Talk Hockey to Me (Bears Hockey #3) - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,3
boss was right. Am I too mothering? Ugh. I put a lot of hours into my clients because I care about them, but that can lead to burnout and cynicism. Will my unique brand of agenting pay off?
My alarm goes off at seven because I have a Zoom meeting at eight. I just have to swipe on some lipstick and make sure I’m wearing a nice top. Working from home is great that way. Some day I’ll have a fancy office on Lexington Avenue, but right now, I don’t need it. I can meet with local clients at coffee shops or the arena, and my other clients are spread out over the country, so I usually travel to their cities to meet.
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.