Breaking the Ice (Timberwolves #1)

by Lizzy Ripp

  Privately, Julia didn't actually enjoy Scotch, but she figured in this case she'd be damned if she turned it down.

  "Of course", Clive said vaguely, waving his secretary into the room. "Anna, four Lagavulins please. On the rocks?" He said, looking around for any objections and finding none.

  "Now Yaro," he went on, Scotches distributed. "You know as well as I do that this publicity business is bad for the game. We don't mind a tough guy," he said, holding up a hand. "But when it goes too far, well...", he shrugged his shoulders. "The public is fickle. You have to hit the sweet spot. Be aggressive, but not a bully. Be an enforcer, yes, of course. But you have to maintain some likeability in this town or things get difficult. Do you understand?"

  Yaro stared at him, unimpressed. "I suppose," he said, the vague traces of his Russian accent still just barely evident in his speech. Unsurprising, Julia thought. He'd been away from his own country since he was fourteen years old.

  "Now, I know you're familiar with the usual goodwill media tour," Christina began. "Because you've done it before. But we have something a little different in mind for you this time and I'll..." Christina's authoritative voice faltered slightly under Yaro's steely gaze. "I'll just let Julia explain the details of it for you. You remember Julia Delroy, don't you?"

  Yaro didn't say anything, gazing frankly at Julia and seeming to find little to be excited about. He turned back to face Clive, saying nothing. Julia rolled her eyes at Christina.

  "Yes, well," Clive went on, "Julia why don't you run us through what you've got planned?"

  "Oh, you know," Julia said brightly, "Your standard positive photo-op media blitz. We'll be going to the Children's Hospital to meet some fans, travelling to the Beyond the Ice benefit to announce them as our new focus charity, and visiting low-income hockey fans to give away free tickets, allegedly out of Mr. Sharapova's own pocket."

  Yaro didn't say a word, nor did he look at Julia. He just sat stone-faced, staring straight ahead.

  "And of course, all of this will be with Cassie West in tow," Julia added, as if in an afterthought, and this, finally, got Yaro's attention.

  "Who?" He asked, swiveling to face her, one eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

  "Cassie West," Christina said. "She's a local actress. Have you seen that show Wild Rovers on Netflix? You know the time-travel, kind-of-romance one about the old west? She'd the main character. Blonde, gorgeous, your basic bombshell."

  Yaro looked confused, turning his gaze from Christina to Clive and back again, before finally landing on Julia. "I don’t watch the show," he said at last, slowly. "But what does she have to do with me?"

  "Well," Christina began. "Here's the thing Yaro. Your image is in the shitter right now and frankly, it's dragging us all down. The team, I mean."

  His look of confusion intensified, accompanied now by a touch of that infamous anger. Julia wondered briefly if that irritated scowl was his default expression. Did he pop out in bed with it on?

  "You've gotten into three public altercations in the last two months," Christina went on. "Plus you wound up in the drunk tank and had a couple of fans leave the details of some less-than-stellar encounters with you on our Facebook page."

  Yaro opened his mouth to protest and this time, it was Julia's turn to hold up her hand. She didn't want it to appear to Clive as though Christina was steering this ship.

  "I'm sure you have your own side of the story," she began. "There are always two. But frankly, your side doesn't matter. It's the fans who matter. They're the ones who keep us in business, and they're the ones we need to foster a sense of goodwill with. Cassie West has been playing local fans and media like a fiddle. She's a local sweetheart, and Wild Rovers has just been renewed for another two seasons, so she'll be here for a long-ish haul. She's the perfect thing to improve your image, and she's keen to have an association with our brand too," Julia smiled, wryly. "Like I said. Playing us like a fiddle."

  "You want me to have sex with an actress to improve my image?" Yaro asked, his brow furrowed. "Not that I'm complaining, just confused."

  "No," Julia said firmly. "No sex. Cassie's people have sent us through a contract and that's... well, pretty much the first stipulation. No offence," she added. Yaro shrugged.

  "It will appear to be a relationship for the period of two weeks to start, to be extended to all of the events stipulated if it’s found to be a mutually beneficial agreement and should both parties agree," she went on. "But that's entirely up to you," she added, turning to Yaro. "And Cassie. Wherever she is."

