Chapter 38 Edgework and World Domination
Edgework and World Domination
Darcy
As August progresses, the temperature in New York City climbs into the nineties and stays there. Every time I have to run outside the building for Mr. Sharp’s lunch order, it’s like jogging through hell. I hurry down Twenty-First Street, sweating in my pencil skirt and blouse.
When I push through the revolving doors and into our headquarters, the air temperature drops a good ten degrees.
In this building, though, there are challenges that have nothing to do with the air temperature.
Mentally bracing myself, I press through the double doors and into the full-sized rink, where Sharp and the rest of management are camped out in the press box.
They’re watching the players and strategizing about the new season.
In here, I face a different kind of hell: It’s time for training camp for the full team, which means Eric is on the premises day in and day out. When I’m at my desk, I see him seated at his. Or he’s chatting up players in the lounge when I go in for coffee, or he’s tearing up the ice at practice.
Today is no exception. As I set down the boss’s lunch, I see Eric on the ice, leading some players through warm-ups.
A bunch of journalists have been invited to watch today’s practice, which means that several photographers are pointing cameras at the guys, while the PR director makes the rounds on the sidelines, and his new intern—Heather—dashes around, capturing her own images.
“Eric, over here!” she chirps. “Smile!”
Without missing a beat, he looks up and smiles. And a dozen shutters click all at once. Everybody wants his attention. That’s just how it is to be Eric.
“Darcy,” Sharp says. “Did you hear what I just said?”
“Maybe, sir, but I ignored it,” I say, turning my attention to my boss. “I live to make you repeat things.”
He gives me a grumpy frown and hands me a folder. “Proofread this, please. But show it to no one. The minute we announce the roster, this goes to the printer.”
I flip open the cover and find four pages of player stats. Several names have been crossed out already, which is why it’s top secret. “Of course. I’m looking for misspellings and…?”
“Any data that looks wrong. Or, well, less than credible.”
“Fine. Sure.” I know the players well enough by now that it’s easy work.
I take a seat and start reading. The basics look accurate enough—names and hometowns.
But it’s easy to spot some telltale signs of creative self-reporting.
There’s a rookie listed at six feet three inches who wouldn’t reach six feet in my spikiest heels.
And a veteran defenseman claiming to weigh in at two fifteen when he’s clearly carrying at least thirty more pounds than that.
Ouch. And somebody thinks that Minnesota has two Ss.
I glance up, and my heart suddenly flips as I catch Eric staring at me.
Hi, I telegraph. You see how awkward this is? Did I call it or what? Now go play some hockey.
He doesn’t look away, though, until Zoe nudges him. She’s about to give a clinic on edgework or world domination or whatever else we need to win the Cup this year.
I go back to proofreading.
“Where’s the biscuit?” my boss asks, rooting around in his lunch bag.
My pen pauses mid-page. “I didn’t get you a biscuit.”
“But I asked for a biscuit with my soup.”
I don’t even look up. “Sir, you also told me last week that your doctor said you need to stop eating those biscuits.”
“Oh, so then you were listening?”
“Yes.”
“Surprised there aren’t two biscuits in here, then,” he says. “Most of the time lately, it seems like you want me dead.”
“Maybe. I’d like to win the Cup first, though.”
He laughs. Then he balls up the paper bag and throws it at me.
And misses.
“Late lunch? Early coffee?” Zoe asks, arriving at my desk with the flushed cheeks of someone who skates for a living.
“Definitely.” I check my inbox one last time, then push back from my desk. “We can’t eat here, though.”
“Why not?”
I tilt my head toward the captain’s workstation, where Eric is seated with his feet on the desk, leaning back in his ergonomic chair like a king.
Calder—who has so far survived the roster cuts—is perched on the visitor’s stool like a page at the foot of a knight.
Zoe glances over and smirks as she follows me out of the office area. “Office hours, huh? What a scam.”
“He said he wants to act like more of a professional.” I sigh.
Zoe hoots. “He already acts more professional than the entire cast of Suits. You didn’t fall for that, did you? He’s there for you. He misses you!”
I’m already shaking my head as we glide down the escalator toward the lobby.
