“Who’s Morrison?” I ask Deb. “I didn’t get any message.”
She puts up a palm. “We’ll deal with that later. It’s damage control time, Jules. Think.”
“Okay. Um ... when is the proposal? I could start grabbing stuff from their socials and throw something together. I can work fast.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think there’s time. Max’s daughter thinks she’s doing a ceremonial puck drop with her father, but the fiancé is going to be waiting on bended knee on center ice.”
“Wow. Okay.”
“We were going to play the package on all the screens and then he’d propose.”
My mind spins frantically. “Shit. How am I just finding out about this? Okay, um ... I can make them a spectacular package to post on their socials. I’ll film the proposal. I’ll gather any and all photos and videos of their relationship. I’ll interview their friends and family. I’ll give them something amazing to share.”
Deb pinches her brows together. “I guess that’ll have to work.”
I check the battery life on my phone. It’s good. My hand goes to my bag, patting it to make sure my backup power bank is there. I can’t fuck up filming this proposal.
“I need our video people filming this, too. Not just my phone camera.”
“They will be.”
I start walking, thoughts racing through my head rapid-fire. “A song. Did we ask him if they have a song we can play when she says yes?”
“I’ll check on that.”
“What time is it? How long do I have?”
“Not much. I’ve been looking for you for more than twenty minutes. I never expected you to be in Hudson’s suite.”
“Yeah, some VIP’s granddaughter wanted to meet me because of my beauty page. Why didn’t you text me?”
“I did. Did it not go through?”
“No. Fuck! Why is this happening?” I rub my temple. “Okay. Focus, Jules.”
Deb puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get through this.”
“I’m so sorry, Deb. I didn’t get the message.”
“Let’s worry about that later. We have to get down there in time or things will get even worse.”
We hurry over to the elevator, an usher nodding at us with permission to pass him and step on.
“Please don’t fire me.”
Deb’s expression softens with sympathy. “You’re not getting fired. We’ll figure this out.”
“I let you down.”
“If you didn’t get the message, it was Morrison who let all of us down.”
“Who the hell is Morrison?”
The elevator doors slide open. Deb gives me a quick glance as we step out. “An intern.”
“An intern.” I scoff. “I’m on the edge of sanity because of an intern.”
We power walk through the tunnel and Deb flashes her badge, gaining us access to the walkway the players take to get from their locker room to the ice. I wrap my hand around my phone, ready to pull it out as soon as we stop walking.
