Dream Girl Drama (Big Shots #3)

Chapter Fifteen

The Bearcats had a pavilion-style viewing room that resembled a small movie theater, which is where they were conducting tonight’s meeting. Players filed in wearing various forms of business casual, as the late-afternoon email had instructed. Some of them had apparently interpreted that dress code as a mere suggestion, others had made an effort to at least wear their nicest sweatpants. Their coaches sat at the front of the room, nodding at players as they passed—and Christ, they looked grim.

Sig was torn between wanting to know the reason for the meeting, as it pertained to his future as a Bearcat, and a desperate need to get back to Chloe.

I’m going to fuck her tonight.

I’m going to fuck Chloe.

Finally. Finally.

The lock on his cage door had been picked and he was out. And he had no idea if he’d be able to get back in that cage, now that he was free. That’s what scared him. That was why he’d refrained from taking her to bed for six long, painful, frustrating months. Because once he let himself taste heaven, purgatory was going to be infinitely harder. And frankly, he couldn’t get much harder than he was right now. Just the knowledge that he was going to be inside of that woman in a matter of hours had him throbbing in his briefs.

Kissing her that afternoon had been...

Lord.

He couldn’t adequately describe the feeling of connecting with her like that. The first time he’d kissed her at the country club, he’d been in a state of suspended euphoria. Almost like he was having the best dream of his life. But nothing—nothing—compared to kissing Chloe after six months of learning her. Studying her, confiding in her, comforting her. Getting all those things in return. Falling in deep, rich, unbending love with her.

But they were on a countdown clock... and the stakes were going to be even higher after tonight. What the hell am I going to do?

“You seem preoccupied,” Burgess said, beside him in a pair of pressed khakis and a black button-down. “Look alive. This is important.”

Sig dragged his index finger around the inside of his dress shirt collar. “Coach McCarren looks like he’s about to give a eulogy,” Sig returned dryly. “Let’s hope it isn’t mine.”

“They’d be out of their minds to trade you.”

“Don’t be so sure. They got me cheap, but I could be too expensive now.”

“Could you see yourself leaving Boston?”

“If it meant being paid what I’m worth?” Sig sighed through the vulnerable feeling that came with the possibility of being on a new team, in a different city. Starting from scratch. “If it meant more security for Chloe, yeah. I’d take her and go...”

Those words were out of his mouth before his brain acknowledged them.

Sensing Burgess’s knowing—and troubled—stare, Sig ran back through what he’d just said, weeding out the parts that made no sense. What reason would Chloe have to go with him if he got traded? What would that look like to the outside world? And she was now actively training to become first chair with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Maybe...

Maybe she wouldn’t want to come with him.

Sig’s palms grew damp in an instant, the meeting taking on a new importance.

“All right, men,” said McCarren, standing up slowly to address the room. “Thank you for coming in. Some of you even look half decent—”

Their coach was interrupted midsentence when Mailer and Corrigan swaggered into the room in T-shirts and bow ties, dapping up teammates as they passed.

“Spoke too soon. Congratulations, you both look ridiculous,” drawled McCarren. “Now sit the hell down. This is important.”

Too late, Sig realized Corrigan and Mailer were on their way to take the two empty front-row seats on his right, but there was nothing he could do about it now. They adjusted their bow ties with a flourish and took their seats, Corrigan sending Burgess a quick salute.

Burgess sighed.

“As I was saying,” boomed the coach. “Thank you for coming in on your night off. A little bit of housekeeping, then we’ll get to the point.” He proceeded to talk strategy for their next two games, which would take place on the road. Chicago and Detroit. “Moving on, I know we all saw this coming, as he’s been open with the staff, not to mention the press, about this being his final year with the Bearcats, but we’re officially saying goodbye to Abraham at the end of this season.” The staff started clapping, followed by the room full of players, the applause carrying on for a full thirty seconds. “He leaves behind a tremendous legacy...” McCarren’s gaze flickered briefly in Sig’s direction, but Sig couldn’t read his expression. “... and some mighty deep skates to fill.”

