She’d been ecstatic about this promotion, since working for Nate’s Fortune 500 company was exactly the sort of corporate leap she’d always hoped to make. Not only that, but the move away from the hockey team solved a lot of problems for Lauren all in one fell swoop, including the one huge problem that had suddenly knocked her on her ass.
And that problem was down on the ice right now, draped in sweaty goalie pads, lining up to skate past the other team for the traditional handshake. For the millionth time this week, Lauren closed her eyes and prayed to be spirited back to Nate’s office tower where there weren’t any hockey players, and there weren’t any reminders of the man who’d crushed her spirit.
But as long as Becca was unable to work, Lauren was stuck in Brooklyn. And now that the Bruisers had won their freaking play-offs slot, it meant a hailstorm of planning and administrative overtime. Four rounds, potentially. Two months. And travel.
“Lauren.” Nate’s voice cut through her reverie. “Please call Becca a car. She needs to get home and get some rest.”
“Omigod, I’m fine.” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I can just walk, or grab a cab. And all I do is rest.”
But Nate gave Lauren a look over Becca’s head. And that look said, get her a car.
“No big deal,” Lauren sighed, taking a healthy slug of her champagne. “I have drivers waiting outside already.” She’d dealt with transportation during the third period of the game, while everyone else was screaming encouragements toward the ice. “You should take”—she pulled her Katt Phone out of her bag—“number 117. It’s parked at the curb outside the rink door.”
Nate gave her a thankful nod. Then he went over to the coat rack in the corner and fetched Becca’s leopard-print jacket. He eased it onto her shoulders until Becca set down her empty soda glass and shoved her arms into the jacket, an irritated look on her face. “Pushy,” she muttered under her breath.
Lovesick, Lauren countered in her head. Did it make her a horrible person that she wanted to knock their heads together right now?
Probably.
“Let’s go, Nate!” Georgia said, clapping her hands. “You can’t be late for your own press conference.” She grabbed his suit jacket off a chair and herded him toward the door.
The fact that their fearless leader was actually wearing a suit spoke of tonight’s significance. Nate was a jeans-hoodie-and-800-dollar-sneakers kind of guy, even on game night.
Lauren followed her boss, the publicist, and Rebecca into the private elevator, wondering why she couldn’t at least be happy for Nate. He’d wanted this so badly. But all Lauren felt was dread for the next few weeks. And a healthy dose of anger, too.
Bitter much? Why yes, I still am.
This was an unpleasant realization. Most of the time, Lauren was able to stay away from both hockey and Brooklyn. In Manhattan, she was able to focus on her excellent job, her tidy little Murray Hill neighborhood apartment and the college degree she was just finishing up. She was too damn busy to feel bitter. But as the elevator slid lower toward the locker rooms, so did her stomach.
The doors parted momentarily on the main level for Becca’s exit. “Good night!” Miss Perky called, stepping off the elevator.
“Night, babe!” Georgia called after her. “Rest up! We need you back!”
Do we ever.
Becca gave them a cheeky salute and then walked away, while Nate watched, a worried look on his face. When the doors closed again, he finally gave his attention to Georgia. “Okay, what’s the scoop? I’m not used to giving victory speeches.”
“Just don’t sound smug,” Georgia begged. “Try for grateful.”
He smirked. “As in, Brooklyn should be grateful to me for bringing the team here?” She rolled her eyes and he laughed. “Joking! Okay, how about this—I’m proud of my team’s success at landing a play-offs spot.”
“I’m humbled by my team’s inspiring efforts,” Georgia suggested.
“Sure. I can be humble.”
“No, you can’t,” Lauren interjected. “But you can fake it when necessary.”
Nate grinned. “You don’t do humble either.”
“That’s why you have me working in the office and not in front of the camera,” Lauren pointed out. “I’m going to start booking hotel rooms in D.C. in the morning. It’s not jinxing us if I do it now, right?” Nate had refused to even consider travel plans before they were officially headed to the first round of the play-offs.
“Bombs away,” he said. “But we need the whole organization in one hotel,” he cautioned. “Coach will burst a vessel if the guys aren’t all together. Team unity and all that. If you have any trouble call the league and ask for help.”
“Got it,” Lauren said. She’d done this all before, and not that many years ago. Although it felt like another lifetime.
The doors parted once again, and Georgia put a hand on the boss’s arm. “Slap on that humble face, Nate. Here we go.”
An entire corridor full of reporters swung their lenses in Nate’s direction. They began to shout questions as he made his way past their cameras. “Press conference starts in five!” Georgia called. “This way, please!”
Nate led the way into their press room, which would be packed tonight. At the other end of the hall she spotted Coach Worthington and defenseman Patrick O’Doul. The team’s captain was already showered and wearing his suit. The new publicist—Tommy—must have bribed the guy to get him camera-ready so fast. And he was smiling.
O’Doul was not a smiler. The whole world was turned on its ear tonight.
She followed her boss into the press conference where she spent the next half hour trying to appear joyful while avoiding eye contact with any of the players. Just another day at the office.
? ? ?
It was after eleven o’clock before the room emptied again after speeches and Q & A. Lauren had reported to work fifteen hours ago already. That was life in professional sports. Now she faced a car ride home to midtown. At least there would be no traffic on the FDR.
She’d given away all the hired cars already, so Lauren found herself on the Flatbush Avenue sidewalk, tapping her Katt Phone to summon an Uber driver. The app gave her a four minute wait. She used the time to compose a monstrous to-do list for tomorrow. Not only did she need to plan for the play-offs, but she needed to check in on the Manhattan office, making sure that the place wasn’t going to seed in her absence.
And at some point during this fiasco she’d have to do a final revision of the senior thesis she was about to turn in. She’d only taken one last course this semester. That was all she needed to graduate, and her work was almost complete, thank God. If the Brooklyn Bruisers wrecked her odds for receiving her diploma this June, she would not be responsible for her actions.
Nate wouldn’t let that happen, Lauren’s conscience whispered. Her boss had made every possible accommodation these past two years as Lauren struggled to get her degree. Nate, for all his quirks, liked to see his people succeed. She was still mad at him, though, for asking this of her. The man knew exactly why she avoided the team, and he’d put her in this position anyway.
“Hi,” said a voice beside her.