  As if summoned, an anxious rapping began at once on the other side of the door and it swung open a moment later to reveal Clive's secretary Anna with a girl who looked to be a goddess come to life.

  Yaro frowned, and Christina and Julia exchanged glances.

  It really isn't fair, Julia thought upon first laying eyes on Cassie West in the flesh, for someone to be born looking like that. I mean, did God just love her more?

  "Ah, here she is now," Clive said warmly. "The lovely Ms. Cassidy West."

  Julia closed her eyes. It seemed the blondes were ruining her life on all fronts this week, and as she took in the way Yaro and Cassie were eying one another in dismay, it seemed she was going to have her work cut out for her.

  "Cassie," she said at last, gathering her thoughts and getting to her feet, coming in at well under a foot below her statuesque counterpart who, on top of being at least 5'11 was teetering in sky-high boots. She stuck out a hand. "Pleased to meet you," she said, staring up into Cassie’s incredible blue eyes and taking in her halo of blonde hair. "I'm Julia Delroy… And I guess I'll be your matchmaker."

  CHAPTER THREE

  A LITTLE OVER 24 hours later, Julia found herself at the bar of Blue Rock, the most in-demand restaurant in the city, sipping on a gin martini and wearing a dress so tight she could barely breathe. Maybe she had been hitting the Ben and Jerry's a little hard, she reflected, trying her best to take a deep breath and failing utterly. Many people would kill to be here, the hostess had told her, with a little look down her nose that hadn't gone unnoticed. Apparently people were calling for reservations months in advance. So maybe you could muster a little enthusiasm? – being the unspoken subtext.

  Maybe not. Julia could think of a million places she'd rather be than chaperoning a fake date between a jerk of a hockey star and an actress so beautiful her very presence had the power to push your sense of self-worth down into the liquid hot center of the earth.

  Not that either of them were actually HERE for it yet. At least, she reflected wearily, she had an open drink tab for the night and a meal waiting for her. The least Christina could do, she thought. She was just about to order another gin martini when a voice at her elbow made her jump.

  "They've actually got you here babysitting?"

  Leaning on the bar beside her and towering over her, Yaro Sharapova had arrived, looking remarkably clean and unrumpled, a state she rarely, if ever, saw him in. He was wearing a button down, collared and expensive looking linen shirt and a recently pressed pair of Dockers. Julia took him in from head to toe, liking very much what she saw in spite of herself. I would climb that like a monkey up a tree, she thought to herself. If I could stand to be around him for more than thirty seconds that is.

  Hearing no reply, he signaled to the bartender, rolling his eyes. "As if tonight weren't embarrassing enough. Vodka please. Stolichnya. On the rocks."

  "And another of these," Julia called, giving her glass a little jiggle. "Please."

  "Another?" He looked at her. "How long have you been here for?"

  "Since nine. You know. The time the date was supposed to start," she said, annoyed.

  He shrugged. "That girl texted me saying she won't be there until ten, so why should I bother? What am I going to do sit and get drunk on my own? Like you?"

  Julia glared at him.

  "Call her Cassie. Get used to it. In case you get asked anything by the media. Calling a supposed romantic interest 'that girl'
isn't going to endear you to anyone."

  He rolled his eyes again, receiving his vodka and downing it in a single sip.

  Julia shook her head, taking her own drink neatly in hand. "God, you are such a stereotype."

  He didn't reply but looked grimly ahead. "Look," he said at last, "How long do I have to be here for?"

  Julia looked at him, incredulous. "Are you serious? You have to be here long enough to make it look as if you've had a date. This is your part of the bargain - and may I remind you that we are doing all of this for you?"

  He sighed heavily. "It's my night to host poker."

  "Well, believe me, there are places I'd rather be, too," she muttered, popping an olive in her mouth. Like on her couch. In her pajamas. Catching up on the latest murder documentary and getting into a bottle of red. And now Cassie wouldn't even be here until ten - so she could look forward to a bedtime of maybe midnight, if she were lucky.

