“Please, please, please,” Nadia says hopefully. “I know you hate public speaking, but this is such a big deal for Irena. You could recycle that speech you gave in Florida,” she says, referring to a presentation I gave at a conference a year ago. Normally I wouldn’t reuse a speech, but this one wasn’t very technical, and it’s unlikely anyone from that conference will be at this event. I also practiced the damn thing so much I still know it by heart.
“Oh, man…” I murmur. Dr. Madsen recommending me as his replacement is a huge honor, and I would never want to disappoint him. Plus, the more I can support him, the better the chances are that I’ll get his blessing to take over his lab when the time comes.
I blow out a breath. “Of course I’ll do it,” I say, my heart rate speeding up at the thought.
“Oh, sweetie, thank you so much.” Nadia’s relieved look is almost enough to make the whole ordeal worthwhile. “I’ll call Irena and tell her to stop freaking out. I’m sure she’ll be in touch with you later with details.”
The day goes by quickly, and before I know it, I’m getting ready to head home for yet another wild Friday night of pizza and a couple of beers before an early bedtime. As I’m walking to my car, the rain still pouring down, my phone pings with a text from my friend Declan.
Declan: Hey. Drinks tonight?
Declan and I met years ago when we were at college doing our undergrad degrees. He’s a sports reporter who moved to Seattle a few years before me. We reconnected when I moved here, and he’s become a good friend. We usually meet up for drinks or dinner every couple of weeks or so, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen him.
“Well, crap,” I mutter under my breath, tossing my messenger bag into the back seat of my car. I’m feeling a little worn down, but I know if Dec is asking to go for drinks, he’s feeling antsy. Since it’s the holidays, I understand why. He’s newly single, having broken up with his longtime girlfriend a few months ago, and he’s still struggling to adjust to being unattached. I hate the thought of him sitting alone all night, fighting the urge to contact his ex, who isnota good person. And no one wants to be alone at Christmastime.
Settling into the driver’s seat, I stare at my phone for a minute before replying. As much as I’d been looking forward to getting home, it will be good for me to get out. Maybe it will stop my anxiety from spiraling out of control over tomorrow night’s speech.
Me: Yeah, I’m in.
We make plans to meet up later, and as I head home, I keep telling myself it will be healthy for me to get out of the house. Maybe if I keep repeating it, I’ll start to believe it.
Chapter 2
ALEKS
“Ohmygod,doI need this,” I mutter to my friend Josie as the bartender hands me a gin and tonic with extra lime.
“Oh, boo, I’m sorry,” she says, flipping her curly red hair over her shoulder and taking a sip from her own drink. “Has it been bad again this week?”
“God, Jo, it’s a shitshow. Nothing I do makes the coach happy. He’s totally convinced the only reason I got this job was because of my dad. Like, he can barely hide his utter contempt for me.”
Josie clucks at me like a mother hen. “Oh, honey,” she says, giving my arm a sympathetic squeeze as we slide into a booth in the comfortable little bar down the street from my condo.
I’m an equipment manager for Seattle’s American Hockey League team, the Emerald City Eagles. We’re the minor-league affiliate, or “farm team,” for the city’s brand-new NHL team, the Seattle Sasquatch. I’ve been doing it for a year and a half since our team started playing the year before the Sasquatch, and until recently I’ve loved every second. Things changed last month when they fired their old coach and replaced him with a guy who is not a fan of mine. He assumes the only reason I have the job is because my dad is a well-known former NHL player. It doesn’t matter to him that I’m more than qualified, with a business degree in logistics and project management and a lifetime of living and breathing hockey. But he’s been making my life a damn living nightmare ever since he arrived, and it’s beginning to wear me down.
“I wish I could help you,” Jo says. “Just try to keep your eye on the prize, I guess?”
I nod. “Yeah, just letting me bitch to you about it helps.” I give her a forlorn smile. “I’m just starting to worry that he’s going to start pushing to get me fired.”
I come from a hockey family. My father played in the NHL for twenty seasons, my two older brothers still play in the league, and my older sister has been part of two US Olympic Women’s Hockey teams. My mom didn’t play pro hockey, slouch that she is, but she was an Olympic figure skater. So that leaves me, the only non-athlete in the family. The truth is I like playing hockey just fine, but playing it isn’t what I love. What I really want is to build teams, to be the person who creates something special from a random group of players, coaches, and staff. That’s the job of a general manager in the NHL, and that’s what I want. My goal is to become one of the youngest NHL GMs ever, and this job is an important step toward that, so even if it’s shitty, I need to stick it out until I can find a more senior position.
“I’m so sorry, sweet cakes,” Josie says. “It’s bullshit, but you’ll land on your feet. You’re smart and organized and resourceful. Plus, you’ve been kicking ass at this job for over a year. Things will fall into place, one way or another, when the universe knows you’re ready.”
I have to hold back my eye roll when she drops that little nugget. I love Josie—we’ve been friends forever—but she’s got a fewwoo-wootendencies that aren’t my jam. She’s all about crystals and tarot cards and energy vibrations. It’s not my thing, but she didn’t have anyone or anything else to comfort her when she was growing up with abusive parents, so if her crystals make her feel good, I’m all in. Truthfully, I’m so desperate for things to get better at work maybe a few crystals scattered around my office or the locker room might not be such a bad idea. I mean, it can’t hurt, right?
“Well, I just hope the universe can sense I’m ready for a change now. Because this shit is really pissing me off,” I mutter sullenly into my drink.
As much as it pisses me off, it’s not the first time people have assumed I’m just riding my dad’s coattails, and it won’t be the last. The truth is my family name did open doors for me, and it probably always will if I want to stay in the hockey world, but the flip side is that it makes people very eager to see me fail. Someone with a name like mine gets a lot fewer chances to fuck up. I might have been born into this game, but I’ve also worked really damn hard, and I love it just as much as anyone. I’m willing to pay my dues, but I don’t want to be constantly having to prove that I’m capable.
“Okay, stop stewing,” Josie says before taking a sip from her drink and checking her phone for texts. “It’s Friday night, and you’re off for the weekend. Time to have a little fun.”
I heave a sigh, resolving to put work out of my head for the rest of the night. I glance around, surveying the place for anyone of interest. After the week I’ve had, I deserve a little no-strings-attached fun. It’s one of my rare weekends off since the team doesn’t play until Monday, but I do have a charity event tomorrow night. I’ll be rubbing elbows with pro athletes and sports execs from around the country, so I’ll need to be on my best behavior. That means if I want a little weekend action, tonight’s the night.
I’m casting my gaze around the room to see if anyone piques my interest when I see him.Holy shit on a shingle.I let out an audible gasp, causing Josie to look up at me from across the table.
“What?” she says, but I just shake my head, and she goes back to her phone.
The man is…wow… Wavy, dark brown hair falls just over the tops of his ears and across the back of his neck, with just a hint of gray at the temples, making him look distinguished AF. Stylish horn-rimmed glasses frame chocolate-brown eyes above his neatly trimmed beard, and a simple, well-fitted gray T-shirt hugs his muscular chest. Bold ink in a design I can’t quite make out covers his left arm, and I would bet my life that under those comfortable-looking khakis, his ass is a goddamn work of art.
