“Please, call me John.” John, normally the tallest in the room, had to lean to look past Gentry to meet her eyes. “Ready, Jenna? Kessler’s already in my office.”
Jenna nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She needed to pull it together. Neither Kessler nor John knew about her connection to their prized TikTok sensation, and she wanted to keep it that way if possible. Hopefully Gentry would take the hint and not blow her cover.
She talked herself down as she followed them through the hall, staring at the back of Gentry’s head. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if John knew they had history, but over the past three years, she’d succeeded in keeping her work and personal life segregated. It was basically a version of that show Severance, except unfortunately she went home remembering everything that happened to Work Jenna.
She didn’t hate her job. In fact, it was the opposite. She loved production—loved television in general. But Windsor had taught her that loving something didn’t mean she could let her guard down.
John motioned for them to sit at the chrome and glass table nestled in the bright corner of his office next to floor-to-ceiling windows. Jenna purposely took the seat against the wall, hoping the bright afternoon sun would blind her like stage lights.
“Big fan of your work, Country.” Kessler stood and shook Gentry’s hand, clasping his other hand around his wrist as if they were already close friends. Jenna didn’t miss Glen’s quick once-over, taking stock of how he measured up against the newcomer. Spoiler alert: he didn’t. Not in the least.
Gentry took his seat, and suddenly Jenna had that song from Sesame Street running through her head. One of these men was not like the others. Glen and John seemed pale in comparison. Like their saturation had been turned down.
Gentry didn’t slump. He looked primed to spring up and sprint, retrieve glass Pyrex from the top shelf, or carry seven suitcases in from the trunk without breaking a sweat. His eyes flicked to hers, and heat burned low in Jenna’s belly. She stared directly at the window, praying for the glaring sunlight to sear that glimpse of his sly grin from her memory.
John set a notepad and pen down in front of him as Mary settled into her stenographer seat next to his desk across the room. “You know Glen Kessler, the current sportscaster on HEC, and this is Jenna, one of our producers.”
Jenna had to walk herself through the steps of responding like a normal human being. She nodded once then tapped her fingers on the table and fought the urge to turn to him even though Country’s eyes bored into her temple. She exhaled when his attention finally turned back to John. Archer wasn’t there, but Owen was. Of course.
Jenna tried to gauge his reaction to her using the videos he’d introduced her to to wriggle into John’s good graces. Too bad, so sad. This was show business, and it wasn’t like anyone had ever had her back.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gentry leaned back in his chair and folded his arms in front of him. The energy in the room seemed to shift with each flex of his muscles. Or was that only her energy?
John clasped his hands on the table. “Well, to cut to the chase, your hockey reaction videos are creating quite the buzz online.”
Gentry nodded once. “So they tell me.”
John chuckled. “Not a fan of the instant fame?”
“I’m a fan of proper game and player assessment getting air time.”
Kessler laughed a little too loud at that comment, and Jenna refrained from rolling her eyes.
John watched Gentry appraisingly. “As are we. Which is why we’d like you to join HEC as a guest commentator.”
Gentry blinked once, and his lips twitched. “Hockey Evening in Canada.”
John nodded. “Saturday night. Prime time. None of the highlight segment bullshit. We want you next to Kessler. We want the banter, the honesty. Everything that makes your channel eye candy.”
“So do you want my shirt on or off?” Gentry asked. The words pointed at Jenna like daggers, and her stomach flipped.
“On,” she blurted, slapping her tablet to the table and flipping over the cover. Gentry’s presence was yanking the pole from her hands, and she needed to reel this meeting back in. “I have a list of content ideas from your most popular videos that I think would be?—”
“You watched my videos?” Gentry’s voice rumbled through her, and Jenna felt the handle slip from her fingers.
She stood and walked to the mini fridge, grabbing a bottle of water so she wouldn’t have to sit still and look at him. “John asked me to do an assessment and determine what could work best for the segment.” Professional. Partially honest. Best-case scenario, given the circumstances. She twisted off the cap and returned to her seat.
John smiled. “I needed somebody impartial. Someone more in tune with our target audience.”
Heat crept up Jenna’s neck, and she chanced a look at Gentry as she brought the water to her lips.
Gentry’s lip twitched, his expression stoic. “Impartial. You’re not a hockey enthusiast?”
Jenna raised her eyebrow. So he was going to join the game, then. Gentry knew that she’d played hockey from the time she could stand on skates. That her dad had almost gotten in a fist fight with Arden Cooley when he refused to let her join the peewee boys team and suggested she play ringette.
He knew that she played recreationally all through high school whenever the girls could get ice time and then played on the women’s team at Wilfrid Laurier in Waterloo while taking a full course load. No equipment. No funding. No tournament entries.
Gentry knew exactly why she went into sports broadcasting. He didn’t know what happened in Windsor, but the fact that she was sitting here as a producer instead of a sportscaster probably gave him some clues.
