“Of course,” I reply, trying to sound professional, and not like someone whose business checking account is currently crying. “What time works best for you?”
“How soon can you be here?”
I check my watch. “I can be there in an hour.” My heart is thumping wildly, caught between the urge to believe thisis about the contract and the fear of setting myself up for disappointment.
“Perfect. Ask for me at the executive offices on the third floor.” She hangs up, and I stare at my phone, frozen in shock.
“Harper?” Jessica's voice snaps me back to reality. “Who was that?”
“The Renegades,” I say slowly, still processing. “They want to see me. Today.”
Jessica's eyes widen. “But didn't they already give their events contract to Signature Events?”
“Yeah,” I say, grabbing my coat and portfolio. “Which makes this very interesting.”
I spend the fifteen-minute Uber ride alternately checking my reflection in my phone camera and trying not to hyperventilate.
“Madison Square Garden,” the driver announces, pulling up to the iconic entrance.
Navy blue and silver banners hang from the exterior walls, with splashes of crimson red in the team logos, that seem to pulse with energy even in daylight.
I flash my ID at the security checkpoint, explaining that I have a meeting with Jennifer McCall. The guard, a mountain of a man with kind eyes, checks his list and waves me through the metal detector.
“Executive offices are on the third floor,” he says, handing me a visitor's badge. “Elevators are past the gift shop, but if you want to see the arena floor, there's a shortcut through the main concourse.”
I've been in plenty of arenas over the years, an occupational hazard of having a brother who's played everything from junior hockey to the NHL.
But Madison Square Garden is different. Even empty, it has this raw power that makes the hair on your arms stand up.
I'm walking past the players' entrance, trying not to gawk like a tourist, when I see him.
Cole Maddox.
My breath catches in my throat. The last time I saw him, I was fifteen and he was this impossibly cool eighteen-year-old visiting Brett during summer break.
He's definitely filled out since our teenage years. He's all lean muscle and broad shoulders now. The strong jawline and high cheekbones have sharpened with age, and even from this distance, I can see those piercing steel-blue eyes that used to make me stammer whenever he looked my way.
He was hot as a teenager, but now he’s freaking gorgeous, and my body hums with awareness. God, I thought I'd outgrown this ridiculous attraction.
Our eyes meet, and for a second, time does that annoying thing where everything slows down. But there’s no recognition in his eyes, and he looks away.
For about half a second, I consider walking over and reintroducing myself.
Hi, Cole. Remember me? Brett's annoying little sister, who used to follow you around like a lost puppy?
Yeah, that's not happening.
Instead, I adjust my purse strap and head toward the elevators like a mature, professional adult, who definitely isn’t still ogling her brother's best friend.
Jennifer McCall greets me at the reception. She’s a pretty, dark-haired woman in her forties with a brisk manner that suggests she doesn't suffer fools. My kind of woman.
“Ms. Hayes, thank you for coming so quickly,” she says, leading me down a hallway lined with championship banners and photographs of Renegades legends. “I'll get straight to the point. Signature Events backed out of our season contract this morning.”
I keep my expression neutral, but inside, I'm doing cartwheels.
“Some kind of internal restructuring crisis,” Jennifer continues as we enter a conference room that overlooks the arena.
“That's unfortunate,” I say, insincerely.
