Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Raya
“You wanted to see me?”
I don’t have to look up to know that Finn is making his daily appearance at the door of my office. It’s been almost a week of home games and practices since the night he followed me home from Dallas’s, and every day, he’s shown up here. At my door.
I was used to the occasional drop by, but there’s been a definite uptick since that night—almost like he feels responsible for me.
Which is weird, considering how self-sufficient I am.
Another feeling I’m wrestling with is that I’ve come to expect—and slightly enjoy—these daily check-ins.
Each day he shows up with that same lazy smile.
Most of the older women in the administrative offices enjoy his visits too—though they show it more openly than I do, if the hushed chatter in the office is any indication. I pick up pieces of conversation, and it usually involves the word charming, and occasionally, adorable.
I glance up, barely, and find him leaning against the doorjamb, dressed in black Nike joggers and a Chicago Comets hoodie, his stick bag slung over his shoulder.
“No, Finn.” I look away, suddenly unable to focus on what I was doing, unsure where I left off.
It’s like reading a book and having to reread the same paragraph because the words don’t make sense.
He takes a step into my office. “Oh, you sure? I thought I got an email about it.”
I look up. “I didn’t send an email.”
“Weird. Are you sure? I could’ve sworn . . .” There’s a playful glint in his eyes, and I see him daring me to take the bait.
I never take the bait.
“You look nice,” he says. “Red is definitely your color.”
“Yesterday, you said blue was my color.”
He shrugs. “It was. Today it’s red.”
My gaze drops to my desk, and I keep my face down, just in case the heat I feel in my cheeks is showing.
Because in the days since that night in my garage, I’ve been actively working to push Finn out of my mind.
Never mind that everything seems back to normal on his end. The compliments. The flirting. The showing up unannounced. He’s settled right back into the role I’m used to. But somehow, he’s figured out how to compliment me without sounding completely disingenuous.
It’s . . . different.
Still, it’s Finn. Nothing will ever change the image I have of him.
Never mind that my sisters seem to have joined Finn’s fan club. More than once, I’ve reminded them I’m seeing Justin, but since they haven’t met him, he’s like an apparition. Finn is very real, and they’ve jumped on his bandwagon without looking both ways first.
What changed?
My computer dings three times in quick succession. Three new emails.
“Whoa, someone’s popular.” He shifts the bag on his shoulder. “You good? You need anything?”
“More time would be nice,” I breathe.
“I’d help, but . . .” he points at himself. “I’m not the office type. If you need me to hit someone with a stick, though, I might be able to—”
He keeps talking, but I’m struggling to keep my focus on what he’s saying along with the emails I’m trying to read.
“I’m busy, Finn, so if you don’t need anything—” Having him here is too distracting, and I’m buried right now.
I’m calculating the amount of work I have to do—plus all the details for the numerous projects I’m handling—each one important enough that I can’t really prioritize—and I keep coming up with more hours needed to finish them than there are in a day.
That’s only if I don’t sleep.
Not only is Denim and Diamonds just a few weeks away, but the PR team hired and fired the same person just this past week, which has been a bit of a nightmare for my department.
I type a few lines in reply to the first email when my cell phone buzzes with a new text from Justin. Miraculously, we found time for lunch earlier this week, and we’ve spoken on the phone twice. So far, we’re compatible, and I’ve started to wonder if this plan really is genius.
It’ll be nice to have someone to bring to Thanksgiving dinner next week, even if we are still fairly new.
Ugh. Thanksgiving. I barely have time to think that far into the future.
I flip my phone over and pinch the bridge of my nose, rubbing the spot that usually helps alleviate some of the pressure built up in my head.
Finn moves a bit further into my office and gently sets something down on my desk. It’s a small box.
“What’s this?”
He shrugs, almost looking embarrassed. “Open it.”
I take the small white box and flip it open to find my favorite kind of dark chocolate sea salt caramels.
