5. Casey
Chapter 5
Casey
T he aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit me as I stepped into the breakroom for a welcome reprieve from the whirlwind of meetings and practice schedules that had been my life since dawn.
I reached for a mug from the cabinet, vaguely aware of the sound of typing and frustrated muttering behind me. Turning around, I wasn’t surprised to see Whitney parked at the small table, her laptop open, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
“They call it a breakroom for a reason, Whit,” I said, pouring myself a cup. “You’re supposed to be taking a break.”
She glanced up, her angry expression softening slightly when she saw me. “Morning, Casey.”
Whitney Dobson was the backbone of the Atlanta Fire’s PR machine, a wizard at crafting stories and putting out fires—both literal and figurative—when the team’s reputation was at stake.
She’d been with the organization since before I came on board, and in all that time, I’d never seen her crack under pressure. But lately, there’d been a tightness in her shoulders and a strain in her voice that even her carefully polished professionalism couldn’t hide.
“Working through lunch again?” I asked, taking a seat across from her.
She sighed, pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. The team’s image took a beating last year, and I’m still trying to clean it up. Besides, breaks are for losers.”
“To my understanding, breaks are for humans. Come on, let me get you a cup of coffee so you might look up from that screen for longer than a blink.”
“Are you insinuating I am a human?”
I chuckled, shaking my head as I poured her a cup of coffee. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
As I passed her the cup, she snatched it and sipped before uttering, “Thank you.”
I nodded. The past year had been rough. Between a string of bad press and a few serious high-profile scandals—most of them revolving around Luke Smith, our former playboy winger—Whitney had been running damage control nonstop. Things had started to settle down since Luke’s sudden wedding a few months ago, but Whitney clearly wasn’t ready to relax just yet.
“What’s the latest?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Is Keke doing okay since having the baby?” I wasn’t sure how she had survived the birth—Luke had a big head, so I doubted her labor would have been easy.
“Keke’s great, and Oscar is the best baby who ever babied, they are not my problem.”
“I thought having her around would mean your job got easier.”
She sighed and sat back, running a finger around the rim of her mug. “She tries. And she’s great at what she does. But that doesn’t change the fact that this team is my show, and with so many players doing their level best to make my life interesting, there’s only so much Keke can do. She’s a miracle worker, and I need something bigger than a miracle.”
“Well, how come? I thought things simmered down after their wedding and the baby.”
“It’s not Luke this time.” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “The buzz around the Fire isn’t what it used to be. Ticket sales are steady, but they’re not growing the way we need them to. We need to get butts in seats. People aren’t excited about the team like they used to be. Which means putting your faces out there—positive press, feel-good stories, things that remind people why they love hockey.”
I took a sip of my coffee, mulling it over. “Any ideas?”
“That’s the problem,” she said, groaning softly. “I’ve brainstormed everything from community events to social media campaigns, but nothing feels big enough. We need something with real impact. Not just events. Something big on the ice, and that’s out of my hands. All I can do is make what you do look good, and that means the guys have to be perfect.”
I frowned, thinking about the balance Whitney had to strike every day. As much as she was the best in the business, she depended on having a good team to sell.
The Atlanta Fire was still a big name in the city, but we were a city with multiple professional teams, and tickets weren’t cheap. We had to convince people to part with their hard-earned money, and to do that, we had to provide them with a good show.
Or at the very least, good gossip, according to Whit, and to do that, we needed the press on our side.
A sticky proposition.
The press could be a double-edged sword, as we’d seen all too clearly with Luke. Granted, he was no Boy Scout, but he didn’t deserve the reaming the press had given him. One misstep, and the media could turn a puff piece into a feeding frenzy. Or in his case, several missteps. It was a reality I didn’t like but had learned to live with over time.
Before I could respond, the breakroom door swung open, and Nico Grimaldi strolled in, carrying an empty water bottle. His easy grin widened when he saw us, and he gave a mock salute to each of us. Even if all they ever wanted to do was play the game, everyone understood how integral Whitney was to the business side of things.
“Coach. Whit. What’s the crisis today?” he asked, heading for the water cooler.
“Just trying to figure out how to make you all look good,” Whitney said dryly, though there was warmth in her tone. “Any suggestions?”
“Come on, that’s gotta be the easiest part of your job,” Nico teased, filling his bottle. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. We’re the best looking, best playing, best all-around team in the league. You’re smart enough to know how to use us, right?”
She merely rolled her eyes and went back to her tablet.
I chuckled, shaking my head. Nico was in the final year of his contract, and while his skills on the ice were still sharp, his goofy humor had become one of the team’s greatest assets in the locker room.
He was the kind of guy who could defuse tension with a single joke, which made him invaluable in a job as stressful as mine. I was going to miss him at the end of the season.
“And then there’s Coach,” Nico said, capping his bottle and leaning against the counter. “You want a story? He’s got one.”
Whitney raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I do?” This was news to me.
“Yeah,” he said, his grin turning roguish as he looked at me. “You should talk to my sister. She’s a sportswriter—just moved back to Atlanta. She could do a piece on the team and you and me. You know, ‘hometown hero in his final season’ kind of thing, while also showcasing the rest of the team and how you turned us around and got us on the right track. It’d be perfect.”
I blinked, surprised by the suggestion. “Your sister’s a journalist?”
“ Sportswriter ,” Nico corrected me. “She’s worked for some big names out in L.A., but she just took a job here. I think she’d kill it. And Whitney, aren’t you always saying earned media is better than paid media? This is that, right?”
Whitney looked intrigued, but hesitation sat on my shoulders. I’d seen what the media could do when they decided to dig their claws in. Luke’s name had been dragged through the mud for months, and while he’d brought some of it upon himself, the rest had been pure sensationalism. He had made the mistake of dating a married woman. He hadn't known it but the media had a field day with him.
And then there was the ex-girlfriend who set his car on fire, but that wasn’t his fault. Or so he said.
Whitney said, “It’s not a bad idea, Casey. What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to invite the press in like that. It could backfire.”
Nico waved me off. “Nah, Gemma’s not like that. She’s not looking for dirt. She’s smart, professional, and, honestly, this would be more about the team than just me. A breezy puff piece. Feel-good stuff. No gotchas, nothing hard-hitting.”
Whitney leaned forward, clearly considering it. “A feature like that could be huge for us, especially if it’s done by someone who knows the game. It would humanize the team, show people the heart behind the sport.”
“I still think it’s risky,” I said, glancing between the two of them. “We’ve worked hard to keep things steady after last year. I don’t want to stir up trouble.”
“Coach,” Nico said, his tone serious now. “Trust me. Gemma wouldn’t do anything to hurt the team—or me. She’s my sister. I’ll vouch for her.”
I hesitated, weighing his words. Nico had always been one of the most dependable guys on the team, both on and off the ice. If he said his sister could handle this, then I owed it to him to listen.
“I know she’s your sister, but do you think she’ll come here with the sister hat on or the journalist hat?”
“Sister. Totally sister. She won’t screw us over, Coach. I know her.”
Whitney gave me a pointed look. “This wasn't in my PR plan but it could certainly help. Something positive to start the new season.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “All right. Set it up.”
Nico grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. “You won’t regret it, Coach. Gemma’s the real deal.”
Whitney smiled, her shoulders relaxing for the first time all morning. “Good call. I’ll coordinate with her and figure out the details.”
As they started discussing logistics, I leaned back in my chair. I didn’t know much about Gemma Grimaldi, but if she was anything like her brother, this might just work out.
Or it could blow up in our faces. Only time would tell.