Some murmuring kicked up around the room.

Sig could feel eyes on the back of his head.

If McCarren was going to name Sig as the new captain, now would be the moment. But he didn’t. Obviously. They hadn’t even offered him a contract yet.

A bead of sweat rolled down Sig’s spine.

“Now.” The coach planted his knuckles on the table in front of him and leaned forward. “We have another announcement. And an introduction. For that, I’m going to hand it over to our general manager, Pete Bauer.”

Everyone simultaneously sat up straighter, trading looks.

Since Sig didn’t see the wealthy, somewhat notorious Bostonian in the front of the room, he turned and watched Bauer stomp his way down the aisle. Expectant silence fell as Bauer shook hands with McCarren and took his spot, front and center of the room, commanding attention with a curt nod. “Hello, gentlemen. Thank you for being here. I’m very pleased to be able to share some news with you tonight. I’m too excited to wait, so let’s get to it.” He clapped his hands together. “As you might have seen, so inelegantly reported in the press, I was recently married. For a fourth time, but who’s counting?”

Some of the coaches huffed a laugh, as if they could relate.

And yeah, Sig had seen those headlines about Bauer and his new, much younger, wife. None of it had any bearing on hockey, however, so he’d mostly ignored the stories. Right about now, he wished he’d done more than skim.

“My wife is expecting twins now, if you can believe it. I haven’t had any little ones running around in a while, but the news has made me realize how grueling the life of a GM can be. My health is more important now than ever and I need to focus on that, so I can be around for my twins.” He added dryly, “Stress drinking while I analyze the league standings and playoff predictions isn’t going to help me be present. For them. In fact, my cardiologist suggested I take a step back years ago. It’s time to listen. And so, without further ado, I’d like to announce that my daughter, Reese Bauer, will be taking over operations as general manager of Bearcats.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

Their hockey team was going to be managed by a woman.

One they’d never heard of.

Okay. Setting aside the fact that the league didn’t have a single woman as general manager, only assistant GMs, her name was totally unfamiliar. What were her qualifications? If she knew how to work hard and make tough decisions, Sig welcomed her as much as he would a man, but at that moment, he only had one thing on his mind.

How was this going to affect his contract? His captainship?

Bauer continued, undeterred, the air of a man who didn’t necessarily care how his news was received, only that he’d made the decision, everyone had to deal with it, and he was probably late for a dinner reservation. “Reese is a Princeton graduate. Top of her class. I’ve been quietly ushering her in under my wing for the last few months and I’m confident that she is exactly who this team needs to remain as one of the league’s top competitors while I take some time to focus on my health. My family.”

He cleared his throat, indicating the back of the room with a sweep of his hand.

“Reese.”

Sig turned and watched a woman in a red pantsuit glide down the aisle, a gold watch winking on her wrist, chin held high. Reese was a child from Bauer’s original marriage, presumably, because he’d been married to a Black woman first and Reese appeared to be biracial. And if Sig hadn’t spent six months analyzing Chloe for every little sign that might indicate what she was thinking, he probably wouldn’t have noticed that this woman was nervous, but there was something about the way her fingertips dug into the folder at her side that told him she wasn’t as confident as she came across.

Her voice, however, portrayed otherwise.

It was clear and firm.

“Hello. Thank you for the warm greeting. You can pick your jaws up off the floor now.”

“I’m in love,” Mailer whispered, reaching over to clutch Sig’s forearm. “Son of a bitch.”

“Daughter, actually,” Reese said, without missing a beat—and that’s the moment Sig decided he liked her. Which could change, depending on his status with the team now that the house of cards had been reshuffled, but for now, she seemed all right. “I know this news is a lot to digest, so I’m not going to go into specifics tonight.” She flipped open the folder, scanned something, and closed it again. “Suffice it to say I’m committed to doing everything I can do on my end to put a Stanley Cup in the Bearcats’ trophy case. Which could mean some restructuring. Reallocation of budget. A hard look at who is serving the best interests of the team.”

