His eyes came back to mine, cool and assessing. “Last I checked.”
“My dad used to tell me what an incredible leader you are. He was a big fan.”
“Used to?”
“He passed away. Last year.” The grief welled up, choking me.
Something shifted in his face. He was still guarded, but the edges softened. “Sorry.”
“Thanks.” I rallied a smile. “Anyway, you’re kind of a big deal to me.”
That earned me a dry huff as his eyes softened further. “Because of your father. So, I’m basically vintage now.”
“Vintage is sexy,” I mumbled.
I almost missed the faintest of flickers in his eyes, like I’d surprised him.
“Gunnar!” a woman’s voice snapped from a few rows down.
I glanced past him to see a woman with sleek black hair overlaid with a headset, glaring like she could cut steel with her eyes. That woman, Lydia Breitbart, was my actual boss. I’d met her earlier today when she’d given me the tour of the floor, my official Wildcatters badge, and the T-shirt I now wore. Instead of the friendly smile she’d offered earlier, Lydia glared at me from under lowered, pinched brows.
I was so, so screwed, and I would not enjoy whatever she said next. As I contemplated disappearing into the concrete floor, two women slid through the crowd and appeared at Gunnar’s shoulder. One exuded Texas charm, and the other oozed chic. They blocked Lydia’s evil eye, but I was sure she was still planning my painful demise.
“Well, what happened here?” the Texan asked, her big blue eyes darting between me and Gunnar.
“Oh, nothing much, Ida Jane. Just making friends the old-fashioned way.” Gunnar gestured to his damp jersey.
I bit back a groan at the growing audience for my humiliation.
“Gunnar,” Chic drawled, “There’s no need for dramatic pre-game rituals, especially not with the league commissioner. Now get going. I want to see you score goals like you rack up dollars.” She waved him off, though Gunnar gave me a last, lingering look before he clomped down the steps to the ice.
The elegant beauty turned to me. “I’m Naomi, and that bubbly bit of perky is Ida Jane.”
“Nice to meet you.” Ida Jane grinned. “Don’t worry about Gunnar. He’s survived worse in the boardroom. Probably will tonight as well, seeing as my husband and the rest of the team have been ribbing him about his…er, performance.” Her eyes went wide and her cheeks pinked, as she realized what she’d said.
Naomi threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, that was too good.”
“I’m Zaila,” I mumbled, mostly to be polite, and to stop any more innuendos. My body couldn’t take additional embarrassment, even second-hand. “And I’m supposed to start as the team’s social media intern tomorrow, but my boss is staring at me like she wants to skin me alive.”
“Oh, honey,” Naomi purred, “what an entrance. Planning on dousing all your superiors?” She offered a warm smile to ease the sting. “Some could use the wake-up call, including Lydia, the witch. Though, good for you—going straight to the top.”
I shuffled my feet, desperate to get away and sink into my seat. Maybe I should go home.
“Oh, she is glaring.” Naomi’s lip curled as she looked toward Lydia for a moment. “If you want me to finish your soda in her lap, I’m game.”
Ida Jane linked arms with me. “Stop, Naomi. Lydia’s…something else, bless her heart, but she doesn’t deserve a lap full of Coke.”
“You sure?” Naomi asked with a toss of her head.
“Nope,” Ida Jane said. “But tonight won’t be when we find out, because then we’d lose Zaila, and I have a strong suspicion our new social media hire is going to shake things up in the best possible way.” Ida Jane turned her soft blue eyes toward me, her smile ratcheting into Cheshire-grin territory. “Let’s find your seat, Zaila, and make plans for a lunch sometime soon.”
As we walked, the women’s curiosity was palpable. I didn’t understand why they were being so kind to me.
Naomi cracked first. “So, darling, spill the tea...or cola, rather.”
I gulped. “I got bumped. A fan hit my elbow and blam! Soda everywhere.”
Ida Jane clucked. “That’s not even your fault. Though it certainly made an impression.”
