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Finding Carson Lee
Finding Carson Lee
Finding Carson Lee
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Finding Carson Lee

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Oh Captain, My Captain presents Carson Lee of the Alabama Blacksmiths.

Carson Lee is the league’s bad boy and womanizer, who wants nothing more than to keep it that way. However, his life is full of deep secrets that could ruin the image he built for himself. Everything he worked for could come crashing down around him once he starts finding out who he really is when a grumpy blonde enters his life.

Kinley Wright wants nothing more than to thrive in the world of fashion. She could care less about hockey as long as it leads her to a promotion to work with the football superstars. It isn’t until she has to sign Carson Lee to a clothing contract that she finds he may be the one to push her to let go of her guilt from her past marriage.

Carson Lee is more than meets the eye and Kinley Wright is more than her failures. When their lives collide, will they trust in the possible hope for their future?

SpracheEnglish
HerausgeberLindsay Paige
Erscheinungsdatum12. Dez. 2014
ISBN9781310716324
Finding Carson Lee
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Autor

Lindsay Paige

Lindsay Paige is the author of multiple Young Adult, New Adult, and Sports romances. She also enjoys writing books with characters who deal with anxiety and depression, issues which are close to her heart. Lindsay is a North Carolinian who loves watching hockey, sharing puns, having conversations with her miniature Schnauzer, rewatching episodes of M*A*S*H, and living her dream of writing books for a living.Lindsay has written the following books/series:Bending Under PressureBold as Love seriesBracing for Love seriesCarolina Rebels seriesDon’t PanicSanity seriesYou Before MeWithout a DoubtShe has cowritten the following series with Mary Smith:The Ninth Inning seriesOh Captain, My Captain seriesThe Penalty Kill trilogy

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    Finding Carson Lee - Lindsay Paige

    Chapter One

    Kinley

    I’m still in shock. I take a large gulp of my wine. I can’t believe that I’ve been given this opportunity.

    So, let me see if I understand this. Cassie, my best friend, studies my face from across the table. Your boss wants you to sign this hockey player to be your spokesman, and if you do, you’ll get to be in the football department.

    I roll my eyes at her. First, it’s not the ‘football department’, it’s the lead of the football spokesman campaign. That means I can mingle with all the NFL greats. Second, think of the money with this promotion. I could finally afford name brand shoes and not the knock-offs.

    But the hockey guy has to sign on first, right?

    I take a deep breath. Right, but how hard could that be? I mean, it’s hockey. I’m not sure that’s a real sport. I mean, they’re on skates.

    Cassie fluffs her short, auburn hair. I don’t think that’s quite true. I mean, I dated this guy once, and he lived and breathed the Alabama Blacksmiths. Now, you have to get bad-boy, captain Carson Lee as your spokesman.

    I twirl my natural blonde hair around my finger. My nerves were getting to me a little bit, but I know I can do this. Piece of cake.

    Okay, well good luck, and I need to go home. She tosses money on the table, kisses my cheek, and leaves me in the restaurant.

    I tap my freshly manicured nails on the wine glass, thinking of how I’m going to get this guy to sign the contract. I need a game plan. I wave the waiter down, take care of the bill, and head home.

    I walk up my three flights of stairs to my tiny apartment that I call home. It’s only one bedroom and the living room and kitchen are connected, but I love it. Mainly because it’s the first place of my own. I still remember the day I signed the lease. I had been promoted at work and I was in shock from all that was happening in my personal life. I hated the way everything went down, but I made the right decision. I wouldn’t have changed a thing about it.

    I put on some comfortable yoga pants and a tank top. I pour myself another glass of wine and turn on my laptop. I flip on ESPN because I need to hear the football scores and updates.

    I study the screen as I type in Carson Lee. Google never fails me, and it doesn’t when post after post comes up. Carson Lee isn’t a bad looking guy. Tall, very built and likes to be in trouble. I’m a little surprised that he’s a captain. He has dated every person in all of Birmingham, all of Hollywood, and about everyone in between.