For the second time that night, Sig was treated to a vague glance, this time from Reese.

What the hell did that mean?

Was he not serving their best interests?

Chloe’s smile materialized in his mind and he struggled not to shift anxiously in his seat. If his time with the Bearcats was coming to an end, he couldn’t serve her best interests, either. That was the true source of the pressure weighing down his shoulders.

“I’ve been watching hockey since the first day I opened my eyes. I know when a team is on the verge of greatness—again—and this one is. Lately, we’re always second best. Runner-up. What’s holding us back?” She nodded for a moment. “It’s my job to figure that out. It’s your job to trust me. Can you all get past the obvious fact that I’m a woman and do that?”

“Yes,” Mailer rasped. “Implicitly.”

Sig turned his head slowly to look at the rookie. “Are you okay, or what?”

Dude didn’t even hear him. “I can be what you need,” he said to Reese, before shaking himself. “I mean, I’m here to get results. For you. And show you around. Do you need to be shown around?”

“I’m all set, Bow Tie,” Reese deadpanned.

That earned a chuckle from the room.

Mailer reached up and yanked off the bow tie, the scratching sound revealing it to be attached by Velcro.

“I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening. Good luck on the road this week—you might not see me, but I will be there to cheer you on from the box,” Reese said, pointing to her serene expression. “This is my cheering face. Don’t take it personally.” Another, warmer laugh from the team. “Good night.”

Everyone shuffled to stand at once.

But the entire team simultaneously froze as Reese approached Sig. “Mr. Gauthier.” She tipped her head in the direction of the exit—the one that led to the executive offices. “Might I have a word?”

S IG SAT DOWN in front of the white designer desk, numb straight to his fingertips.

Months of wondering where he stood with the team, praying they would offer him a worthwhile contract, came down to this moment. He could feel it. This woman didn’t call people into her office unless she had something important to say.

His fate hung in the balance. As a Bearcat. Maybe as a hockey player. As the man who dreamed of providing for Chloe for the rest of his natural life. Longer, even.

Reese sat down in front of a picture window, Boston lit up behind her.

She folded her hands on the desk.

“Let’s get right to it, Mr. Gauthier—”

“Sig.”

She nodded hesitantly, as if not sure she wanted to be quite so casual. “Sig.” She tapped a finger against her knuckle. “I won’t beat around the bush. You’re the best wing in the league. Your speed is unmatched. It goes unnoticed sometimes how many opportunities you create for other players to score, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by me.”

Unexpectantly winded, Sig coughed into his fist. “I thought you weren’t going to beat around the bush.”

Amusement briefly crossed her face. “Thank you is the response you’re looking for.”

“I’m not sure if I’m thanking you yet.” Sig looked her dead in the eye. “Are you going to trade me or give me a better contract?”

The fact that she appeared to be conflicted did nothing to settle his stomach. “I’m sure you can appreciate my position. I’m new. I’m going to be under the microscope. And let’s be honest, everyone will want me to fail, whether they say it out loud or not. Because of that, I have to be an exceptional general manager. I’m either the best or I’ll be considered the worst.”

“I hear you. I’m just not sure what this has to do with me.”

“It was my intention to elevate you to captain and pay you the kind of eight-figure salary you deserve. That’s what I want to do, because it’s the best move for the team. And while I’m under a microscope...” She paused. “I’m not sure that’s where you want to be.”

Sig’s blood rapidly started to drop in temperature.

His conversation with Burgess in the smoothie shop earlier that day came back to him in snippets. What’s the story with you and Chloe? Just get it out in the open so we can figure out how to keep it from biting you in the ass.

He’d blown off his friend’s concern. Was it being proven valid? Already?

“I’m sorry,” Sig managed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

One of Reese’s eyebrows ticked up. She didn’t appreciate him playing dumb, but he didn’t know what else to do. Not until he heard the extent of the problem.

