“Wicked Witch incoming in five minutes!”
I shake my head at the announcement that comes from my co-workers every morning.
Really, as a manager, I should discourage that kind of talk, but…it’s true. Tori Witt, our media relations director, emulates Wicked Witch vibes. To say she’s all business and no fun would be an understatement. Last year, when we crushed our social media number goals, she ordered six donuts and left out a sheet of gold stars next to them in the break room.
There are over ten employees on the social media staff alone. It was beyond insulting to all our hard work.
“I can’t wait for the day when you’re the director of the department,” Blake, my co-worker, says, bumping his shoulder into mine.
“Me? Please. Like that will happen.”
I mean, I’d love for it to happen, but I’m not holding my breath. They’d have to pry the job of director from Tori’s cold, dead hands.
“I don’t know…I heard a rumor…”
I roll my eyes. “People need to stop spreading rumors. Look what happened to Jane—she got fired because of rumors.”
“Oh, no,” Courtney says, handing me a piece of paper. “That one was true. We even have a new policy about it.”
“Seriously?” I take the paper from Courtney’s outstretched hand, mouth slackened.
She nods. “Yep. They even bolded it.”
I glance at the sheet in my hand to see if it’s true.
And it is. Right there in giant, bold print.
ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS WITH PLAYERS ARE PROHIBITED AND WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE TERMINATION.
“They dated, but he broke it off and she was upset. To get revenge, she tried to sue for sexual misconduct, saying the player came on to her, but he had a whole slew of texts that showed it was just the opposite. So now it’s not just discouraged—it’s prohibited.” She shrugs. “So, much to everyone’s chagrin because those guys are hot, no sleeping with the players.”
I swallow back the lump that’s formed in my throat.
Immediate termination.
“You don’t have to worry about that from her,” Blake says. “She’s on her way to director. There’s no way she’ll mess that shot up.”
“What? You are? Does that mean the rumor about Tori is true? I—”
“Emilia! Blake! My office now!”
Tori’s sharp words cut off whatever Courtney was going to say, and I glance over at Blake, whose brows are raised, just as shocked by Tori’s interruption.
“Uh-oh,” he says, setting his empty mug down. “Guess we’re in trouble.”
I press a hand over my stomach, trying to quell the nausea rolling through me as I look down at the paper in my hands because…does she know?
My face must show my worry because Blake laughs.
“I was teasing. Come on. We’ll grab coffee afterward.”
I give a polite laugh and follow him from the break room, spending the entire way there trying not to freak out over how serious Tori sounded when she blazed through the floor.
We slip into her office, close the door, and take the seats in front of her desk. She’s sitting behind it looking every bit the director that she is. She’s a small woman, a few inches shorter than me, but she can command a room like nobody’s business. If I wasn’t so terrified of her, I’d be in awe.
She stares at us down her nose, clacking her long nails against the top of her desk.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
Then finally, she speaks.
“I’m quitting.”
I sit up straighter in my chair, leaning forward because maybe I didn’t hear that correctly.
“You’re quitting?” I ask, just to make sure, because there is no way she just said what I think she did.
Tori nods, her pin-straight, short dark bob bouncing. “Yes.”
“Are you insane?” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.
There’s a sucked-in breath from next to me, and I can’t say I blame Blake for his surprise.
I’m surprised.
Tori is a notorious hard-ass. In the two and a half years I’ve been working with the Comets, I’m certain I’ve only seen her smile twice, and once was when the team won the Stanley Cup, which doesn’t really count. Smiles are contagious then.
Sitting here, watching her throwing her head back and laughing, is alarming. I won’t lie and say I’m not shaking on the inside right now, waiting for her to explode on me.
“No, not insane,” she says with a grin. “Just pregnant. So maybe a little insane, then, given my age.”
My eyes widen because I had no idea Tori was expecting. I would have never guessed she even wanted children considering her disdain toward any event involving them.
“Is there something in the air?”
Again, my mouth betrays me, the words tumbling free without warning.
Blake bumps his knee against mine—hard.
Tori tips her head. “Pardon?”
I wave my hand. “Nothing. Just…a lot of babies happening around here is all.”
“Ah.” She purses her lips, nodding. “I assume you mean Mr. Lowell. We did send him and his…well, whatever she is to him, a card, yes?” She flicks her wrist, not caring if we sent something or not to the team’s captain. She does it to save face, not because she truly cares about the players or their families.
I want to tell her Lowell’s “whatever” has a name. It’s Hollis, and she’s been my best friend since first grade. But I’m sure with my insubordinate outbursts so far this morning, that likely wouldn’t go over too well.
“Yes, we sent Mr. Lowell a congratulations card,” Blake speaks up for me like the angel he is.
I am so buying him lunch today.
“Good.” Tori folds her hands over her still flat stomach. “I won’t be leaving until after the season ends, but you’re my top picks for director. I wanted you both to know in advance because this second half of the season is going to be a test run of how well you’ll handle this department in my absence. It will let me know if I can recommend one of you for the position without worrying about you ruining all my hard work, or if I need to look at outside sources to take over.”
“A test run?”
Ugh. Why do I keep asking stupid questions?
And why does Tori let me keep asking stupid questions? Usually, she’d be reaming me a new one. Perhaps it’s her pregnancy. Maybe she’s turning a new kinder, gentler leaf.
