“I bet it’s Nicholas,” Viktor suggests and they all nod.
“Yeah, totally. Good call Vik,” The Wall says.
“Nicholas makes sense,” Xavier agrees.
“None of this makes sense,” I grumble as I head to the showers. “Least of all this asinine conversation.”
The Wall starts signing “You’re a Mean one, Mr. Grinch” as I walk away, so I biff the top of his head with the palm of my hand as I go.
Chapter 9
Nolan
I’m out of the shower in record time, dressed back into my pre-game suit and storming down the hall with only one goal. Find Felicity Roark and make her pay for nominating me for Santa Claus. And I’m going to get her to confess she’s my Secret Santa from hell too.
I find her in her office, packing up for the night. She’s in cute little skirt and a tapered, girls-cut Comets shirt. She’s also got a reindeer antler headband on. She’s a fucking lunatic. I don’t say a word, and even though her back is to the door as she packs her bag, she speaks. “What do you want Nolan? To wish me a happy holidays?”
“Fuck no,” I reply. “I’m here to tell you to find someone else to play Santa. I am not your guy.”
“But you are my guy,” she says, turning to face me. Her bright blue eyes are dancing with amusement on the surface, but the longer I hold her gaze, the more I see the hard, defiant gleam at their core. “And I’m your girl, aren’t I?’
For a second I vacillate on the double-entrendre in that statement. Why does she have to be as hot as she is frustrating? Truth is, from the moment I saw her, I was attracted to her. Unfortunately, I met her within seconds of going on a two-month leave, so I didn’t see her much. I wasn’t at the rink while my knee healed except to sit in the team box to watch home games or attend some team meetings. But her pretty face and sweet smile had me thinking about her so much that I even went so far as to casually double check our policy about dating staff. But then Christmas happened and she came at it like a rabid elf, and that’s a hard pass for me.
“I’m talking about Secret Santa,” she clarifies before I can answer, yanking her purse up onto her shoulder and pulling her coat off the back of her chair. “You’re mine aren’t you?”
“I am not dressing up in a fat man suit to placate small children and be the laughing stock of this organization,” I tell her, side-stepping her question.
She loses the amusement in her eyes now and crosses her arms over her chest. “You want to back out, then you tell Lance Isles yourself. He will be in tomorrow morning at eight. He was very happy that you were trying to take a proactive attempt to be involved with the community projects.”
She starts to try and walk out right past me, but I grab her arm before she can slide out into the hall. She pivots fast, and we’re face to face now. She’s wearing heels that bring her closer to my height but not quite there, so I tilt my head down to make sure the fiery anger behind my eyes, isn’t missed. “You already told Mr. Isles?”
“Yeah. Lance was thrilled,” Felicity replies.
“Lance?” I cock my head. That just about confirms the rumors about how she got her job. No one calls the owner by his first name except his daughter’s best friend, I guess.
“Mr. Isles,” she corrects herself. “Now, let me go so I can go home and get back here refreshed and ready for whatever shitastic gift you’ll be sending me next.”
I smirk. It’s a dead giveaway that I am, in fact, her Secret Santa. It’s fine. I’m done pretending. “Not a fan of that lovely yellow scarf you got today?”
“It’s wool. I hate wool. It makes me itch just looking at it, and it’s the color of cheap mustard,” Felicity replies and shifts the subject again. “Lance…Mr. Isles and his daughter Ellery used to fund and operate a toy drive themselves ever since Ellery was six. He likes to spread joy, and when I started, he specifically asked me to heighten the team’s community involvement at this time of year specifically. But feel free to tell him you aren’t on board. Your contract is up next year right?”
That little reminder also makes me think of my recently deceased agent and the way I had to pay tribute to him in post-game interviews tonight covered in glitter. Thanks to this Christmas nightmare in front of me. She tries to leave again, but I’m not letting go of her arm. “Don’t bring my contract into this, but if he doesn’t re-sign me over this, so be it. I want my job because of how I perform not who I know.”
Her big, ocean-colored eyes ice over. “Oh you’re one of them? The people that think I was hired because Ellery made daddy do it,” Felicity questions but continues before I can even nod. “For the record, I have a BA from Stanford in public relations and sports marketing and had a successful two-year stint for a major league baseball team before jumping to hockey. Ellery put my resume on top of the pile, sure, something Ellery’s brother Deacon did for one of his frat brothers too when the position opened. But sure, let’s just say that the female couldn’t have possibly been hired on her work ethic, ideas and employment history. Misogynist.”
She breaks free of my grip, because calling me a misogynist was like a blow directly to the solar plexus and weakened me. I stand dumb-founded for a second while she storms down the empty, darkened hall, past the elevators into a room at the end of the hall. I recover and follow after her. This is getting way more intense than I want it to be.
Yeah, I’m mad at her and she annoys me, but this is…too much.
It’s a break room, apparently, I see as I reach the door and step into the rectangular space. Felicity is collecting a half-empty tray of Christmas cookies and putting them in a Tupperware to store overnight I’m guessing. They look like shortbread in the shape of snowmen and decorated with icing and colorful sprinkles. They’re cute, even my dark heart has to admit that.
“I’m not a misogynist,” I tell her, my voice probably softer than it’s ever been with her, which causes her to pause. But she still won’t look up at me. “I was raised by my two mothers in the wilds of Alaska, so let me tell you I’ve seen misogyny. I’ve seen what some of those mountain men have said to my mothers, and I’m horrified you’d think I was like them.”
“Then don’t assume that just because I know Ellery, I’m not qualified,” Felicity says after a second and slowly lifts her gaze to meet mine across the table. She looks genuinely hurt, and my heart clogs with guilt. Fuck, I am an asshole. “Look at my work since I took over and tell me I haven’t earned my position.”
“I can’t do that,” I admit. “You’re excellent at what you do. But do you have to go above and beyond for all this holiday crap?”
“What is your issue, once and for all?” Felicity says, leaving the Tupperware on the counter and placing her hands on her hips.
