“Yeah. I've got other responsibilities that are more pressing. I only did it because your producer over there makes very convincing arguments.”
John flicked a glance at Jenna working with Tasha to adjust one of the lights on set then gave him a knowing look. “I bet she did.”
Country bristled as the clouds within him darkened. “Actual logical arguments, John. And if you think McAllister would be anything other than professional, then you haven't been paying attention.” He gave him a final nod, then strode to sit next to Glen at the desk.
Jenna gave him a small smile, and a flood of light pierced his gathering storm. If he was correct, then she’d shown up tonight to do her job while the rest of these dickheads paraded around her pretending they were on her side. He wished he could suit up and take John out on the ice. Show him what was what.
Jenna and Tasha stepped up onto the stage. “We have more content than we can use tonight, boys.” Tasha grinned. “Should be a fun one.”
Glen nodded and wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. “Sorry, I think the lights are already getting to me. Can we get some powder up here?”
Tasha nodded and beelined for the door to hunt down a makeup artist. Jenna folded her arms in front of her. “Last show, hey?”
Country nodded, glancing briefly at John who was talking in hushed tones with Owen back by the coffee machine. “Last show.”
“We’ve got a ten minute countdown!” Liam called from the booth. Tasha appeared a moment later with the woman who’d tried to fix his hair. She hustled to the stage and pulled a brush from the waist-bag organizer she wore, then dipped it in a pot of powder and tapped it on the edge, releasing a puff of powder that glowed under the lights.
“Good luck tonight.” Jenna rapped her knuckles on the desk.
“Isn’t that bad luck? To wish a performer good luck?” Country asked.
Jenna rolled her eyes. “You’re not on Broadway, you’re a hockey player.” She flashed a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“You doing okay?”
She nodded once. “Fit as a fiddle.”
“That’s not—” Country’s sentence was cut short by the abrasive sound of metal stool legs scraping against wood. He whipped his head to the side to find Glen dropping from his stool and leaning on the woman who, moments before, had been powdering his brow.
“Have to go to the bathroom,” Glen grunted.
Jenna’s face went slack. “Glen, we don’t have time?—”
“It can’t exactly wait, McAllister.” He released the makeup artist and clutched his stomach as he beelined for the door.
Jenna checked her watch. “Six minutes,” she murmured. Tasha rounded the desk and jogged back to the booth, probably to keep Liam from having a panic attack.
“What’s going on?” John wove between the cameras with Owen in tow.
Jenna turned to face him. “Glen’s having a washroom emergency.”
Liam poked his head out from the booth, his face flushed. “Four minutes!”
John motioned to the door. “Owen, go drag Kessler back in here!”
“What happens if he doesn’t come back?” Country asked, his heart beginning to speed.
“You’ll be flying solo.” John exhaled and planted his hands on his hips.
Country’s lips drew into a line. While he’d done this twice prior, he had no experience with running the show. He’d always played off of Kessler’s experienced lead. It was one thing to make comments, and another to anticipate the flow of the broadcast and transition with finesse. Maybe he hadn’t given Glen enough credit.
Jenna shot him a look. “He’ll be back, he just?—”
Owen burst through the door, but didn’t return to the stage. He was pale as he shook his head then retreated back into the hall.
“He’s not coming?” Liam squeaked out from the back of the room.
“Looks like you’re—” John started, but Country cut him off.