“Yes, a test run. Nepotism may have gotten you this position, Emilia, but your talent is what’s kept you here. I need to see if you’re capable of continuing that without my guidance.”
Ah, there it is—the dig.
It’s true I got this job because of my uncle, but it’s also true that I’ve worked my ass off to keep it. I’m a damn good social media manager. I work harder than anyone else in the department, come up with excellent content, and help keep a team of skilled members on task. Blake and I kick ass at co-managing, and I love this job. Being the social media manager for an NHL team is exactly what I want to do. Funny considering a few years ago, I couldn’t even tell you anything about the game of hockey, but here I am loving every minute of it. I think I’m as in love with the game as I am with my job, and that’s saying something.
Becoming the director of all media relations with an NHL team would be a dream come true. A dream I never knew I had, to be honest. Not until I got here.
Now, I want more. I’m ready for more.
I want that director position, and I want it bad.
“I am,” I tell her. “I’m ready.”
“It’s going to mean longer hours, more time away from your family.” Her eyes flick to Blake because we both know that’s who she’s talking to. Blake has a doting husband and a daughter.
Me? I don’t have anyone, and everyone knows it. I’m alone, which is why I’m perfect for this job. I have plenty of time to devote to it.
“I understand,” I tell her.
“Good,” Tori says, sounding unconvinced. “As we start to prepare for another playoff run after Christmas, I’d like to do another player profile like we did last season.” By we, she means the series Blake and I produced and she had zero involvement in. “The fans responded well to it, and I believe that’s what drove our social media numbers up across the board in the last half of the season. I want to do that again. In fact, I want to double our numbers.”
Double? Sure, we gained a lot of exposure last year with the profile we did on one of our most beloved players and his picture-perfect family, but to double that? We’d need a damn good piece…and possibly a miracle.
“I’d be happy to gather a list of potential subjects. I—”
“They want Smith,” she states definitively.
It’s three simple words, yet they are all it takes to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. A chill runs down my spine, and I pray nobody notices my reaction.
I run my tongue along my rapidly drying lips. “Owen Smith?”
Her shrewd eyes narrow just a smidge, and I can tell the thin ice I’ve already been walking on has just gotten thinner. “Well, he is the only Smith on the team, so yes.”
Of course she means him. I was just hoping that, by some miracle, another Smith was traded to the Comets and I missed it and she wasn’t referring to one of the most underrated centermen in the league.
But nope, she means Smith.
My Smith.
I swallow thickly, and she doesn’t miss it.
“Is that an issue?”
“Well, it’s just that last year he refused.”
She lifts a perfectly shaped brow. “Your point?”
“I just thought…” My words die when her brow rises even higher.
“Well, don’t think. Just act. He’s a mystery, and the fans want to know more about him. So, get him on board before the Christmas break.”
My stomach drops. Not at her words—I am unfortunately used to those—but at her request.
I don’t want to work with Smith more than I already have to, and working with him for the player profile series will require just that. Last year when we did it on a defenseman, I got close with not only the player but his wife too. We followed them the entire season.
Having to spend all my extra time with Smith…I’m not sure I can handle that.
“We will,” Blake assures her, his knee knocking into mine again.
Kiss-ass.
But he’s not. He’s just telling Tori the truth that I can’t handle. We will get Smith on board. We have to if we want this promotion.
And that sucks for so many reasons.
Tori focuses her attention on the pile of papers on her desk, and Blake and I are both aware that it means we’re dismissed. We rise to our feet, our eyes connecting in a silent conversation of What the fuck just happened?
Tori doesn’t speak until Blake’s hand hits the door handle, and we both pause to look back at her.
“I trust you’re both aware of what being a director means, yes?”
“Um…yes?”
She sighs, sitting back in her chair. “It means you’re the media relations face of the team. It means you’re the one who is setting the example. That sheet being passed around out there”—she nods toward the office—“means something different for you, something more. You’ll do well to remember that if you want a thriving chance.”
Blake and I exchange another glance, then nod frantically.
Tori looks away again, and we scurry from the office, both running scared.
“Are you insane?” Blake hisses the moment we’re down the hall and safe from Tori. “I can’t believe you kept asking her to repeat herself!”
“I was shocked!” I argue back in a hushed tone. “I didn’t think she’d ever quit. She gets off too much on being hateful to us all.”
Blake cracks a smile. “That’s fair. But that was the rumor I was going to tell you about.” He shakes his head. “Good gravy, Em—I thought she was going to crawl over her desk and strangle you, and that would have sucked because I’m not sure I would have helped. I have a kid, and kids are expensive. I need this job.”
“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, pushing past him toward the state-of-the-art coffee machine we have. I press a button for a double espresso with steamed almond milk, then rest against the counter.
Blake settles in next to me. “Speaking of my job…you know I don’t want that promotion, right?”
I nod because I kind of figured. It’s demanding, and he already complains about missing time with his husband and their new baby. “I know.”
“But I’ll help you with the piece on Smith. Just when the time comes, the credit is all yours.”
Smith.
The simple mention of his name has my body running hot.
“Hey, don’t look so worried. It’s going to be great. You’re going to get the promotion. We’ll make sure of it.”
He doesn’t understand. Not getting the promotion isn’t what I’m worried about. I’m an amazing manager. I deserve this promotion.
What I’m worried about is working with Smith. Because that new rule about not sleeping with the players?
I already broke it.