“You’re reading too much into it. He just spent a couple weeks lifting weights and running stairs in Colorado.
Now he’s back, and he sees me and thinks—wouldn’t it be so convenient if Darcy was still my friend with benefits? ”
Zoe looks thoughtful. “I don’t know. This feels bigger than that. I’ve never seen him moon over anyone. Maybe he wants to try for more. Didn’t you tell me he said he really likes you? Right before you shot him down?”
“He did. But then he specifically invited me over to his apartment. For sex.”
“Oh,” she says softly.
“I mean—his intentions are clear. We have lots of chemistry. He wants a sexual partner. And he’s a fantastic human being. But he’s not my fantastic human being, and I can’t live like that. He doesn’t date, Zoe. You know this.”
“His track record for dating isn’t great,” she admits as we get onto the next escalator.
“There is no dating. There are only hookups with gorgeous women. The minute they catch feelings, he very politely cuts the line.” And now I’m suddenly thinking about the beautiful evening we spent on his boat, and I ache.
“The thing is,” Zoe says slowly, “Chase said he seemed sad in Colorado. It was hard to get him out the door for anything fun.”
I tense up immediately. “I don’t think I want to hear about whatever fun they had in Colorado.”
“There’s nothing to tell, babe,” Zoe says kindly. “And I wouldn’t do that to you. But if you go back to swiping right on terrible men on Hinge, when Eric is right there, I might have to stage an intervention.”
I cast a grumpy eye at her. “I haven’t had the slightest urge to go on any dates.”
“Gosh, I wonder why?” Zoe asks with a maddening smile.
“I don’t think you’re helping,” I grumble.
“You’re right. I should just encourage you to be lonely and miserable. It’s what a good friend does.”
“That’s my only choice,” I say, dropping my voice as we reach the lobby. “We can’t date. We work together.”
“But I work with Chase,” Zoe points out.
“It’s not the same at all,” I bark. “You two have been in love for a decade, and the whole world can see it. Meanwhile, even if Eric decided to try dating someone seriously, he might not like it. Once he dumps me, I become the pathetic admin everyone pities. Except the rookies, who’ll hit on me, because they think I’m easy. ”
Zoe cringes. “That does sound bleak.”
“Now she gets it.” Except I haven’t even told her the worst bit, which is that I’m probably in love with him. If we didn’t work out, every day would require an Academy Award performance at work.
It might break me. “I just have to stay strong, no matter how many mini cannoli he brought me from Nonna Luna’s.”
“Hold on,” Zoe says, grabbing my arm before I can push through the revolving door. “He brought you something from Nonna Luna’s? That place in the East Village?”
“Yeah. They were waiting on my desk with a cappuccino when I came back from the box office meeting.”
“Darcy, those mini cannoli cost him a cab ride downtown, plus a twenty-minute wait in line.”
I hadn’t really thought about it that way. “Maybe he was in the neighborhood for lunch with another Grammy winner.”
We exit to the street, which is the approximate temperature of a frying pan. Zoe comes through, shaking her head. “Darcy. What does this boy have to do to get your attention?”
“He has my attention. He always has. But he didn’t notice me until I propositioned him. I’m not even his type.”
“I think you’re wrong. How do you feel about flatbreads for lunch? Next week is going to be a lot of lean protein and fiber.”
“Don’t remind me.” The team is headed up to Lake Placid for the rest of training camp. After long days in close proximity to Eric, I won’t even be able to escape to my apartment.
“What’s the place like? I’ve been to the rinks for competition, but never to this camp in the woods. Is it rustic?”
“Not really. It’s more like a 1950s roadside motel in the middle of the woods than a summer camp.
We’ll have real beds and a roof over our heads.
I chose a nice room for us. But everybody has a twin bed and a roommate—even the star players.
So think twice before you show up at Chase’s door in nothing but a trench coat. ”
“Good tip.”
“Bring sunscreen and bug spray. And a tennis racket, maybe. They have nice clay courts. There’s also canoeing and swimming. The lake is nice and clear.”
She gives me a sidelong glance. “Are you packing a bikini?”
“No,” I say immediately, thinking once again of Eric. “Sounds like a bad idea.”
Zoe just sighs and shakes her head.