“And who are you?” Lance muttered.
“Kip Sterling's the name, and PR's my game,” he rattled off like a bad used car salesman.
Lance wasn't impressed. He gave his agent a look:did you okay this?The agent shrank with an uncertain shrug.
Kip continued. “My firm,Sterling Image, has helped thousands of celebrities, and even a few athletes, turn their reputations around.”
Lance was speechless. What about his reputation needed changing, exactly?
“Lance, you have an amazing opportunity here as the next captain to be anointed in Boston. It's not just about wearing the 'C' on your chest—it's about so much more. It's about representing the Boston Brawler brand—”
Lance cut him off. “Yeah, so I've heard. Mr. Tremblay already gave me the spiel. But I'm still not seeing what this is all about.”
“Then allow me to cut to the chase.” Kip wet his thin lips with the tip of his tongue. “Lance, you've got a problem with the ladies.”
Lance laughed. Now it wasobviousthat this guy didn't know what the hell he was talking about. “Oh really? A problem with the ladies?”
“For the past few months, my firm has conducted a variety of focus groups to gauge the sports consumer's opinion of you.” A series of graphs and charts flashed across the screen. “To summarize hundreds of hours of research, the average male hockey fan holds a neutral opinion of you. But the averagefemalehockey fan holds a less-than-neutral topooropinion of you.”
“I don't see why,” Lance said stubbornly. “I'm the league leader in goals and points. Why would women have anything against me for being the best?”
Kip clucked his tongue. “It's not your on-ice performance that offends them.”
Another set of images flashed across the screen. This time, they were taken from Lance's personal social media accounts. Lance kept a lively Instagram account in which he shared the photos of his life as a rich and famous pro athlete—the beautiful women, the exotic locales, the designer clothing, the swanky nightlife, the expensive cars, and of course, the sweat-drenched gym pics.
“That's ridiculous,” Lance protested. “My fanslovethat I'm real with them. They thank me all the time for sharing my life with them. I'm not going to apologize or feel ashamed because I live my life to the fullest.”
“But some people see it asboasting.”
“Then some peopleare wrong. And by the way, half the guys on the team post the same exact stuff.”
“Ah. Speaking of your teammates. Some of them scored much higher than you.” A new series of photos, all from Radar's Instagram account, scrolled by the screen. Artful portraits of Radar and Lance's sister, Ella, streaked by. Ella's baby bump seemed to grow in each picture, and so did the loving bond between her and Radar. “Radar, for example, scored excellently among women in our focus group testing.”
“With pictures like those, of course he did …”
“Speaking of Radar. There was another factor contributing to women's low opinion of you,” Kip said with a sigh. “And that would be the rumors that, when you found out that Radar was dating your sister, you tried to have him traded to Vancouver.”
“Not true,” Lance growled. Sure, everyone in this room would know he was lying … but Kip didn't know. And fuck Kip for bringing that up in the first place. “So you want me to have a baby before I'm named captain? Is that what you're saying?”
“Don't be ridiculous, Lance. We'd never ask that of you. I'm just making the point that what you share on social media can greatly influence public opinion.”
Lance chuffed. “Okay. Great.”
“Lance, there's one last thing you posted a while back on Instagram that especially hurt your polling numbers.”
A close-up photo of a bright red condom in a see-through package appeared on screen, and now Lance was beginning to feel like he'd walked right into an ambush. The condom post was overtwoyearsold—how far into the past had this guy gone digging, anyway?
Kip read the caption aloud.
“Had to break it off with my girl today. See why? Yup, I caught her poking TONS of holes in this condom with a pin! This girl has literally been trying to get preggers without me knowing … for who knows how long! #WatchOutBoys #WrapItUp #BulletDodged #SupSingleLadies”
An uncomfortable silence settled in the room.
“My fans love that I'm real,” Lance grumbled again, but even he noticed that he'd said it with far less conviction than the first time.
“Whether you like it or not, your social media statements reflect onBoston Brawlers Entertainment, Inc.If you're going to be captain, you have to understand that you will be held to a higher standard. Your entire life will be examined under the microscope of public opinion, Lance.”
A sense of defeat enveloped him. “So what do you want me to do? Delete all my posts?”
