Judging by her nerves, I have a pretty good sense that she’s who I’m here to see.
She’s trying to hold it together, but it’s slipping at the edges. That tells me everything I need to know about how bad this situation actually is. People like her don’t get rattled unless there’s a reason.
This is the kind of assignment that either cements your reputation or quietly dismantles it. There’s no middle ground with high-profile clients. If this goes sideways, it won’t just be his name trending.
When she spots me, she stops in her tracks. “Miss Callahan?”
I extend my hand. “That’s right. And you are…?”
“Renee Monroe, Director of PR. We don’t bother with formality around her, so please call me Renee.” She gives my hand a single firm shake, then ushers me toward the elevator. “Why waste time with niceties when our players are getting in altercations on the ice, right?”
“Great. You can call me Remy.” I try to smother my laugh, but Renee gives me a tight, knowing smile.
“I’ve already had a day, Remy. I suggest that you brace yourself, because my problems are about to becomeyourproblems, and you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into yet.”
Step three: Meet the client’s energy. “I figured that I was walking into a—”
“Flaming shitshow?” Renee suggests.
The comment makes sense. Athletes with too much ego and not enough impulse control tend to leave a trail behind them, and someone always has to clean it up. Today, that someone is me.
I’m not looking forward to my job, but at least I like the team’s PR Director so far. Could be worse. “Any advice you can give me before the circus starts?”
Renee jams her thumb on one of the elevator buttons and straightens her blouse absentmindedly. She doesn’t speak again until the doors close. As soon as we’re cut off from the lobby, she puffs out a breath.
Closed doors change everything. Out there, it’s performance. In here, it’s damage control. I shift my grip on my files, steadying myself. Whatever this is, it’s already bigger than the clip.
“Technically, while I’m your liaison, you’ll answer to Mr. Giovanetti. I’ll warn you right now, he’s… a lot. Hewilltest you. If you let him, he’ll steamroll you the minute you step into his office. The man has no filter, and I meannone. Plus, with the League breathing down our necks, he’s in rare form. My advice? Don’t let him bully you. You’re the professional, and you know your job better than he does. If you can manage him, you’ll have no problems.”
“Sergio?”
Renee barks out a startled laugh. “God, no. Sergio’s lovely. Rational. Emotionally stable. He takes after his mother, Julie. I’m talking about Dante.”
“But Dante’s retired.”
“In the same way a hurricane technically stops once it hits land.”
My mind does a cartwheel. “What about Rourke?”
Renee lets out a world-weary sigh. “I don’t know what to tell you. He’s usually quiet. If you’d asked me a few days ago, I’d have said that he was one of the team membersleastlikely to cause problems. I’m guessing something happened in his personal life, but—”
That doesn’t line up with what I saw. The man in that video didn’t look like someone having a bad day. He looked like someone who lost the thread entirely.
Dead behind the eyes, a laDateline NBC.
The elevator chimes to announce that we’ve reached our floor, and Renee snaps her mouth shut again.
Interesting. I consider everything she’s said, and leftunsaid, as I follow her from the elevator to the office. Her assessment of Owen doesn’t match the video clip Ezra showed me. Is Renee just clueless about the players on her team? She doesn’t strike me as the type to make excuses for other people, especially given her insight about her boss.
Either way, I decide, I want her in my corner. Step four: Keep your thoughts to yourself until you decide which hills you’re prepared to die on.
I take note of the desk in the outer office, with Sergio’s assistant’s nameplate resting on the corner, and join her in the interior room. There’s a huge desk inside, but nobody is sitting at it.
Renee huffs to herself and checks her smartwatch. “Give him a minute,” she says, sounding wearier than ever. “Let the man have his dramatic entrance.”
I lower myself into one of the chairs. “What do you mean?”
This is the part where most people shrink. Big personalities, loud rooms, too many egos competing for space. I don’t. If anything, I get quieter, sharper. Let them burn through their energy. I’ll decide when to step in.
