I exhaled and turned my attention to the job, making sure the Surge looked like champions even when they weren’t on the ice.
“Griswold.”
Bob’s voice came from behind me, the one part of the night I hadn’t planned for.
I pasted on a professional smile and turned. “Bob. Enjoying the free shrimp?”
He smirked, popping the end of a canapé into his mouth. “For what they’re paying this caterer, I’m taking the whole platter home.”
I couldn’t help a laugh. “Just don’t let the cameras catch you stuffing hors d’oeuvres into your pockets. PR nightmare.”
He snorted, then glanced toward the media cluster forming around Grayson. “You’ve got them trained. Reporters, players. The whole damn lot.”
“Trained is a strong word,” I said. “Let’s go with ‘cooperative under duress.’”
He studied me for a second, something unreadable in his expression. “You did good, Griswold.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He motioned loosely to the room. “This whole circus. You made it look like a coronation instead of a cleanup job. Even Hunter. You turned that kid from a PR risk into a poster boy. Against all odds.”
I actually laughed, certain he was setting up for a punchline. “Wait, are youcomplimentingme?”
He lifted his glass. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“Well, I’m marking this date. I think we just achieved a trite truce.”
“Trite suits me fine,” he said, and disappeared toward the bar. “Reminds me of my first love.”
I was still smiling when a reporter fromThe Globewaved me over. “Holly! Quick quote before the unveiling?”
“Make it quick,” I said, keeping my tone friendly. The mic hovered, cameras blinking red.
“How’s the team feeling heading into the finals?”
“Confident,” I said easily. “Focused. They’ve worked hard for this and the fans can feel that energy. Tonight’s just a celebration of that momentum.”
She nodded, satisfied, and I moved on before she could press for soundbites about Hunter or the locker room.
The band switched from jazz to something more upbeat, glasses clinking in rhythm. Waiters weaved through with trays of champagne and miniature sliders that looked too perfect to eat. A massive ice sculpture of the Surge logo glittered near the dessert table, slowly melting under the heat of the crowd.
Grayson and Mason were holding court near the photo wall, posing with fans and sponsors. Hunter was still across the room, talking to McAvoy now, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.
Every few minutes, I’d shift a little closer, greeting a reporter, answering a question, pretending to check the media feed on my phone. I never reached him. Someone always cut in, another handshake, another camera flash, another interruption.
When I finally spotted an opening, I started toward him—
“Ms. Griswold.”
Coach McAvoy’s gravelly voice stopped me mid-step.
He was in a black suit that strained a little at the shoulders, his tie already loosened. “Got a second?”
“Always,” I said, stepping aside with him near a quieter corner of the room.
He nodded toward Hunter, who was now laughing at somethingMason said. “You’ve done good work.”
Twice in one night? “Thank you, Coach.”
