Chapter 2

　　Vesper's POV

　　By the time my flight took off, I had already decided Jaxon Laurent was either an idiot, a menace to society, or both.

　　Possibly both.

　　I stared at the collection of headlines glowing from my laptop screen and seriously considered ordering something stronger than airplane coffee.

　　Unfortunately, it was ten in the morning, and unlike my new client, I preferred to make my bad decisions consciously.

　　Caleb had warned me his teammate was trouble, but trouble was usually manageable. Cheating scandals, leaked videos, arrogant CEOs with anger issues—standard rich-people nonsense.

　　Jaxon Laurent, however, seemed personally committed to destroying his reputation as if it were a competitive sport.

　　I clicked through another paparazzi gallery.

　　There he was, leaving a nightclub in Manhattan at two in the morning, wearing sunglasses indoors and the expression of a man who'd never experienced consequences a day in his life. A brunette clung to his arm while another woman laughed behind him.

　　Three days later, he'd been photographed leaving a luxury hotel in Chicago with somebody else entirely.

　　Then there was the girlfriend situation.

　　Or rather, the alleged girlfriend situation.

　　According to several interviews, Jaxon was supposedly in a "committed private relationship," yet every available piece of evidence suggested his definition of commitment belonged in a psychiatric evaluation.

　　I leaned back in my seat and rubbed my temple.

　　"Okay," I muttered quietly. "So we're dealing with a lying hockey player, anger issues, gambling rumors, possible alcoholism, and whatever personality disorder this is."

　　I zoomed in on a blurry Instagram photo posted three nights ago.

　　The image looked like it had been taken during the apocalypse. Flashing lights. Liquor bottles. Women draped across leather booths.

　　And right in the middle of the chaos sat Jaxon Laurent.

　　Shirtless and illegally drunk.

　　Grinning directly at the camera like public relations teams didn't exist.

　　I stared at the photo for a long moment before adding another note to my file.

　　Exhibits alarming frat-boy energy.

　　If I handled this correctly, I could salvage his image before transfer season.

　　If I handled it badly, he'd probably end up getting traded somewhere deeply unfortunate.

　　Possibly Canada.

　　A notification popped up on my screen, and the same nightclub photo had been reposted again.

　　Thirty-seven thousand likes in an hour.

　　Fantastic!

　　I tracked the original uploader within minutes. Young fan account. Harmless and exactly the kind of person easiest to negotiate with.

　　I sent a polite message requesting removal due to "ongoing contractual concerns."

　　Two minutes later, the reply came back instantly.

　　OH MY GOD! YES ABSOLUTELY

　　The post disappeared almost immediately.

　　One crisis down, only several hundred remaining.

　　By the time the plane landed, I had a full rehabilitation strategy prepared and precisely zero patience left.

　　I switched my phone back on while walking through the terminal, and it immediately began vibrating like it was possessed.

　　Missed calls flooded the screen.

　　Caleb, my assistant, Unknown number and unknown number again.

　　A strange knot tightened in my stomach.

　　Something was wrong.

　　I tried Caleb first, but the call went straight to voicemail.

　　"That's comforting," I muttered.

　　The unknown number called again before I reached baggage claim.

　　I answered immediately. "Hello?"

　　"Miss Hale?"

　　The male voice sounded careful.

　　My grip tightened around my suitcase handle. "Yes?"

　　"My name is Robert Whitmore. I'm an attorney to Miss Chloe Bennett."

　　My chest tightened instantly.

　　Chloe?

　　Why would Chloe's attorney be calling me?

　　"I'm sorry," I said slowly, already feeling dread creep up my spine, "but what exactly is happening?"

　　A brief silence followed.

　　The kind people used when deciding how badly they were about to ruin your life.

　　"There's been an accident."

　　The airport noise around me faded into meaningless static.

　　I stopped walking completely.

　　"What kind of accident?"

　　"A vehicle collision involving Miss Bennett and her husband approximately two hours ago."

　　No, my heartbeat stumbled painfully.

　　"No, there has to be a mistake."

　　"I'm afraid not."

　　My fingers went numb around the phone.

　　Chloe couldn't be hurt. Chloe was chaos in designer heels. Too dramatic and lively for something like this. My friend would cuss at the devil a hundred times right now if her spirit ever reaches him.

　　"Are they okay?" I asked, though my voice barely sounded human anymore.

　　"Her husband is currently in surgery," he said carefully. "Miss Bennett regained consciousness briefly before emergency treatment."

　　Relief hit so fast it nearly made me dizzy.

　　"She's awake?"

　　"She was."

　　The correction sliced straight through me.

　　I pressed a trembling hand against my forehead.

　　God.

　　"Before surgery, she specifically requested you."

　　Emotion rose hard and sudden in my throat.

　　Chloe and I had practically grown up together after my family fell apart six years ago. She was the closest thing I had left to normal.

　　"When can I see her?"

　　"I'm sending the hospital information now."

　　The message came through seconds later.

　　I stared at the screen numbly.

　　This morning, my biggest problem had been babysitting a reckless hockey player with commitment issues and the impulse control of a raccoon near open trash.

　　Now my cousin is lying in a hospital bed.

　　Life really had a sick sense of humor.

　　My phone buzzed again, and it's Caleb.

　　I answered immediately. "Did you know?"

　　"Yeah," he said quietly. "I just found out. Ves… are you okay?"

　　"No," I admitted honestly as I started walking again. "But apparently, emotional collapse isn't in my schedule today; I'll be in a mess."

　　Caleb sighed softly. "You don't have to take Jax's case right now."

　　I almost laughed.

　　"You say that like my landlord accepts emotional distress as payment, Chloe would not like that if I'm homeless." I wiped the tears off my face angrily

　　"Vesper—"

　　"I'm fine."

　　The lie came automatically.

　　"You're not."

　　"Probably not," I admitted, dragging my suitcase through the crowded terminal. "But unless Chloe's doctors suddenly start accepting motivational speeches instead of money, I still need this job, and your friend is …. something else, chaos happens after every second."

　　Silence stretched briefly between us.

　　Then Caleb said carefully, "Most people would consider taking on a scandal-ridden hockey player during a family crisis a sign they need therapy."

　　"I do need therapy," I informed him. "What I don't need is unemployment."

　　That finally earned a tired laugh from him.

　　"God, I missed you."

　　Something in my chest tightened painfully.

　　"Send me Jaxon's address," I said softly.

　　"You're still going?"

　　"Yes."

　　"Straight from the hospital?"

　　I stepped outside into the cold evening air, exhaustion settling deep into my bones.

　　"Yes," I said finally. "Because if Jaxon Laurent destroys his career before I get there, I might actually kill him myself."