Chapter 3
Chapter three
Mel
I sat across from Maria, Tahoe West’s general manager, my heart doing an elegant little tap routine under my blazer.
This was my second interview. The first was over the phone last week.
This one was more intimidating, with the face-to-face exposing every flaw and possibly the mortifying memory of the coach and the bathroom door.
He’d looked broader than I remembered from weeks ago. Late thirties, maybe early forties, square-jawed. He was somewhere in that dangerous zone, where a man either aged like a Greek statue or had three yachts named Her.
I was betting on the first. Definitely the first.
Not wow-I’m-melting-hot, but undeniably attractive in that calm, controlled way. A good-looking type that snuck up on you because it didn’t beg for attention. It just watched. And now, thanks to my impeccable sense of direction, it had watched me burst out of the men’s room.
We’d locked eyes, and something in me buckled right then. In half a second, my breath caught, sharp and sudden, and all the air in my lungs knew exactly who he was. Had he recognized me? Did he know I was the clumsy ice skater with the ankle? My brain was a pinball machine of self-mortification.
“I’ll be direct.” Maria’s voice pulled me back. “We need someone who can get up to speed fast. We’re in the playoffs. Pressure’s high. Things move quickly at this level.”
I nodded. “I’m used to tight deadlines and shifting priorities. My last firm—”
“I saw that on your résumé,” she said, flipping the pages.
“But this role is different from working in an office. This is about assisting with logistics, tracking performance goals, coordinating travel assignments, and reporting to our player development manager or the head coach, depending on the situation.”
She let it hang there, a tantalizing breadcrumb of a challenge.
Maria’s dark eyes missed nothing. She was in her forties, maybe, with smooth olive skin and dark hair pulled neatly back, radiating competence, her beige blazer offset by an easy smile.
The lighting made me feel both excited and exposed. I’d walked into something bigger than I was ready for, and I wanted it badly, nerves and all.
Five weeks ago, somewhere between the ice-pack days and Andrew casually mentioning a job he saw with the hockey team, I stumbled across a posting for Tahoe West’s Player Development Assistant.
It sounded exactly like the type of challenge I’d been craving but had been inching toward with the speed of a snail.
I sent in my résumé, half expecting it to vanish into a black hole, and instead got a call two weeks later to schedule a phone interview.
While I waited, I clicked through the team site to scope things out—staff, milestone, schedule.
Then a photo stopped me. Sean Murphy, head coach.
Those eyes, that face, belonged to none other than the man who’d steadied my ankle at a public skate, no mistake.
And today, it clicked all the way: he was also the one I hit with a door.
Out of all the jobs, I’d picked one circling back to him. Great first impression.
I focused back on Maria. “When you say, ‘or the head coach, depending on the situation’ ...” I hesitated, hoping I didn’t sound as if I’d swallowed a marble. “What exactly does that mean?”
Maria smiled. “It’s a model we’re trialing. Some teams use support liaisons during travel. When you’re on the road, the head coach becomes your point of contact. I kept the post light on purpose. Traveling with a pro hockey team isn’t for everyone.”
Traveling with the team.
My pulse kicked. That was…wow. A whole different kind of glamour than coordinating an office. During that first phone interview, Maria had been sharp, direct, and gave nothing away. Now, here I was, blazer pressed, and stomach in knots.
The job post had sounded simple, even if “supporting player development” felt vague enough that I thought it was another phone and paperwork gig. But it wasn’t. This was movement, challenge, change. It was spying into players’ habits with more hockey lingo but less espionage.
I didn’t know hockey, but I knew how to organize humans—logistics, travel, keeping things on track. That, I could do. I wasn’t sitting this one out.
She held my eyes, assessing me.
“I need someone who can think fast and adapt faster. Someone flexible, who won’t panic when grown men act nineteen.”
She flipped a page. “In your last role, you coordinated multiparty legal meetings, fielded clients’ panic, handled sensitive documents, and managed workflows across multiple attorneys. You weren’t just assisting; you were running triage, exactly what playoff hockey demands.”
That landed sharp, validating what I was worth. “Office Assistant” didn’t cover half of what I did. I ran that place like a manager, and Sam never let me forget it.
I glanced at the page she’d flipped to. “Is the travel part going to be regular? Or more...crisis-based?”
