THE CALL I had been dreading came later in the afternoon. News of the viral video of Taber and me had reached the Devil’s corporate office, and I had been called in for yet another meeting.
This time, not only is Bruce Bayne, the owner, here but the general manager, Frank Taylor, is present too. All the big guns are here for this one, which means this is bad fucking news for me.
Bruce leans back in his high-back leather chair and steeples his fingers. “Now that we’ve lost any hopes of keeping the Taber incident and video quiet because it’s gone viral, we won’t be able to sweep this under the run like we’d hoped. The league directors are pissed and want to see you punished since they allowed you to skate by after the woman in the hotel situation.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” I interject. “Annabell Rogers is fucking crazy. You saw some of the shit she wrote and sent to me.”
Bruce holds up a hand, effectively cutting me off. “Be that as it may, according to the authorities, the case is still under investigation, so until it’s closed, you’re not in the clear. We need to enact some swift damage control for your image and the Devil’s brand.”
Staring at the man, I fight back the urge to roll my eyes. Here again, people believe I’m some sort of monster—a man out of control when I’ve done nothing wrong. People are unpredictable, and it’s so fucking wrong that I’m being held responsible for their actions. Actions that have royally fucked my life up.
“What do you propose we do?” Frank asks. “Do we need to get legal involved?”
Bruce shakes his head. “I’ve already informed our lawyers of everything and have them digging into a defense for non-suspension of Zayn, but I think we’re going to go one step further. The public has now deemed Zayn a loose cannon, so we need to do damage control.” Bruce spins around and grabs a family photo he has sitting on a shelf behind his desk. “My granddaughter gave me an idea on how to improve Zayn’s situation.” Bruce sets the photo on his desk in front of me. “She’s met you. Only she doesn’t look like this anymore.”
The little red-headed girl in the photo can’t be over fourteen or fifteen because metal braces cover her smile. I study her but can’t place her anywhere. “Sorry. I don’t think I know her.”
Bruce taps the glass. “Her name is Gia Bayne, but she goes by the name Gia Whitt for her acting profession.”
My eyes widen. “You’re Gia Whitt’s grandfather?”
Bruce’s lips twist in a satisfactory grin. “So you do know her?”
I nod. “I met her the other night. My—” I have to bite my tongue from referring to Vivi as my girlfriend to these men. The last thing I need is more damn trouble with them, and confessing I’ve lied to them about my relationship with Vivi will only get my ass into even hotter water. The only thing I can do now is to carry on with the façade. “My niece, the one from the video of the fight, worked with Gia.”
“I’m confused,” Frank chimes in. “How is your granddaughter pertinent to the situation at hand, Bruce?”
“I’m getting to that,” Bruce says as he levels his stare on me. “I want you to date Gia.”
“What?!” both Frank and I ask in unison.
My brow furrows. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t see how dating your granddaughter will help my situation right now.”
“We need to make people trust in you again. People pay money to see their heroes, not men who they perceive as abusive predators. Dating an up-and-coming sweetheart of reality television will boost your likability.”
I hold back a harsh laugh. Gia Whitt a sweetheart? Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit. This man doesn’t know his granddaughter at all. Gia Whitt is a spoiled brat.
“I don’t see how that would work,” I say.
Bruce levels his dark eyes on me from under his bushy, white eyebrows. “It will work because Gia will sing your praises and post all over social media what a wonderful man you are. The public will eat it up and make them more sympathetic with your side of the stories regarding both the stalker nonsense and the Taber fight. Trust me. It will work.”
I scrub my hand down my face and try to figure out a way to tell the man who owns the Florida Devils his idea is total shit. Gia Whitt will not help me out of the kindness of her heart. “What’s in this for Gia?”
Bruce shrugs. “According to Gia, it will make her more desirable and in demand with casting agents for upcoming roles. All you have to do is take her out on a few dates. Let the paparazzi get a few photos of the two of you together, and the press, along with Gia, will do the rest. Of course, it wouldn’t hurt if you’d look at getting a public relations firm in your corner to help guide things to benefit you.”
“This is crazy, Bruce, but it just might be crazy enough to work,” Frank pipes in. “Zayn’s public image has gone down the shitter as of late, and we need to fix that because if we ever want to trade him, we want to make sure he’s valuable.”
My brow furrows, and I don’t like how they’re talking about me like I’m some prized stud they own. But in a weird, fucked-up way, signing a contract with the Devils means they sort of own my ass.
I released an exasperated sigh through my nose as I study the two men in their pressed suits. “Do I even get a say if I want to take part in this little scheme?”
“Why would you say no?” Frank asks with a furrowed brow. “This will do nothing but benefit you.”
“Not only that, but if you want my help in schmoozing things over with the league again and try to lessen the number of games, if any, they want to suspend you for, then you’ll do this for my granddaughter,” Bruce tells me. “Getting what we want out of life sometimes requires great sacrifice, Zayn. But in this case, I don’t believe going out with a pretty girl is that much of a hardship.”
My shoulders sag because once again, I’m fucking backed into a corner by these two men. It’s either do as they ask or fuck up my career. What other choice do I have but to agree with this crazy plan?
Still, I fucking hate this idea, and I can only imagine what Vivi will think about it once I tell her I have to go on some fake dates with her enemy. Hopefully, she understands I don’t have a choice in the matter.