    I don’t understand all the stats, but once I figure out all the abbreviations, I know why he is the captain. He’s the best. He holds records for most blocked shots, most goals by a defensive player, and most penalty minutes. I watch several YouTube videos, and he’s deadly on the ice.

    Yep, he’s a bad-boy.

    Now to get him to be my spokesman. I rub my hands together. I can do this. I need to do this because I want to be in the football division.

    Football is my passion. I love it. I’ve watched it with my parents since I was young. It’s a southern tradition. Friday nights were reserved for local high school games. Saturday was for college. Sunday, after church, was the NFL. From August until the Super Bowl, that was it. There is nothing else.

    About twenty years ago some Canadian billionaire, that now lives here in Alabama, got the idea of bringing a hockey team here. It didn’t do well at first. Actually, it damn near went bankrupt. However, people started to go and BOOM. Hockey became big here.

    Except for me.

    I mean it’s ice skating: a stick and a little ball. No, wait, I think it’s called a puck. I need to remember all these terms for my meeting tomorrow.

    I check my watch and realize that I need sleep. I have to impress Carson’s agent if I’m going to get this to work.

    ~ ~ ~

    I run into the bathroom and double check myself in the mirror. I had to tame down my unruly blonde hair into curls. My makeup is perfect and not too heavy to hide my green eyes. I smooth over my deep purple blouse and black pants. Yep, with my pear shaped body I’m not ever going to be a model. I wish I could lose ten more pounds so I could squeeze my ass back into a size eight.

    Well, that isn’t going to happen in the next five minutes. So, in the words of my mama, flaunt what you got and that’s what I’m going to do.

    I leave the restroom and head to the end of the hall to Mike Underwood’s office, Carson Lee’s agent. I introduce myself to the secretary, and she tells me to have a seat. I do, laying my purse in my lap and crossing my ankles.

    After several minutes, she tells me I can go in, and I give her a polite smile as I pass her. I walk through a large oak door and into one of the biggest offices I’d ever seen. How important is this guy?

    I walk into the large office. I didn’t realize that I was going to be meeting someone older. I notice that he has to be closer to my father’s age. I assumed I would be meeting someone younger. He stands up from his desk, buttoning his black jacket, and he runs his hand through his graying hair.

    Mr. Underwood, I’m Kinley Wright. I stick my hand out to him, bringing myself back to my game plan.

    Wow, that’s some accent. I thought I’d heard it all when I moved here. He shook my hand and points for me to sit down.

    I didn’t realize I had an accent. I smile at him. I could tell the moment he opened his mouth that he is from the northern states.

    Trust me you do, but let’s get down to business. He looks over some papers on his desk, and I pull out my copy of the contract. You want Carson to be the spokesman for LSMP clothing line. Right?

    Correct. We think that Mr. Lee would fit right into our new fall line. It’s a mix between the rough and tough and relaxing everyday clothes. We’ve studied Mr. Lee, and we heard that he wasn’t happy with his current clothing sponsors, and LSMP would be a perfect fit for him. I can’t believe I got all of that out without stammering at all.

    Yes, well, see the reason Carson is shopping for another clothing sponsor is because he likes free stuff and the female models, and the other sponsor dropped him because he punched the photographer. Mr. Underwood didn’t even flinch when he said that.

    Oh, what the hell do I say to that? "You know, that’s why I said rough and tough." I give my best fake giggle to him.

    Yes, you did. He flips through a few more pages. I already told Carson this was a good deal. So, he’ll make his final decision tonight. Of course, he’ll need to meet you before he says ‘yes’.

    Um, meet me? I mean, I know that we’ll be working close together when the shoots starts, but-

    Mr. Underwood put his hand up and stops me from talking. This isn’t a negotiation. You can pick up tickets to the game tonight at the front gate. Carson will meet you when the game is over. He gives me a big smile. Have fun.

