7. Sophie
Chapter 7
Sophie
T here are exactly twenty-two pens in the cup holder on my desk. Ten are black and twelve are blue.
I know this because I've counted them approximately eighteen times since arriving at work this morning, trying to convince myself that the lack of communication from Evan Daniels over the weekend doesn't mean what I think it means.
"You're doing it again," Brad calls over the divider.
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you exhale dramatically every thirty seconds. Some of us are trying to work here."
"I do not sigh dramatically," I say, dramatically sighing.
"Right." His head pops up over the wall, grinning. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain grumpy goalie, would it?"
I throw a paper clip at him. "Don't you have scores to tabulate or something?"
"Already done. Which means I have plenty of time to analyze your love life."
"It's not…" I lower my voice, glancing around the office. "It's not my love life. It's work. Professional. Completely professional."
"Sure." He drawls. "That's why you've been stress-eating those awful protein bars he always eats."
I quickly shove said protein bar into my drawer. "They're good for you."
"They taste like sweetened cardboard."
"The chocolate ones aren't bad."
"The chocolate ones are his favorite." Brad's grin widens. "Just like that hoodie you're wearing is from your Blades internship days, and that coffee mug is the one he bought for all the office staff last Christmas, and…"
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?"
"Nope. This is much more entertaining than fact-checking baseball statistics."
I consider throwing my stapler at him but am saved by my phone buzzing. For one heart-stopping moment, I think it might be Evan.
It's not. It's Cynthia.
Cyn: Still nothing?
Me: Nothing. Zero. Nada. Pretty sure Saturday ruined everything.
Cyn: Drama queen. Call him.
Me: What? No! I can't call him!
Cyn: Why not?
Me: Because...reasons.
Her response is immediate.
Cyn: You mean because you almost kissed him?
I glance around frantically, as if someone might be reading my texts over my shoulder.
Me: We did NOT almost kiss.
Cyn: Not what you said Saturday night after three glasses of wine.
Oh God. Saturday night. When I'd come home from golf and proceeded to tell Cynthia every excruciating detail while demolishing a bottle of cheap Merlot...
"And then," I had said, sprawled dramatically across our couch, "he did that thing where he stands really close to 'adjust my stance' but really he was just…"
"Being a hot hockey player who clearly wants to kiss you?"
"Cyn! He doesn't want to—I mean, we didn't—it wasn't like that!"
"So, you didn't almost kiss?"
"There was no almost kissing! There was just...intense eye contact. And maybe some heavy breathing. And possibly his hands on my waist. And okay, maybe his face got really close to mine, but…"
"But?"
"But then a golf cart went by and he jumped away like I'd burned him and things got weird and I ran away to hide in the bathroom like a coward and now he probably thinks I'm an idiot who can't play golf OR act professional and he's never going to approve the feature and I'm going to have to move to Antarctica and become a penguin researcher!"
"First of all," Cynthia had said, refilling my wine, "penguins are clearly more your speed than golf. Second, from what you're telling me, he's just as interested as you are."
"He is not! He's just...naturally helpful. And tall. And smells really good. And has these eyes that kind of crinkle at the corners when he's trying not to smile..." I had groaned into a throw pillow. "Oh God, I'm in so much trouble."
My phone buzzes again. This time it's a string of penguin emojis from Cynthia.
Me: I hate you.
Cyn: No you don't. Now stop moping and call him.
Me: Can't. In a meeting soon.
Which isn't technically a lie. I do have a meeting.
With Lexi. In approximately twenty minutes. Where I'll have to tell her that I completely blew our chance at the Ryland Daniels feature because I couldn't maintain boundaries with his stupidly attractive uncle. The one that basically controls his career at this point.
My phone buzzes again, but this time it's not Cynthia.
It's him.
My heart stops. Literally stops. I'm pretty sure I'm legally dead for at least three seconds before it starts beating again at approximately hummingbird speed.
"Incoming call: Evan Daniels", my phone helpfully displays, as if I don't have his name seared into my brain along with the memory of how he felt pressed against me during those golf "lessons”.
I nearly drop the phone twice before managing to answer.
"Hello?" My voice comes out embarrassingly squeaky.
"Sophie." Just my name, in that deep voice that absolutely does not make my knees weak. "Do you have a minute?"