“Should be regular.” She tapped a corner of the résumé. “You worked with the athletic travel office in college. It was during summers only, but it tells me you’ve done fast-moving coordination. That muscle memory counts.”
It had been years. A dusty résumé bullet point I’d almost forgotten.
“You really did your homework,” I said, then winced. The words had slipped out before I could stop them.
But Maria laughed warmly, and I felt the tightness in my shoulders finally drop since I met her.
“We’re meeting a few other candidates this week,” she said evenly. “But I appreciate your clarity and your confidence; that goes a long way.”
We wrapped up with a few more questions. I asked about the playoff travel schedule, but she didn’t expand. She made no promises, but a decision was coming by the end of the week.
I walked out of the conference room, trying not to hyperventilate.
As Maria accompanied me to the elevator, I hesitated. Now or never, Mel. Just rip off the band-aid.
“Quick question. Did I—was that the men’s room I walked into earlier?”
Maria blinked. “Excuse me?”
“There was no sign on the door, then urinals and...a man.” I tried and failed to forget about the collision or his intense brown eyes.
She let out a warm laugh. “Ah, the mystery bathroom doors. We ordered the signs to be replaced last week; it seems they’re still not ready yet.”
“Good to know,” I muttered. “I didn’t break anything, only my ego.”
I left the building with a nervous energy you only get after stepping into something new. I had no idea if I’d get the job, but I’d made an impression, hopefully not one involving plumbing.
Then it hit as if a delay in my nervous system finally caught up: I’d possibly travel with the team. With him.
I pushed the thought down or tried to. This was Tahoe West, a real-deal, pro hockey organization.
Traveling with them was ridiculously thrilling, and it felt right.
It was the type of movement I’d been craving but not diving into headfirst. It triggered every part of me that wanted change, a fresh start, and a chance to see the world away from the work-life hamster wheel.
And definitely, absolutely, unrelated to a certain broad-shouldered, warm-eyed hockey coach.
I texted Sam, who’d been waiting on this interview news with the eyes of a hawk circling a field mouse.
Me: Guess who walked out of the men’s bathroom…straight into the coach. Literally. Kill me.
Sam: WHAT?! You didn’t tell me you were applying to be a plumber. First stop: Men’s quarters. \*laughing emoji\*
I groaned, tossed my phone on the couch, and sat down. I might’ve nailed the interview, but I may be remembered by Mr. Hot Chocolate Eyes as Bathroom Girl. Great intro to Tahoe West.
I stirred the soup while letting the past six weeks play through my head like a reel.
After that ice-skating debacle, I’d done a deep dive on Golden State Arena and the Tahoe West Panthers.
It brought back college memories—Lake Tahoe trips, snow that melted in your gloves, and ski weekends that were really an excuse for hot chocolate and gossip.
The glossy Tahoe West posters had drawn my attention. I half joked, half leaped on Andrew’s lead that I should apply there. Turns out, the crash on the ice was my dramatic entrance.
Now I was a Tahoe West employee.
Yesterday, Maria had called. “We’re looking for a candidate who can handle playoff triage without flinching,” she’d said, her voice steady and warm.
“Your résumé and interview stood out as you’ve done this kind of fast-paced coordination before, and we’d like you to join the Tahoe West Panthers organization. ”
I nearly dropped my phone before managing a professional, “That’s wonderful news! I’m happy to accept it and look forward to getting started.”
“We’re happy to have you on board,” she replied, and wrapped up with a plan to follow up today.
After we hung up, I screamed into the empty house. Every tiny insect must have trembled in its crevice, and I wasn’t even remotely sorry.
So, this morning—Friday, April 18th, a date now tattooed into my brain—I filled out paperwork in an office that smelled of ink and so many possibilities. NDAs, benefits, background checks, and all the stuff that turns a maybe into a pinch-me-I’m-dreaming job.
The team wasn’t practicing on-site, but the arena buzzed anyway with lighting checks, camera crews swarming, and playoff signage being rolled out.
Walking those halls felt different. I wasn’t a visitor anymore; I was part of the furniture in a good way. I had an ID badge and a role.
I still couldn’t believe one twisted-ankle night landed me a better-paying job than I’d had six weeks ago. Story of my slightly painful luck.