“There has been a lot of chatter on the Bearcats message boards about the girl in the pink Gauthier jersey. She’s in the front row at every game, sits with the fiancée of Burgess Abraham, so naturally fans are making assumptions that Pink Jersey is your girlfriend, since your name is on her back.” He remained stone-faced, but his pulse was going a thousand miles an hour. Message boards? What the fuck? “Obviously, we had to do our due diligence on this. It was easy to find out her name, because the tickets have been left at the box office under Chloe Clifford every week since the start of the season. She’s your stepsister.”

“Not yet,” he managed. “Not for two months.”

“Forgive me, Sig, but I don’t think people are going to make that distinction. Furthermore, they don’t want to.” He read the hint of sympathy on her face, but he didn’t care for it. Didn’t want to see it or acknowledge it. Sympathy wasn’t called for. He hadn’t lost Chloe. Hadn’t ruined her. Not yet. “And after the article that came out this afternoon in the Globe ’s late edition, I can only imagine how the gossip is going to proliferate. Because it doesn’t appear to be gossip. Does it?”

Sig could barely hear Reese over the pounding in his skull. “What article?”

Reese didn’t move right away, but when she did, she opened the laptop in front of her, tapped a few keys, and turned the device around.

The pictures drew his attention first. Him and Chloe walking Pierre that morning, before sunrise. Shoulder to shoulder, smiling at each other, like they were the only two people in the world, his hand resting on the small of her back. Beside that snapshot, there was another one of Chloe at a recent game, her palms pressed to the glass as he skated by.

The headline reached out and sucker punched him—“Stepsister Goes Above and Beyond?”—and... Christ, he couldn’t read anymore. Not without getting sick.

“Right now, it’s only a small clipping in the entertainment section, but I don’t anticipate the story remaining quiet for long. Not after your agent demanded they remove your name as one of Boston’s more eligible bachelors... and now? This secret relationship appears to be why. The chatter only gets worse if we name you as the next captain.”

This was his future being discussed. Eight figures. The captainship of an NHL franchise.

Everything he’d ever dreamed of.

But Sig could only think about getting to Chloe. Fast. Did she know about the article? Worse, had her mother caught wind of it? Perhaps been informed by her lawyers? Was he simultaneously losing the income he’d need to provide for Chloe and sawing off her financial pipeline, as well? Jesus, he needed to get to Chloe’s apartment. Now. Or...

Fuck. Was that going to make things worse?

“I can’t have the public questioning whether our captain is in a romantic relationship with his stepsister. And looking at these pictures, I don’t even think they would question it.”

Sig opened his mouth to deny he and Chloe were... more .

But he couldn’t.

Not when he would sell his soul to marry her.

Not when he’d kissed the face off her that afternoon.

“It’s not some... sneaky affair. It’s not like that. She’s my best friend. She’s...”

“They won’t care, Sig.”

He was terrified to ask his next question, but he needed to get out of there. Now. Needed to get to Chloe—and he wanted to get the full picture first so he knew what they were dealing with. “Give me the bottom line, please.”

“I can’t force you to do the right thing, especially in your personal life—”

“The right thing?”

“ Yes. ” Her voice raised slightly. “You’ve been caught in an improper relationship. The press could blow this up at any moment. And this organization wants to have your back. We’ll deny it, spin it, laugh it off. Whatever it takes. But only if we’re being truthful .”

“In other words...”

“Back off. Reset the boundaries of that relationship. No more Pink Jersey at the games. Live as though you’re being watched, because you obviously are—and that scrutiny will only increase. You want to be the captain and make a fat salary? You must be above reproach.”

Reset the boundaries.

No more Pink Jersey.

His world was eroding around him, the thing Sig loved most being dragged out of his reach. Her. There was no backing off from what they had. That would kill him.

“We have two weeks to offer you a formal contract, before you become a free agent.” She nodded at the laptop screen. “I need to see what you’re going to do about this before I can pull the trigger. We need to kill the story. I’m not sure how to do that if you continue to be seen with her. If you keep the status quo.” A line formed between Reese’s eyebrows and again, he caught a touch of sympathy in her tone. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to make a choice. Hockey. Or her.”