When you decided to take up Public relations as a college degree, you never expected to end up where you were. In charge of an entire ice Hockey team, and keeping their media presence intact.

Easier said than done, when they were a bunch of idiots who had about as much media training as a kindergartener.

Cameras to them were an opportunity to show off and say whatever dumb shit was more likely to get them on the front page of every sports news outlet by the next morning.

And by now they were pros.

Simon wasn’t quite as loud and obnoxious as the others. He preferred to brood in the corner, only piping in to piss people off. That someone always happened to be you.

Working with Simon was almost impossible. It was clear that he didn’t give two shits about keeping a good public image. Being the best centre they had, it made him more valuable. He got away with more given how indispensable he was.

Such as being a complete and utter nuisance in every meeting. But while you despised working with him, he couldn’t be happier. Every team meeting with you was his own personal form of entertainment.

Simon lived to make you angry. It was the only way to get those pretty eyes of yours on him. The only reason you ever willingly spoke to him was to scold him, so he had to get creative.

Even if it was just to watch the way your skin flushed, or your gaze turn burning hot with your frustration.

He never meant to end up slamming his fist into a drunker strangers face, inside the bar his team frequently visited. Because for the first time; you’d joined them for some celebratory drinks after a big win.

The guy had approached you and said one too many things, and put his filthy little hands too close. The alcohol already pumping through Simon’s loosened his restrained, and that was how he ended up behind yet another camera, with you behind it.

The press had found out and latched onto it, and everything had started to go downhill. It was a bad look for the team, and Simon. 
“All you have to do, is acknowledge what you did, apologise, say it all happened in the heat of the moment, and then move on. Not that hard,” you said, speaking to him like he was a child.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I’m not apologising for any of it.”

“Simon. You cannot say that. You’re just lucky the guy didn’t press charges—“

“He had it coming, I’m not apologising for shit. He had no right to put hands on you.”