11. Nica
11
NICA
“Molloy’s doing well. That shutout last night was awesome.”
“Hm? Oh. I know.”
Bruce tapped his water glass. “Am I boring you? Because if you feel like you don’t need?—”
I ignored his pissy expression and waved that off. “Of course not. But I know they won again. What I don’t know is whether Embark is going to hire me for any more promotions.”
Luggage, clothing, protein shakes. Whatever. I hadn’t had a sponsorship deal come through all week. The month’s rent was paid, but there was very little left over at the moment. I wouldn’t get any money from the interview until it was done. Ryan’s suggestion we move quickly was fine by me. Audrey said she’d hoped for it to be finished in a few weeks. Even with my lack of experience, I was determined to get it done—and get it done right —asap.
If only I could lock him in a room for 24 hours and get all the info I need.
My face ignited. The thought had meant to be focused and professional. But the idea of being locked in a room with Ryan Molloy brought on extremely un professional thoughts that I couldn’t get a handle on. Especially after skating with him that morning. My god. I never knew I could be so warm on an ice rink.
I adjusted my newly acquired beanie and refocused on the meeting.
Bruce hummed. “Trashing Molloy isn’t going to work if he’s winning. Are you ready to talk ideas as equal partners?”
My shoulders slumped. I needed streams of income. The article alone wouldn’t keep me fed. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Start a new page. This one for Molloy. Don’t show your face—you can’t be known for running two platforms so similar—but get all the inside details on this guy that you can. What he likes. What his routines are. What makes him tic. He’s clearly a bit of a nerd based on everything he’s shown so far. If you spin it right, you’ll get people to fall for him.”
I don’t think it would be hard to fall for Ryan Molloy . I frowned. “A fangirl page for him? Come on, Bruce. I thought you were going to suggest something more commercial or?—”
“Know your niche, Nica. You found a talent for making people thirst. You can breathe new life into your presence if you lean into it. I’m telling you. Sell this guy, and the cash will roll in.”
You’re already writing a story on him. Why not make the photo version? Audrey would love it! You can build buzz around him immediately this way. And that’ll make your article even more relevant. Omg, this is genius.
I looked at Bruce. “Great idea. I’ll let you know when we make any money.”
At home, I sat down with my phone and culled all the footage I had of Ryan. Not a lot so far, but enough. I had shots from the press conference and video from the ice last night. The best stuff by far was the video from this morning’s skate, but I’d need more content soon. Hopefully he wouldn’t change his mind about our next meeting. We could get him new clothes. Maybe talk over dinner…
You are crushing so hard, girl.
For the millionth time, I shook that thought out of my head. The butterflies just wouldn’t go. I knew I was foolish. I knew there was nothing between us. But damn. Between the goalie core and the unrelenting memories of his kiss, Ryan Molloy occupied a lot of mental real estate. Every time he caught my eye with that sly, annoyed-but-not look, I had flashes of the way his lips and tongue could tease me senseless.
How would that tongue feel on other parts of my body?
“Ugh, give it a rest,” I shouted into my empty apartment.
If anything, my daydreams were a testament to how rare great kisses were. Bruce’s kisses were shitty and had always been. I hadn’t caved and called him outside of our work meetings in ages. Certainly not after Long Island. Memories and my vibrator were better than sex with a narcissist.
I threw the beanie on the coffee table and went back to work. My vision of how this platform would look had already started to come together. When I launched Mrs. Quentin Paris, I’d randomly posted whatever came to my head. This one would be more polished. I would keep it professional. That meant no pics of Henrik and no personal details. I’d use Irish music on action videos, stuff like “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” except obviously without the lyrics. He had such a Celtic look that it just made sense. For casual footage, there was really only one choice: the Star Wars theme song.
I giggled until I was breathless as I spliced a clip of Yoda training Luke with the on-ice footage. Then, I found a Darth Vader clip, added text over that said, “I sense a disturbance in the season,” and finished with the press conference where Ryan gave his statement.
Oh, this was fun.
Now, if it worked, things would be just peachy.
I looked around my little apartment. A pile of once-worn dresses lay on the kitchen table, waiting to be shipped. I sold them all online this weekend, along with my pretty peach suitcase and a whole slew of high heels.
