“You have my players stripping––”
“I have your players showing they’re funny and sexy and entertaining and down for a good time. That?”—I motion to the now-empty ice—“was gold. And when it’s paired with the right music, it’s gonna show how fun and entertaining the players are. Women want fun and entertaining.”
“We aren’t advertising to women—”
My laugh cuts him off. “Ya know, for a guy who’s supposedly good at business, you’re missing a huge demographic if you honestly don’t think we’re advertising to women as well as men. What happens when a married guy comes home and says he wants to buy tickets to a Lions game? Huh? The wife usually says, Okay, have fun. But with videos like the ones I want to create flooding their social media, it’ll be a different story. Because when that woman registers what team her husband’s talking about, she’ll remember the video her friend sent her. The one where a bunch of attractive hockey players danced to Taylor Swift or did something else stupid but hilarious at the same time. And guess what the wife will say to her husband once she realizes he wants to go to a Lions game, Buchanan?” I step closer and jab my forefinger against his chest. “She’ll say, Oh, the Lions? I’ve heard of them. It sounds like a fun date night. Can I come too? Bam. Two tickets instead of one.”
His eyes fall to my finger outstretched between us. I pull it into a fist but don’t step away.
His gaze flicks to mine. “I don’t want my players stripping for you, Brat.”
“Why?” I demand, caught between exasperation, anticipation, and my freaking libido, who’s decided this would be the perfect time to mess with me.
“I hired you to work and to sell tickets,” he seethes. “Not to hook up with my players.”
“So that’s what this is about?” I let out a dry laugh and shake my head. “You don’t want them stripping for me because you think I’ll like it?”
The guy looks like he’s about to blow a gasket but doesn’t confirm my suspicion, so I continue. “Don’t get me wrong. Beck’s body is fine as shit, but I dated a hockey player once. I will not be doing it again.” My expression sours at the thought, along with my libido. “And they aren’t stripping for me. They’re flirting with the camera, which is exactly what they should be doing. I’m not gonna make the Lions look like a bunch of sex fiends. I’m gonna make them look entertaining. And fun. Two things of which you clearly have no understanding.”
“You think I’m not entertaining or fun?”
“Says the guy in the stuffy suit?” I run my gaze along his sexy outfit. The jacket fits him like a damn glove and hugs his biceps, all while giving me the perfect view of his long, thick throat. Refusing to let him see how much it affects me, I force a scoff and meet his gaze again. “Yeah, no. But I think the real problem here is whether or not you trust me. You hired me to build a brand and to help sell tickets. That’s what I’m trying to do. So tell me, Professor. Do you trust me?”
“Not your professor anymore,” he murmurs. His eyes fall to my mouth for the barest of seconds, but I swear I can feel them. Like a caress or some shit, and it leaves me off balance. Unfocused. And a little more turned on than I’d like to be, considering the circumstances.
I drag my tongue along my bottom lip and suck it into my mouth, hoping the sharp bite of pain will help me focus on our actual conversation instead of what Buchanan tastes like.
I seriously need to get laid.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Do you trust me, Henry?”
I’ve never called him by his first name before. It’s always felt too intimate. Too personal. And right now? When our chests are practically smashed together, and his cologne tickles my nostrils, I realize exactly how bad of an idea it really was. To say his name. To feel it roll off my tongue.
Whoa, girl. Breathe.
My cheeks feel hot as a low vibration travels up his throat, and he cocks his head. “You will show me the videos before you post them,” he demands.
Videos. Work. Right.
I tuck my hair behind my ear and tilt my chin up at him. “I’m going to be posting videos three to four times a day.”
“Then you will send me three to four videos a day.”
“Are you serious? Even Jeffry isn’t making me send any to him for approval.”
“I don’t give a fuck what Jeffry is or isn’t making you do,” he tells me. “You will show me every video before you post them.”
“Fine,” I snap.
His mouth lifts but quickly disappears into his usual look of calculated indifference. “Fine.”
10
HENRY
They are good. The videos. Tasteful. Entertaining. Fun.
I’m still not entirely sure why I was triggered in the first place, and I refuse to analyze my reasoning. Besides, all I care about are sales and traction. As long as Mia is delivering on both, I’m happy.
My phone buzzes with another incoming text. I watch the video of the entire team lip-syncing a song I’ve never heard and send Mia a single word in response.
Me
Approved.
Mia
Thanks, Boss.
My eyes threaten to roll, but I keep them in check and set my phone back on my desk as Erika continues running me through our itinerary for the upcoming week.
“Everything looks really great,” she notes. “There was a little hiccup with the hotel for our first away series, but I think I ironed everything out, and we should be good to go on all fronts.”
“Sales?” I question.
“Excellent.” She looks down at her iPad, scanning the numbers our accounting department sent earlier today. “Season pass tickets are selling forty percent better than we’d initially anticipated, and our online merchandise store is doing really well.” Her eyes widen as she takes a closer look at specifics. “Like, incredibly well.”
“Good.”
“Yeah, I’m not gonna lie. Jeffry was a little concerned when you said you’d handle finding someone to take over social media, but Mia’s killing it.”
“Good,” I repeat, surprised by the jump in my pulse at the mention of Mia. The woman is good at getting on my nerves. Very good.
“Seriously. Excellent choice,” Erika compliments. “Where did you meet her? I looked for her resume, but it wasn’t in Mia’s file.”
“She was one of my students at LAU,” I reply.
Erika clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and nods. “Ah, I see. Well, the players love her, and so does Coach Dawson, so no issues there with travel and everything. Although, I did have a couple players ask if we have a no fraternization policy.” She looks up from her iPad and waits expectantly.
My eye spasms, but I shove the unwarranted frustration aside. “No policy.”
“All right.” She scribbles something on her iPad. “I’ll let everyone know.”
“Everyone?” My composure slips, but I force it back into place. “Who asked?”