Chapter 3
1806 Words
IVY
I hadn't expected Cole Dawson to be this arrogant, aloof and this impossible. The media hadn't exaggerated. He was worse than I remembered in high school. Back then he'd been untouchable, the boy who made my school years feel smaller. The kind of careless bullying that happens when someone is too popular, too adored, too wrapped up in their own life to notice who gets stepped on along the way.
He and his friends would block the hallway, forcing me to squeeze past while they laughed like I wasn't even there. He'd shove open his locker so hard it slammed into mine, making my books spill to the floor. I never reacted. I never complained. I was quiet. Invisible. The girl everyone overlooked —including him.
Sure but now? Now he was a man whose ego could filled an arena, he didn't just brush me off, he challenged me, dismissed me, mocked me at every turn. Almost like history repeating itself.
And that ridiculous offer he'd made pretending I'd signed the contract, feeding lies to Mr. Harland about work I hadn't even started? What the hell did that make me? A liar? A fraud? A pretend PR professional? How was I supposed to write reports about results that didn't even exist.
I had left his house, yes, but only temporarily. I hadn't given up, not really. That's not who I was. I'm careful, methodical, stubborn and relentless. When someone challenges me, I don't back down. And Cole Dawson had just thrown down the gauntlet.
I leaned back on my couch biting my bottom lip, In thinking. I needed a plan. I needed a strategy. I couldn't just bluff my way through this. I had to get into his world, observe him, learn how he worked, and then assert myself. My reputation wasn't going to be ruined by anyone, least of all by a man who thought a woman couldn't handle his ego. I can't believe he seriously didn't remember me. Or was he pretending not to? Did I really change much over the years?
And then there was his daughter. The little girl who looked exactly like her father. Did he have a wife? Had he secretly married? I'd scoured the internet, looked every article, every interview, every social media post. Cole Dawson was talented, infuriatingly handsome, and completely untethered. And yet there he was, raising a child on his own, with no one else to answer to.
I clenched my fist. This wasn't a reason to run but a reason to stay. He had challenged me and underestimated me. And I hate being underestimated. I straightened my shoulder and pull forward my notebook and laptop. I wasn't going to lie, cheat or pretend to do a job I could handle. I was going to play by my rules. If Cole plan was to push, test me and dismiss me because I was a woman he suddenly dislike, I'd meet him head on and show him just how capable of a PR professional strategist I could be.
**
Hours passed. Half of the day disappeared. Ideas after Ideas gets scrapped, typed again and refined until I finally had something solid. A proposal he can't run away from.
I released a long sigh and spared my trolley sitting beside me a glance before diverting my eyes back to his door. It's now or never Ivy. I raised my hand and pressed on the doorbell. My heart raced as I waited. Seconds pass before the click of the lock echoes and the door swing open.
Cole frame filled the doorway. He was fully dressed this time. Black joggers hanging low on his lips, a fitted long sleeves shirt that clung to him a little too well and his black hair pushed back like he'd run his hand through it in annoyance. And the silly eyes of me got lost in checking him out. No doubt Cole was way too handsome than his ego. "Why are you here again?" His deep cold voice snapped me out of my world of staring. Those dark, glacier blue eyes raked over me then dropped to my suitcase.
I offered a tight lipped, polite smile lifting my chin up. "Hello, Mr.Cole."
"What's with the box?"
"I'm moving in."
He blinked once. Twice. "You're what?"
"You need a strategist who understands your brand. I need access to your daily routine to write reports that actually reflects who you are. And since you made it very clear that you won't meet me halfway, this is the only way to get the job done."
"You're not moving into my house."
"Yes I am."
"No. You're not."
I crossed my arms. "Fine I'll call my boss I'll tell him you refused any cooperation. You and I know he'd report to your field manager who won't hesitate to report to the board if you violate the behavior terms of your suspension. One bad note and you're not only sitting out for months, you're sitting out for the whole damn season." I ended forming my lips into a thin line. My hours of researching and putting ideas didn't come to waste. I found out Cole is the backbone of his team; without him the team won't be able to last longer.
Ice hockey is as important to Cole as his life. Using it against him was a smart move I came up with. And just as I predicted, his expression wavered. But I wasn't done. I have everything mapped out. "And when the media finds out the golden boy of Chicago Blitz is benched again for refusing mandatory image rehabilitation?" I shrugged. "Your brand sinks. Your endorsements sink. Your career suffers. And all because you allowed ego to cloud your reputation."