I don’t need that stuff. Momma would’ve hawked it as soon as she got her hands on it. This is different. This is being economically smart. As long as I have a nice dress and something professional, I’m fine.
My phone vibrated, pulling me out of those thoughts.
Audrey: Hey! The guys are back in town. I have a PR stunt scheduled for tomorrow after their skate. Be at the arena around noon, ok? This is an invite-only thing. It’ll be great for your article. ;)
Me: Absolutely!
I launched my new page with the victory lap video from his shutout and got busy interacting with other hockey fans to build momentum. If I did this right, this would be great for me and Audrey.
The next morning, I wore black trousers and a sweater and made sure my hair was sleek. Since I wouldn’t be on camera, I toned down the makeup a little. My stomach rolled at the thought of other journalists’ side-eyeing me, but screw them. If I kept faking it in this new position, someday I’d probably actually make it.
I texted Vinny.
Me: Press event at the arena. Palms sweating. They’re gonna see right through
me.
He didn’t reply until I was nearly to Seacrest. Then again, he was always busy at the garage he ran with his partner. Taking time to reply at all meant I was a VIP in his life.
Vinny: See right through you? U mean see what a badass you are.
I replied with a string of hearts and shut off the engine. I sucked in a deep breath and got out of the car. Show them you’re a badass.
Joey escorted me to the media room. I walked in to find three women and three photographers hanging out. The women stopped talking when they saw me. Great .
But one of them smiled and walked forward. “I’m Sandy from Puck Drop Daily .”
I shook her hand. “Nica. I’m?—”
Her smile lifted higher on one side. “I know. And now I hear you’re doing a freelance piece for us. How did you get that gig?”
There was no malice in her tone. The others gathered around us. I kept my shoulders square and shrugged. “Audrey decided I might be an asset. Or she wanted to keep an eye on me.”
They laughed lightly like I’d wanted. Sandy looked me over again. “Your copy is strong. I’m excited to read your article.”
“Thanks.”
She smiled briefly. “Real question is, do you know what this is all about?”
I didn’t. But the fact that we were the only ones here made me very curious indeed. We hung out for several more minutes before Audrey walked in wearing a cheeky smile. “Ladies. I’ve put together an exclusive photo op that I hope your readers enjoy. Let’s join the guys on the ice first.”
We followed her to the rink to find the team practicing. As soon as they were in range, the photographers aimed their cameras and began shooting rapidly. Audrey handed the four of us headsets.
“Channel one is Dustin’s mic. Channel two is Ryan.”
It took a lot of muscle control to casually slip that headset on instead of snatching it from her like a fiend. I told myself this was professional and nothing more while I flipped the channel to two.
“Nope… Not today, Captain…” His voice was a soft mutter, but then he was talking to himself. And even with the mic on, there were long stretches where he didn’t talk at all.
I wandered to find a good angle to shoot from and pulled out my phone. Because this was a content goldmine, I made sure to capture as many of the guys as I could. But, of course, Ryan was my main focus. I set the video to record and watched him.
“Gotcha!” His singsong exclamation hit my ears when he blocked a shot by Dustin Simmons from the blue line. I laughed.
Simmons and Ethan Rivera passed the puck back and forth and raced in on him together. Rivera stopped short just in front of Ryan, hitting him with a little spray of ice while Simmons took another shot. This one squeaked in through his legs.
“Interference! That’s goalie interference if I ever saw it!”
I could hear Rivera laughing. “Ref says it was a good goal, Sieve.”
“Fuck off, Twinkle Toes. That was textbook interference.” Ryan’s voice had a laugh in it, but I hurried to make notes: Sieve?? Twinkle Toes???
The guys skated away, and Ryan dropped to his knees. I made sure to zoom in on him while he pushed the blue snow off to the side of the net and smoothed the ice over with his glove. “Crease maintenance,” he muttered, and I added another phrase to my list of questions.
Too soon, which was to say ever, the guys cleared the ice and disappeared into the locker room. But Audrey waved us all to her, still wearing that smile.
“Follow me, ladies.”