    Chapter Two

    Carson

    I tilt my head to the left and then to the right, hearing the pop each time. The third period is about to start, and we’re up by three, two goals courtesy of yours truly. Our home crowd is eating up our energy. I don’t care what anyone says, our fans are the rowdiest. I think that comes from our play. We play rough and celebrate with arrogance. They love it.

    Chasing a Portland Viking down the ice, I catch him against the boards, shoving him hard as I try to regain possession. He manages to keep it and push me away, slapping it towards the goalie.

    Fuck. He scores.

    And then another Viking scores five minutes later.

    And then another.

    Our goalie is a nice guy and all, but damn if I’m not ready for a new one. We have to fight extra hard to take a lead and win. I’m this close too, when one of our guys gets a penalty. That’s all the Vikings need to score with three minutes left in the period. We don’t get any good chances and lose the game. These are the games I despise. When we have a decent lead, and then we lose our shit in the third that costs us the game.

    At least this is a good excuse to go get laid, as if I need one. I change, leave the guys behind, and drive to my favorite bar in my black Lamborghini. Thanks to my car and having a favorite post-game bar, I’m never hard to find. The women come to me, so I can make them come in return. I find an empty seat in the corner to survey my options. Without even asking, the bartender brings me my drink of choice, whiskey.

    My eyes scan the brunettes, the redheads, the girls with black hair, those that are more than one color, and then my favorite, blondes. There seems to be one, in particular, that is watching me. Usually, they’ll glance a few times with a little smile that’s secretly begging me to walk over to them. This one, though, isn’t smiling. She almost looks unsure. I bring my glass to my lips, trying to figure her out. At least she’s a blonde. Her curls are a bit too perfect, like she’s not naturally curly.

    She surprises me by standing and walking over to me. She’s curvy, not my usual size two type, but she owns it with confidence, which is a plus. As she gets closer, stopping at the empty stool next to me, I see she has green eyes.

    Carson Lee? Her Southern accent is clear and strong, even with only my name.

    That’s me. Who might you be, sweetheart? I grin.

    Her eyes narrow slightly. Kinley Wright, with LSMP. We were supposed to meet.

    Oh, great. She takes the seat next to me as I reply, Right. Sorry, it slipped my mind. Mike tell you to meet me here? She nods. That’s why. He knew I would be here and wouldn’t remember one way or another. I take a quick, deep breath. Did you go to the game? Enjoy it?

    I did see the game. I especially enjoyed the third quarter when you hit that other player into the wall. Very exciting.

    Quarter? I stare at her for a second to see if she’ll catch her mistake. You don’t know shit about hockey, do you? I raise an eyebrow at her with a bit of annoyance, but mostly curiosity. They want me to work with this woman, and she doesn’t even know what she’s talking about?

    Oh, well, I’m new to the sport, but I really enjoy it. I mean, I like it so much. It’s a great sport. Yep, love it. She nods one too many times, but I’m not buying what she’s selling.

    For some reason, I laugh. No need to lie, sweetheart. And by the way, quarter usually means there’s four of ‘em.

    "Okay, so I’m not a huge fan of hockey, but I did enjoy the game. Yes, it was the first full game I’d seen. Most of the hockey I see is on ESPN when I’m trying to catch up on the football stats."

    Her confession surprises me. I was expecting her to ride the I’m a fan, so I know what I’m talking about for a while longer. Football, huh? Why are you trying to work in this sport, if you aren’t knowledgeable about it to start with or since you’re actually a fan of another?

    Alright, Mr. Lee. Let’s cut the crap, okay? She straightens her posture as her tone turns into one that means no-bullshit-accepted. You’ve had a long day and I have too. So, here’s the deal: no, I’m not a fan of hockey. I bleed football. However, my boss thinks that you’re a perfect fit for LSMP and I think so too. Now, are you going to sign with us, or do I need to go see if one of those Viking players want the job? I know their plane hasn’t left yet.

