"You're kidding me, aren't you?" Cassandra Fielder looked at her boss, Frank, hoping he was pulling one of his rare pranks.

"No, I never joke when it comes to such an important client."

Well, crap, he’s using his no-nonsense tone. That could only mean one thing: it was a no-prank day.

"Since when has Brett Hunter been one of our clients? I thought Powerz had him in an airtight contract."

"As of yesterday he became one of ours. He and Powerz had a mutual parting of ways."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" she muttered under her breath.

"Now, now Cassandra,” Frank admonished. “Given your experience with athletes, and your uncanny ability to persuade an Eskimo to buy ice, you know you're the best person on staff to handle Brett. I’m sure you’ll come up with some unique ideas to change the public's perception of his image. His agent, Dan, is a good friend of mine. I assured him we'd do everything we could to take Brett from being public enemy number one to hero of the hour."

God, the task was impossible. For his whole career, Brett Hunter had gone from one scandal to the next. Which culminated in a poor performance at the recent Olympics in the pool, and more drama than you could throw a stick at, out of it. The guy was a veritable marketer’s nightmare. And, lucky her, he was her nightmare now.

There was no point in arguing with Frank Allen, managing director of Star Image Consultants. Once he'd made up his mind, not even a jackhammer could break it loose. She supposed she should be flattered Frank thought so highly of her, even though this assignment threw part of her past in her face, a past she’d rather forget. Her previous experiences were the very reason she didn't want to work with Brett Hunter. Athletes weren't high on her list of favorite clients. Her only option was to suck it up, hope she could do the impossible, and do it quickly.

"Seeing as you have so much faith in me, and it’s obvious I have no choice in the matter, I'll contact his agent to set up an appointment. I’ll pray he’s not hungover and misses the meeting."

"No, you don’t have any other choice, and there’s no need to contact Dan." Frank leaned forward and Cassandra knew she wasn't going to like what was coming next. "Brett Hunter’s already in the conference room, waiting to speak to you."

Fan-friggin-tastic.

Trust Frank not to give her any time to prepare. Or to come up with any ideas she could present to him. Hell, she needed time to think. Image improvement ideas didn’t just rain down from the sky. Her boss was clearly throwing her in the deep end and expecting her to swim to victory. Well, she was no Olympic-level swimmer, so the one waiting for her was just going to have to cool his heels a little while longer.

“I'd like to have a few minutes to look into things and see what I can come up with."

"No. I need you to see Brett now. Meet him first and then you can work out the best way to improve his image after you’ve talked to him."

God, how she wanted to stamp her feet and cry why me, but a diva she wasn't. A consummate professional she was.

"Fine. But next time, a little warning would be nice." She stood and headed toward the door.

"Cassandra?"

She stopped and turned back, lifting an eyebrow in query.

Frank grinned. "What fun would it be if I'd warned you?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes and chuckled. "You're lucky I love working for you, Frank."

Still smiling, she headed for her own office to gather the things she needed. If it took her more than the two minutes it should, what did it matter? Brett Hunter could stew a little longer.

---

Not ready at all for this meeting, but knowing she'd delayed long enough, Cassandra straightened her shoulders, opened the door to the conference room, and found it—empty.

Great.

Fantastic.

He couldn't even wait ten minutes. Damn, why had she been so caught up trying to show Frank she couldn't be manipulated? Trying to get the upper hand in a meeting she was going into blind was a dumb move. She should've just grabbed a pen and notepad from someone's desk, marched straight into the conference room, and dealt with Brett. If she'd done that, she might have already been back in her office by now, going over her notes and brainstorming strategies.

Now she had to search the office for her elusive new client, all the while making sure Frank didn’t notice she’d misplaced said star client. She had to find him fast, hoping like hell he hadn’t already left the building and was well on his way to getting into trouble.

She paused for a second, formulating a plan of action.

If I were a disgraced athlete, where would I go?

To the nearest exit and the closest bar?

That could be the next step in her search if Brett Hunter didn’t turn up somewhere in the office.

"Are you my new brand expert?"

A deep male voice sounded behind her. Relief coursed through her, knowing that she wouldn't have to walk into Frank's office and tell him she'd lost his friend's client.

She turned, faced her quarry, and stuck out her hand. "Good morning, Mr. Hunter. I'm Cassandra Fielder, and, yes, I will be working with you to tidy up your image."

Her breath caught when Brett took her hand in his and gave it a firm shake. Liquid heat wound its way through her bloodstream.

What the hell?

Cassandra snatched her hand away and waved toward the conference table, indicating he should take a seat. The movement also shook away the tingly feeling still lingering through her.

"Why don't you make yourself comfortable and we can get started." She pointed to the opposite side of the table. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee. Tea. Water."

"Got anything stronger?"

Was he serious? It wasn't even 10 a.m. and he wanted something stronger? No wonder Powerz got rid of him.

"No."

"You do realize I'm joking, don't you, Ms. Fielder?"

Cassandra crossed her arms and examined Brett Hunter closely. He was tall, with the signature swimmer’s broad shoulders and a tapered-in waist. Designer stubble covered his cheeks and chin. She’d never been a fan of stubble, but Brett wore it well. His dark brown hair was cut short at the back and sides but a little longer in the front so that it hung over his blue eyes. Eyes that were clear and bright. No hint of redness to suggest he was coming off a hard night or had already had a few drinks this morning.

"You shouldn't always believe what’s written in the press," he continued. "Half of it isn't true."

Was he suggesting that some of the stories written about him were false? If that were the case, then why would his old agency drop him? There had to be some truth in them. Or maybe he was trying to rattle her, get her off balance so she wouldn’t consider taking him on.

Well, he’d picked the wrong woman to try that on. First, Frank wouldn’t let her walk out of this conference room without a plan of action. Second, she wasn’t susceptible to spoiled athletes who thought the world owed them everything. And she could thank her ex-husband, Michael, for that immunity.

As quickly as Michael's name entered her mind, she pushed it away. Now was not the time to give even a moment’s thought to the biggest mistake of her life. Her concentration had to be on the man sitting opposite her and working on making him a golden boy in the public's eyes. It wasn’t going to be an easy feat, considering all the drama he’d caused in Rio de Janeiro at the Olympic Games and his recent incidents back in the States.

"So, what you're telling me, by saying half of the stories written about you aren’t true, is that someone Photo-shopped a picture so it looked like you were partying with the German volleyball team, holding a bottle of beer in your hand, the night before one of your events? Or that you weren’t the reason a Canadian gymnast had to be cut from her event for missing a training session because she was practicing the horizontal beam with you? Or, just last week, your run-in with patrons and security at a nightclub in Los Angeles didn’t happen? All of those things are untrue?"

She bit back a laugh at the slow rise of red creeping up from the base of his neck.

Gotcha!

He opened his mouth and Cass promptly held up her hand. "I don't want to hear your attempts to justify or convince me those things didn’t happen. They did, Brett. You can’t change it. But it's in your past and I'm concentrating on your future. So, let’s move forward, shall we?"

Never before had she spoken so harshly to a client. If Frank were in the room with her, he'd be pulling her aside to reprimand her for her aggressive tone.

"You know what? I don't have to stay here and listen to this. I got enough of it from Powerz. There’s no need for you to chastise me like I'm five years old."

He stood and headed for the door.

Shit.

If she let him walk out, she could kiss her career goodbye. She'd worked too long and too hard for that to happen, especially over a disagreement with an athlete. Cassandra had no doubt in her abilities. She was the best person at the Agency to deal with Brett. Come hell or high water, she would turn his image around. Even if it caused her to lose her sanity.