I look up at him, and he’s smiling like, Eh? You like it? I start to say something, but there’s a soft knock on my open door.
I look past Finn to see one of the interns. She almost looks afraid to come in.
Finn plops down in the chair on the other side of my desk.
“What is it?” I ask with a quick nod to the intern.
Landyn is new. Fresh out of college, and most likely not cut out for this job. She’ll have a formal evaluation later this month, but odds are, she’s toast. She’s too slow and struggles to remember details. Not great for someone in her position.
She can probably sense her impending demise, which is maybe why she looks like she just swallowed a horse. Her face tightens.
“Hey, Landyn,” Finn says in that casual, cool tone. “It is Landyn, right?”
She double-takes a bit, probably because he knows her name. “Landyn, yes.”
Finn knows everyone’s name.
“How do you like working here so far?”
Her eyes dart to me, almost like she’s asking for permission to respond.
I shrug, because this is what Finn does.
It’s impossible for him to meet someone new and not have a full-on conversation with them.
It’s like everyone else disappears when he talks to you, making you feel like you’re the only one in the room he cares about at that moment.
This is just how he is. His curiosity about me—and his conversations with me—aren’t special or unique.
He is genuinely curious. About everyone.
Once, he did a press conference and ended up asking more questions than he answered.
Never mind that there does seem to be something a little more purposeful about him lately.
Landyn shifts her weight uncomfortably, then answers Finn’s question. “I love this job,” she says. “But . . . it’s . . . a lot.” She winces. “I’m trying to keep everything straight.”
I should be more sympathetic. At this exact moment, I’m also trying to keep everything straight.
Working in human resources for a professional hockey team is no joke.
And while I am more than qualified to manage teams of people, and I have the organizational skills to keep everything running smoothly, lately I’ve fallen behind. I’m not keeping everything in order.
And I hate when things aren’t in order.
“Yeah, I can imagine,” Finn says. “Where did you go to school? I mean, I assume you went to school for this. Like, what’s the major for this kind of job?”
Genuine. Conversational. I can see Landyn’s shoulders relax, and her face brightens as she talks about college.
I turn back to finish the email I started when two more come in, one a follow-up from yesterday I haven’t gotten to yet. I frown, and it’s the kind of frown I can feel in my whole face—stressed and tight.
I look back at Finn and Landyn, now fully in conversation, like I’m not even here.
Unfortunately for Landyn, she’s part of the problem right now. If the support staff isn’t doing their job, that makes it hard for me to do my job. Things fall through the cracks, and I don’t want to have to hold her hand to get her where she needs to be.
I can’t hold her hand. I don’t have time.
“Have you been to a game yet?” Finn asks and the question irks me because, honestly, why are they having this conversation in my office? I am working!
Before she answers, I cut in. “What was it you needed, Landyn?” I keep my tone polite but firm, hoping that she—and Finn—get the point. I’ve got things to do.
“Brian was wondering if you had those new contracts,” she says, straightening up like the principal just walked into the classroom. “He sent me here to pick them up.”
My brain scrambles. For a few seconds, I have no idea what she’s talking about.
I look down at my desk when I’m struck with a sharp pain at my temple.
“Uhh, yes, I do—” I close my eyes for a second, willing away a stress headache.
“Yes. The contracts. They’re almost ready. I’ll bring them down in just a bit.”
Landyn gives me a terse nod, smiles at Finn, and before she walks away, he says, “Ah, don’t let her boss you around too hard.” He turns back to me. “She’s just got a lot on her plate.”
Landyn looks at me and says, “Is there anything else I can do? To you know, help? I’ve got some space to—”
I cut her off with, “No. Thanks, Landyn.”
With that, she gives a small smile and nod, then turns to Finn and says, “It was nice to finally meet you in person,” to which he replies, “Likewise,” and she leaves.
I turn back to my screen. The image is blurred, and I squint to make it out.
“You know she’s terrified of you, right?”