His jaw clenched. He looked like he was debating between strangling me or throwing me out of his doorway.
"Daddy?"
His daughter came into view, clutching a stuffed rabbit, her big eyes blinking sleepily at both of us. Cole cursed under his breath. I lower my gaze to the girl, the back to him. "Let me help you, Mr. Cole."
He stared at me, torn between pride, and losing guard. I lift the handle of my suitcase. "One week. If you still hate me, I'll leave."
That was my last card. If things didn't change after that, I will accept defeat. Please catch the bait, Cole. I silently prayed though I kept a straight face.
Finally, he stepped back from the door, his eyes narrowed on me. "One week." He spoke. I smiled and dragged my trolley with me inside. First mission completed successfully.
"Here," I laid the contracts out across the table, smoothing the edges. All the while, Cole's eyes stayed on me unblinking, unreadable. He seemed calm now. Too calm.
"This is the contract sent by the field manager," I said, tapping the first set of paper.
"And this—" I tapped the second "—is the E1 personnel contract. Between you and I."
I pointed to the first signature line. "You're signing here. And here."
Cole picked up the papers, the E1 personnel contract and began reading through. Then suddenly, he extended his hand toward me.
I blinked. "What?"
"Pen."
Oh. Right.
I unclipped one from my planner, handed it over, trying not to look as thrown as I felt.
"Clause 3A: All brand-related activities require my cooperation and full compliance with Ivy Brooke's instruction." He paused. "Full compliance?"
I nodded. Full compliance should be it with nothing less that. My eyes widened when he scraped the line with the pen "What are you doing?!"
He ignored me and read the next one, "Clause 5C: Mandatory weekly strategy meetings minimum of three hours each conducted in person."
Another slow, deliberate scraping.
"Hey!" I snapped. "You're supposed to sign that!"
But he didn't listen to me. He went on. "Clause 7F: All unauthorized altercations verbal or physical must cease immediately."
He looked up at me. His smirk was lethal. And then gone too.
"What the hell are you doing?!" I snatching the paper. "You're supposed to sign, not destroy my contract!"
"I'm not agreeing to them," he said coolly.
"Why not? We are supposed to make everything professional."
He gave me a look that could probably melt steel.
"Because I'm not living under rules written by someone who barely knows me."
I shoved the paper slightly toward him, refusing to back down. "You're going to listen to me. I am your PR strategist now. That means—"
He raised one brow, and cut me off effortlessly.
"I haven't signed the contract yet."
My mouth snapped shut. Damn it.
I inhaled slow, because I needed that signature. Without it, I had nothing.
He snatched the paper back found a blank sheet at the back, lowered the pen again, and began writing. "What... what are you doing now?"
He didn't answer until the first full sentence was done. Then he looked up, eyes dark, stubborn, absolutely infuriating.
"Drafting a real contract," he said."Between you and I."
I looked down at the page. My carefully structured strategist contract...being rewritten by the man I was meant to manage.
And for the first time since stepping foot into this house, I realized Cole Dawson wasn't just arrogant.
He was a walking negotiation war. And I had just stepped onto his battlefield. I watched as Cole finished the last line of whatever insanity he was writing. His pen scratched with confident strokes, like he wasn't drafting a contract but engraving commandments.
Finally, he dropped the pen, slid the page toward me, and leaned back in his chair.
"Go on,"
I pulled the paper closer, already feeling my blood pressure spike. The first line hit me like a slap.
"Rule one: I am not obligated to follow any instruction I find unnecessary or annoying."
My head snapped up. "You must be nuts."
He didn't even flinch just lifted one shoulder in a slow, infuriating shrug.
I looked back down and read the next one.
"Rule two: PR strategist must be available at any hour I need her." I blinked. "Are you serious? Am I your strategist or your personal assistant?"
He just gave me that maddening, unreadable stare. I read another line. "Rule three: Any attempt to control, manipulate, or dictate my personal habits will result in contract termination."
I dropped the paper on the table. "This is crazy."
Cole leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on mine.
"Don't forget," he said quietly, "You're doing this for a week. Impress me... or you're out."
Something hot snapped inside me. "Oh, I'll impress you," I shot back, leaning forward too. "I'll make sure you don't have a single reason to fire me."
We held each other's gaze. Stubbornness against stubbornness, fire against fire.
His lips curved. "Let's see."
- Writer
