CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jules
The Spokane Spudsmascot just took a big shit in Hudson McClain’s suite. No one knows whether to laugh or not, but then McClain bursts out laughing, and the mood lightens.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry about that,” his handler Cody says. “Tater, you know better than that.”
The bulldog travels with the team, and the Spuds are in Cleveland for a game against our team tonight.
“Could you ...?” Cody passes me Tater’s leash and I take it.
Cody takes out dog waste bags, cleans up the mess, and leaves the room with it.
“Come here, Tater,” McClain says.
Tater sniffs him and then McClain gives him back scratches, the dog’s whole back end wagging with happiness.
“You ready to get crushed, big guy?” McClain asks him. “You’ll need to cheer up your team later.”
I’m not all that comfortable in this suite, which McClain invites friends to for games. There’s an A-list actor in here tonight, and a few other famously wealthy people.
A couple in the corner is snuggling, oblivious to everyone else in the room. I get a pang of longing for Noel. I miss the sex—a lot—but I miss the affection more. Noel always hugged me so close, and he wasn’t a quick hugger. He gives other women perfunctory hugs where their chests don’t even touch, but he hugged me wholly, my softer body molding against his rigid one.
I miss the tone of voice he reserved for me. Deep and warm and blissfully content. His hockey voice is all business, and he’s less reserved with his kids and friends, but there’s a special tone I never heard him use with anyone but me.
Deb walks into the suite, scanning it. Her gaze lands on me, her brows arching.
“You got that new package done for the kiss cam promo, right?”
I furrow my brow. “What new package?”
“Don’t joke about this. It’s the daughter oftheMax Thompson, the owner of the jewelry store.”
Tater flops onto the floor with a huff, giving zero fucks. Cody walks in and takes the leash from me and I walk over to Deb, my heart hammering nervously.
“Deb, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes widen. “Morrison said he told you about it this morning. We need that package, Jules. This is Max’s anniversary and his daughter’s fiancée wants to propose at the game tonight. It has to be tonight.”
My stomach drops to the floor. “Who is Morrison? Oh my god, what’s going on?”
Deb buries her face in her hands. “This can’t be happening.”
I’m on the verge of tears. I didn’t get a message, and I don’t have a video package prepared. Or even started.
Hudson turns around, his brow furrowed.
“What’s going on, Deb?”
She forces a smile, but her expression telegraphs a powerful urge to throw up. “Nothing. We’re good.”
I follow her out of the suite, feeling ill myself. “Deb, I am so sorry. I swear I didn’t get a message. I’ll fix this.”
She considers for a few seconds, her expression pained.
“We’ll have to pivot. Let’s think. What could we do that would make up for not having a video package with photos of their relationship and an interview with Max’s future son-in-law talking about how amazing his daughter is?”
I’m getting fired. Thompson Jewelry is our second biggest ad account. I can’t believe this is happening.