“She’s terrified of losing her job, and she should be.” I frown, forcing my eyes and my brain to get with the program. They are not cooperating. If anything, it’s getting worse. I almost feel crowded.
He slaps his lap and stands. “I get it. You’re busy. I thought I’d say hi, drop that off—” He nods at the chocolate. “Try not to work too hard, okay, Hart?”
He feels sincere. I feel terrible.
And his question—wouldn’t it be nice if someone took care of me every once in a while—keeps spinning in my throbbing brain like a website trying to load. I’ve tried to convince myself that no, it absolutely wouldn’t. I can pull my own weight. I can handle my own work.
But that loud voice—the one that shouted its silent “YES!” in the back of my mind that night—throws me off-balance again.
I look at my computer, then down at my desk, then up at Finn.
He’s watching me strangely, and I realize I haven’t said anything back to him for a few moments.
I shake my head to try and clear things. “Sorry. Sorry. I’ve just . . .”
“Got a lot on your plate. Totally understand.” He smiles and nods at the box in front of me. “Just find room for a few of those chocolates on your plate, huh?”
I look at the box, and that’s when the room starts to close in.
Not emotionally, but visually.
There’s a strange darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision. I blink a few times, then pull my gaze away, pressing into my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. When I open my eyes, my vision is still distorted, like I’m looking through a tube.
Somewhere, my phone buzzes. I think I should answer it, but I can’t.
“Raya?”
I look up, trying to follow Finn’s voice, but it feels like it’s coming from somewhere else, outside my perception.
My mind swirls, then I’m slammed with an excruciating pain. I whip my hand to the side of my head and shut my eyes tight, trying to alleviate the sharp, crackling pain.
Am I getting sick? I never get sick. I don’t have time to get sick.
As if on cue, my computer dings again. Twice. The sound is faint.
I open my eyes, and my gaze falls to the desktop, and I stare at a paperclip that moves in and out of focus. The dark edges at the corners of my eyes are creeping closer to the middle.
What is happening?
I hear a voice at my door, but I don’t look up. “Hey, Finn. You’re back!”
It’s Jill. My assistant. I register her presence like someone trying to make out a face in a dream.
My top lip starts to tingle.
“Raya,” she says. “I’m heading out for coffee! Be back in twenty!”
I lift a hand to let her know I heard her, but I don’t respond. I can’t respond. I’m too busy trying to understand what’s happening to my face. I reach up and touch my cheek. It’s numb.
The right side of my face is numb.
The headache comes in full force now, and the nausea is so strong that I let out a little moan. I drop my head into my hands.
“Raya?”
Finn’s voice is stronger now, panicked.
The fingers on my right hand prickle with numbness, like they fell asleep. I shake my arm, but I can’t get the blood to come back.
“I can’t feel my face.” My voice sounds funny and I touch my cheek. I drag my gaze to Finn’s and find a worried expression on his usually nonchalant face. “My face. My face is numb.”
In the hazy darkness of my vision, I see him drop his bag and immediately come around to me, taking me in his arms as I sag to the floor.
He holds me with one strong hand, pulling me into his chest while using the other to find out his phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask. Am I slurring my words? Am I dying? My vision is black, only a pinprick of light at the center of my eyes. “I can’t see.” I hear the fear in my own voice.
Finn puts the phone to his ear and holds me closer. “It’s okay, Hart. I got you.” He repeats this until he starts talking into the phone.
“I don’t have time to lie down,” I say, my brain feeling like every neuron is firing at once. My vision goes dark as sparks shoot across it, causing a wave of nausea that I can’t contain.
I push against him with the one arm that works and manage to grab the garbage can just in time to empty the contents of my stomach.
My whole body contracts as heat rushes through me, and in the haze I notice Finn doesn’t let go. He doesn’t even flinch.
My head throbs, and somewhere in the inky, sparkling blackness I hear his voice.
“Doc, I need you in the executive offices—” Finn says into the phone.
“I think Raya Hart is having a stroke.”