  Which, the universe appeared to confirm, she very much wasn't. As Blue Rock's next patrons walked in the door, Julia's mouth fell open.

  "Are you fucking kidding me?"

  —

  When Daniel DeSoto walked through the door with Sasha Lux – AKA Magda - on his arm, Julia, for a split moment in time, thought she might actually throw up. The visceral reaction she had to seeing the man who humiliated her publicly - and the girl who'd helped him do it - was difficult at first to quantify. She reminded herself firmly that it was her job on the line. That at least she hadn't run into him on some ill-advised 2am snack-run to 7-11 wearing her pajamas. It could be worse. But not by much.

  "Oh my god," she said turning back to the bar and downing the rest of her gin in one gulp.

  "Oh I see, it's only stereotypical when Russians do it," Yaro began, but then frowned. Julia was clearly in no joking mood. He looked back to the door to take in the man who'd just come in with interest. Whoever he was, he thought, he had douchebag written all over him. He was wearing an expensive suit, cut like a diamond, his hair was slicked back, his stubble just so. His watch - a Rolex, naturally - peeked through just enough to be noticeable, but not enough to be officially ostentatious. And the blonde on his arm... Well.

  Whoever she was, she looked around the room as if she were expecting someone to ask for her autograph. Yaro honestly couldn't tell what she might really look like - there was so little of the actual "her" there. She had blonde hair extensions, pin straight and trailing alluringly down to the small of back - naturally exposed in what passed for a dress. Her eyebrows were so thick they looked like they’d been drawn on with sharpies, her skin tanned a deep gold, her lips reminiscent of a blow-up doll and painted an astonishingly vibrant pink.

  Her breasts were enormous and her dress miniscule. She had a butt you could serve tea off of, nails that were long, shaped to a vicious point, and covered in tiny jewels - as was her phone. Her heels were six inches and thin as razor blades. She looked like a cartoon of a hot girl - the kind that would make men turn into cartoon wolves. She looked around the room triumphantly, as everyone's eyes discreetly swiveled her way. How could they not? Almost everyone's, that is.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Yaro caught Julia burying her head in her hands, trying to make herself as small as possible. She was actively hiding behind him, he realised. The couple at the door were being seated now, and attention in the dining room was starting to die down, but still Julia did not sit back up.

  "Uh. Are you okay?" He asked. "Do you know those people?"

  "In a manner of speaking," Julia replied, her voice haggard and defeated.

  "They don't look like... Uh. The type of friends I'd imagine you having."

  She looked up at him fiercely. "A, they are not my friends. And B, what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

  He laughed and gestured to the bartender for another vodka. "I mean... Come on."

  She glared at him from her hiding spot beneath his shoulder, which gave a much more comical effect than intended.

  “For your information,” she hissed, “that was my ex-boyfriend.”

  “No kidding?” Yaro said, raising an eyebrow. “Doesn’t really seem like your type, but fair enough.”

  “And that,” she said miserably nodding to the bouncing enhanced ass walking in the opposite direction, relaxing as the two of them were led into another section of the restaurant, behind a dividing wall, “Is the woman he left me for.”

  Yaro’s eyes shot up. “Her?”

  Julia did her best to pull herself up to her full height with some semblance of dignity as she took another deep sip of her martini. “Yes.”

  “Huh.” He said speculatively, rubbing a huge hand over the stubble on his chin. For a split-second, Julia wondered what it would feel like to nuzzle against it (warm? comforting?) before shaking her head abruptly. None of that. Absolutely not.

  “’Huh’ what?” She snapped gloomily, staring back ahead with the thousand yard stare only attainable after a breakup or war.

  “I mean… You’re…”, he gestured to her. “So…, I dunno. Understated? I mean, where did you get that dress? H&M?”

  “Ooh ‘understated,’” she said. “Big word for a hockey player. Four whole syllables.” He scowled and went back to his drink, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. Julia knew she was close to putting him in one of his infamous surly moods but couldn’t, at this point, find the energy to care.