"YES! I mean... yes. Sure. A minute. I have one of those."
Wow. Okay, girl, you need to calm the fuck down.
There's a pause, and I can almost see him swiping his hand through his hair the way he does when he's thinking. "About Saturday..."
Oh God. Here it comes. The “let's keep things professional” speech. The “you're not right for this assignment” letdown. The…
"I've been thinking about our conversation about the feature."
I brace myself. "Look, I understand if you don't want me to…"
"I'm saying yes."
"…do it, and I completely respect your...wait, what?"
"I'm saying yes," he repeats, and is that amusement in his voice? "With conditions."
I scramble for one of my twenty-two pens, nearly knocking over my coffee in the process. "Of course! Whatever you want! I mean...what conditions?"
"First, anything involving Natalia has to go through me. No exceptions."
"Absolutely." I'm nodding even though he can't see me. "Family first, always."
"Second, the divorce is off limits. Completely."
"Of course."
"Third..." He pauses. "No more pretending to know sports you don't actually know."
I feel my face heat up. "That was...I was just trying to…"
"I know what you were trying to do." His voice softens slightly. "Just be yourself, Sophie. That's...that's enough."
Oh.
Oh-kay…
I'm definitely not getting emotional over that. Nope. Not at all.
"One more thing," he adds, voice turning serious again. "If you exploit this, if you turn this into some tabloid story about my family..."
"I won't." The words come out fierce, certain. "I promise, Evan. This is about Ryland. About showing kids that with the right support system, they can chase their dreams. That's all."
Another pause. Then, "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." I hear voices in the background, then what sounds like a locker room door closing. "Practice is starting. I'll have my lawyer send over the paperwork."
"Right. Yes. Paperwork. Good."
"And Sophie?"
"Yeah?"
"Try not to walk into any more men's rooms anytime soon."
He hangs up before I can sputter out a response, leaving me staring at my phone in disbelief.
Did he just...make a joke?
Did Evan "Ice Man" Daniels actually tease me?
And did he really say yes to the feature?
My phone buzzes with a text from him.
Evan: Ryland's first development camp practice is Wednesday. 6 AM. Don't be late.
And another.
Evan: And Sophie? No golf attire necessary.
I'm still staring at my phone, grinning like an idiot, when Brad's head appears over the divider again.
"Good news?"
"He said yes!" I jump up, doing a little dance that is anything but professional but I'm too excited to care. "He actually said yes!"
"The feature? Or did he finally ask you out?"
This time I do throw my stapler at him.
Ten minutes later, I practically bounce into Lexi's office, armed with my notebook and approximately seven different feature outline ideas.
"Someone's in a good mood," she observes, raising an eyebrow.
"Evan Daniels approved the feature." I can't keep the excitement out of my voice. "I can start shadowing Ryland at development camp this week!"
"I know."
That stops me. "You...know?"
"He called me this morning." She leans back in her chair, studying me. "Wanted to make sure we understood his conditions. He was very...specific about certain boundaries."
I sink into the chair across from her desk. “Right."
"He also said something interesting." The corner of her mouth twitches. "Something about you having a unique approach to golf?"
Oh God.
"I can explain…"
"No need." She holds up a hand impatiently. "Whatever you did, it worked. We've been trying to get access to the Daniels family for years. Somehow, you managed it in less than a week."
"I just...treated them like people. Not stories."
Lexi's expression softens. "Keep doing that. Based on what Evan said, that's exactly why he trusts you with this."
He trusts me?
The warmth that spreads through my chest at those words definitely isn't professional.
"Right," I say, trying to focus. "So, about the outline…"
My phone buzzes again. Another text.
Evan: Natalia asks if you're coming to her game Saturday. Says she needs help with her butterfly technique.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling too obviously.
"Something important?" Lexi asks.
"No," I lie, tucking my phone away. "Just...confirming details."
But as I launch into my feature ideas, I can't help but think about how this assignment is quickly becoming about so much more than just a story.
It's about a grumpy goalie who might not be as icy as everyone thinks.
It's about a family that's letting me see behind their carefully constructed walls.
It's about...possibilities.
And that's both exciting and terrifying.
But mostly exciting.
Even if I still can't play golf to save my life.