzes. It’s in my hand and I hold it up to look at it. It’s Théo Wynn from Santa Monica. I smile at my phone, then say to Claude, “Have a good day, Mr. Faucher.”
Walking out is hard, but he’s full of shit.
Now, I don’t know why Théo is calling, but I’m optimistic.
I take the call as I walk into the lobby of the hotel. “Kate Bridges speaking.”
Indeed, he wants to get together. At another hotel. We agree to meet in an hour. I could be there in five minutes walking from here, but an hour’s fine.
Santa Monica offers the same money as Toronto but a shorter term. I know Hunter wanted a longer term. He’s tired of the one year deals he’s been getting. I tell Théo that money won’t be enough for that kind of term. They eventually increase the offer to what I want. Yay! Except for the term.
“We feel we’re taking a bit of a risk on Morrissette,” Théo says. “He was slow to break into the league and slow to prove he’s an NHL level player. The term is a trade-off for the money.”
Trade-offs. Yes. There are trade-offs and Hunter will have to decide if he’s willing to trade off the length of the deal for the money.
They want to meet with Hunter, so I know they’re serious. I leave the hotel and head to a diner a block away. When I’m seated alone in a booth, I order coffee and a club sandwich, then pull out my phone.
It buzzes with another incoming call.
Brad Julian from the Bears.
My heart bumps. I’m excited but…shit. They’re going to make this difficult for me. I answer the call.
Brad wants to meet. I hesitate.
Should I take the meeting? Hunter’s made it clear he’s not going to sign with them. I don’t want to waste their time, or mine for that matter. But I feel I need to hear them out. And I can’t hesitate too long. So we arrange a time.
I set down my phone on the table. Fuck. My stomach tightens.
The waitress brings my coffee and I curl my hands around the warm mug and lift it to my lips. I can meet with them. I don’t ever have to tell Hunter about it.
That’s completely unethical. I can’t do that.
I’ve got two offers on the table. I can use this to sweeten whatever deal the others are offering.
Or maybe the Bears are offering such a crappy deal it won’t be an issue.
My mind is racing, turning over options and possibilities. Should I call Hunter now? Or after I meet with them? Maybe I should meet with him later and lay out everything and see what he thinks. Yeah. That’s what I’ll do.
My stomach is in knots, but I make myself eat half the sandwich, then use the ladies’ room to freshen up for my meeting.
I’m only a few blocks away from Brad’s office at the Apex Center so I walk there.
It feels like I was just here a day ago, but it also feels like so much has happened since then.
I’m surprised that the owners of the Bears join us in the meeting, along with Brad and the assistant GM, Dale Townsend. I shake hands all around, keeping my smile pleasant but reserved. I hope my hands aren’t sweaty.
I’ve got this. I know my stuff. Hunter’s a desirable player.
“Has there been other interest in Morrissette?” Brad asks.
“Well, I’ll be honest with you. Yes, we have offers.”
He nods. “We expected that.” When he presents their offer, it’s a struggle to keep my features composed and businesslike. I listen, ask a few questions, and nod.
“This isn’t far off what we’re looking for,” I tell them. “Hunter’s interested in a longer-term deal, and I think he’d find this attractive. The money, on the other hand…”