  She glanced down at her dress. It was a perfectly serviceable A-line little black dress with cap sleeves. There was not a thing in the world wrong with it. It was perfectly acceptable in this sort of establishment and she resented being told she’d taken the mark of any occasion the wrong way. She ran her hands down its length. Maybe it wasn’t anything special but… frankly, she didn’t feel like anything special at the moment. The image of Sasha Lux waltzing into the restaurant like a celebrity fresh off the red carpet was lodged in her head. How could she compete with someone who put that much effort into their appearance every single day? She did her best but… She had other things on her mind most of the time. And I guess that’s the price you pay, she told herself glumly. She gets to be every man’s fantasy… And you get to be single.

  “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

  “What?” She snapped out of her reverie, a little dazed to find Yaro gazing at her, the sulky expression gone from his face and something that might have been contrition - though surely it couldn’t have been - just barely visible.

  “About your…” He gestured again, up and down, indicating, she supposed, her entire being. “Y’know. Understated in a good way. You don’t have to hit everyone over the head with your looks to be beautiful.”

  “Oh,” Julia said, “I see.” Had he just called her beautiful?

  “Well… Thank you. And um… I’m sorry for making fun of you. You speak English better than any of my brothers, and they were born here.”

  He smiled then, a crooked sort of smile, and opened his mouth to respond when suddenly he was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.

  “Oh my god, it is you!” A male voice Yaro didn’t recognise said. “Yaro Sharapova? Oh, man, I thought I saw you when I walked in and I just had to come see. I’m a massive fan.”

  Yaro put on his best ‘dealing-with-the-public’ face and turned to greet whoever it was - realizing with intense amusement right away that it was the man Julia had just pointed out as her wayward ex.

  Julia looked as if she’d swallowed a bug. “Hi Daniel,” she said.

  “Oh,” Daniel started, looking stunned between the two of them. “I’m sorry - are you guys…?”

  “No, it’s fine,” Yaro said, stretching out a massive arm and pulling Julia closer to him casually. “Always happy to meet a fan. You are?”

  Daniel seemed at a loss for words momentarily. His skin, Yaro noted, was tanned a deep golden bronze, but just now seemed to have dropped a shade or two, and his eyes darted between Yaro and Julia in complete astonishment.

  “Sorry,” he said after a moment, g
iving a little laugh. “Daniel. Daniel DeSoto of Franklin & DeSoto investments. And uh - like I said, big fan,” he gave another weak laugh, shaking Yaro’s hand. Julia noted with some satisfaction that Yaro’s hand was so big it looked like Daniel was attempting to grab something roughly the size of a bunch of bananas. And from the way his mouth twisted downwards in a slight grimace, Yaro had made it a very firm handshake indeed.

  “Nice to meet you,” Yaro said cordially. He gave no indication whatsoever that he knew who Daniel was, merely blinking at him benignly.

  “I didn’t know you were-” Daniel began, this time addressing Julia.

  “What? Dating?” Julia asked, cocking her head with an expression of confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Uh. Yeah I’m not… I mean, I just didn’t…”

  “Baby, what’s taking you so long? You left me sitting at the table all by myself, I was soooo embarrassed,” came another voice - absurdly high, like a child’s, intoned from behind the three of them.

  The three of them turned then to see none other than Sasha Lux, blinking at them all behind a set of false eyelashes that could probably act as a makeshift fan in a small room. She entwined one arm through Daniel’s, and pouted up at him, then took note of Yaro with interest. Julia she didn’t even deign to acknowledge.

  “Baby, I told you I’d be right back,” Daniel said, giving another one of those oily little laughs. Yaro was liking him less and less by the moment.

  “You can’t leave me alone like that,” she whined. “How is it going to look?”

  Daniel cleared his throat. “Uh Mr Sharapova - can I call you Yaro? And uh - Julia. I’d like to introduce you to Sasha.”

  Sasha Lux looked Julia up and down with a look of disgust so frank she might have been looking at a nest of cockroaches. Julia held her gaze. For a moment, it was a standoff, with Yaro and Daniel trading slightly nervous looks, waiting for all hell to break loose. A moment later though, Julia broke into a big smile. "Hi Sasha," she said, her tone oozing with cultivated warmth.