    I clench my jaw and glare at her before catching sight of a regular behind her, a girl I’ve slept with before. I reach into my back pocket, grab some cash from my wallet, and slap it on the bar. How about I let you know in a day or two? Standing, I lay a hand on her shoulder, smile and add, In the meantime, if you rather have a Viking, go get one. Otherwise, you can wait for a bit. Nice meeting you, sweetheart. Then I walk to the girl, grab her hand without a word, and take her home with me.

    ~ ~ ~

    What are you going to do? Mike barged into my house this morning, wanting an answer.

    I don’t know. Don’t really like her, I answer, fixing myself a protein shake.

    Of course you don’t, he mumbles.

    She’s on the bitchy side and seems like she’d be a pain in my ass. She doesn’t even know anything about hockey. I turn around, lean against my counter, and start drinking my shake.

    So? She doesn’t exactly need to know everything to do her job. Look, Carson, he puts his hands together with his fingertips under his chin, like he’s about to pray, I think you need to do it. You need to straighten up a little. The league won’t tolerate you much longer if you keep going like you are, no matter how good you may be.

    "You mean, how good I am. There’s no may about it, Mike."

    He gives me a stern look. Call her, tell her you’ll do it, and then suck it up and deal with it. Got it?

    Yeah, sure. I’m still going to make her wait until tomorrow at least.

    Carson? I turn my head at the sound of the girl I brought home last night. She’s in one of my t-shirts. What the fuck is wrong with her clothes? She needs to put those back on, so she can leave. Not my clothes.

    Mike shakes his head. That needs to slow down too, he says, ignoring her. Don’t come crying to me when you catch something. Mike grabs his things and leaves as the girl walks over with a frown.

    What’s for breakfast? she questions with a sweet smile. I want to shake my head at her, but I don’t. She knows better than to ask.

    Whatever you get when you leave. Go change. I got things to do today.

    Chapter Three

    Kinley

    Two days.

    It’s been two days, and I’m tired of putting off my boss. Carson Lee should have called me by now, but hasn’t yet. This is bad, and I’m probably going to be cleaning toilets if I don’t land this deal.

    I’m in my cubicle thinking of how I can fix this, when an email pops up. My breath catches when I read it. It’s from Carson, and he wants to meet. I silently pray that this is a good email and not one that puts me in the unemployment line.

    I gather up my stuff and hit the door to meet him.

    The air is cold, and I pull my black trench coat tighter around my neck. I’m thankful for the heat in the restaurant. I notice Carson right away. He’s someone who you can’t miss.

    Carson is over six feet tall, broad shoulders, and his thick dark brown hair is perfectly messy. However, it’s his eyes that could melt an ice rink. They’re a darker shade of brown that almost matches his hair. Peeking out through his pushed up sleeves, his tattoos stand out on his forearm. I had seen many photos of his full sleeve of artwork, but I couldn’t tell exactly what it was. His presence is strong in the room, and I pull all my bravery to keep up with him.

    Our first meeting didn’t go well, but I’ve studied up on my hockey, and I’m ready for him this time. He isn’t going to win this, I’m going to get him to sign this contract.

    Mr. Lee, I’m glad that you emailed me. So, have you made a decision?

    Almost.

    I don’t know what that means. I didn’t know if his tone is good or bad. You are or you’re not? It’s a simple question.

    Give me a reason. Tell me why I should do this. He sips his drink that’s in front of him, and his facial expression is unreadable.

    Seriously?

    He nods.

    Fine. I rack my brain on how I should approach this. LSMP is the fastest growing clothing line in the past three years. It covers everything from professional, casual, kids, and everything else in between. It’s a local brand that started here in Alabama. Now, it’s moving across the United States and with your status it will help you and us make it a household name.

    "That’s not what I meant. I know all of that already because I did my research too. I want to know why I should work with you, sweetheart."

    Ugh. Every time he says that pet name I want to scratch his eyes out.

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