Pucked and Pregnant (Forbidden Fantasies)

1. Liv

1

LIV

I ’m only halfway through the statistics for the last AHL game I covered when I feel the mood of the office shift. The clacking of keyboards and the indiscernible buzz of murmured collaboration turns into shrill, rapid-fire clucking.

Just a few seconds ago, this office was a hive of number-crunching intellectuals yet now it sounds like a coop of cackling hens. It happens sometimes, especially when there’s a particularly exciting bit of hockey gossip, but it always dies down quickly.

This time, however, it doesn’t stop.

How the hell am I going to be able to concentrate now?

Caroline told me that if I can impress the president of the league with my data analysis and subsequent presentation, that would give her enough data points to go toe-to-toe with her boss, and possibly get me into the pros.

When I joined Pro Rink Analytics, they started me in the minors. I fought my way through the ranks of the ECHL, and then the AHL by shamelessly throwing myself into every project I could get my grubby little hands on.

Unfortunately, however, sports analytics—like many other things—is a boy’s club. I had to supply perfection in every report I created while my colleagues got away with turning in half-assed work.

While working in the ECHL department, I accidentally transposed two numbers, and they made me rerun every single chart and data point. Meanwhile, my partner turned in work with so many typos it was illegible, as well as charts with an obvious bias toward the teams he liked, regardless of what the actual numbers showed.

Dave, my boss at the time, took him out to dinner on the company dime to “celebrate his improvement.” Yes, you heard right. Cooked numbers and typos were an improvement to the work he’d submitted before.

Things got better though when Caroline pitched me for the AHL department.

Despite the occasional come-ons and dirty jokes, the men I work with are decent. Most importantly, Caroline values my work and supports my career goals. I supplied her with my best work and she repaid that by being my biggest advocate when a position in the pro division opened up.

Even with her support, I’ve had to do twice as many press conferences and submit work twice as good as the men in my department to even be considered a candidate. They’ll look at my portfolio, probably to avoid a discrimination lawsuit, only to come back with, “Not good enough. You need more experience.”

There have even been times when I was the only person who applied. I know this because Caroline checked and told me. Instead of giving me the opportunity, they transferred in someone from a different state to fill the spot.

Clearly, they don’t want you. They already have their token female. Why not just give up?

Because mean little voice in my head, I don’t want to, and despite what it sounds like, my trajectory is practically a meteoric rise to the top from a lady analyst perspective. The fact that I’m twenty-six years old and already working at the top of the AHL department is nothing short of a miracle. If you consider the complete sacrifice of my social life, ruthlessness, and bold ambition to be miraculous, that is.

I let out a frustrated groan and try to return my focus to the report I’m working on, but no matter what I do, I can’t tune out the noise.

It’s been more than ten minutes of this crap and I’ve had enough. I stomp over to a cluster of men three cubicles down.

“What could possibly be interesting enough to warrant all this noise?” I demand. “Jumbo jets are quieter than you guys right now.”

“Uh oh, it’s the fun police.”

“Bite me.”

Garrett smirks. “Gladly. Do you have a place in mind, or do I get to choose?”

The other men snicker.

I square my shoulders and look him dead in the eye. “Not even if I was dying and your dick was the cure.”

The other men carry on like schoolboys whose classmate just got called to the principal’s office. Garrett turns an interesting shade of red and slinks away from me.

Maybe it was a bit over the top but I’m not in the mood to stroke any male egos today.

“Are you ready to stop acting like a bunch of children now and tell me what’s going on?” I demand.

“You seriously don’t know?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “And here I thought you’d be the first one to find out about it.”

He’s toying with me, and that stupid gleam in his eye tells me exactly how much he’s enjoying it. If I get agitated, he wins. If I beg, he wins. And if he wins, I will never hear the end of it.

I give him my best, you’re going to pay for this later glare, then count to ten in my head.

“Find out about what?” I ask with forced indifference.

His smile tells me he’s not buying it. “What’s it worth to you?”

I can feel every eye in the room on me, and I know they’re wondering if today is the day I finally crack and lose it.

“Clearly, you don’t want me to know.” I shrug. “I guess I’ll just wait for Lauren to get back from her lunch break and ask her.”

I spin on my heel and head back toward my cubicle. I don’t make it more than five steps before Caleb calls after me.

“Fine, you win. I’ll tell you.”

A few of the men grumble, and I see money changing hands when I turn back toward them.

“Danny, you know better than to bet against me,” I tease.

“I thought with what the news was, you’d be curious enough to break first.”

“That only works when I know what type of news it is.”

“Oh. Right.”

How is this man allowed to be in charge of several projects with logic skills like that?

“Better luck next time, I guess.” I switch my focus to Caleb. “Spill it, Wonder Boy.”

He laughs good-naturedly. “Well, when I was walking by Caroline’s office, she was talking with some guy I didn’t recognize, and I happened to hear something very interesting about the NHL department on the east coast. Apparently, one of their senior analysts suddenly quit the other night and no one knows why. It was right after a game, too.”

“You’re making this up,” I say.

“On my life, I’m not.” Caleb crosses his heart. “That’s exactly what I overheard. The big bosses are seriously pissed.”

“So, you’re telling me that there’s a spot open in the NHL department?”

“Yep.”

“And they came and told Caroline personally about it?”

He nods. “I’m pretty sure that the Minnesota Mad Dogs days are over, at least for one of us. Don’t worry, I’ll remember you all while I’m schmoozing it up on the coast.”

“What makes you think it’s you and not me?”

“Because I’m just that good.”

“I’m better.”

“I guess we’re going to just have to wait and see.” He smirks.

I desperately try to squash down the hope welling up in my heart. This has happened enough times that I know my chances are slim to none. The guy was most likely here asking about Caleb.

He’s my only real competition in terms of skill in this office, which is why he heckles me so much. It only makes sense that if someone were here scouting, they’d be scouting him.

“Are you two done measuring whose is bigger yet?” Ben asks, interrupting our little standoff. “Because you didn’t even tell her the best part.”

“What’s that?”

“They’re not promoting her partner to the senior analyst role.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s exactly what I said when I heard it, too.”

I lift an eyebrow at him. “I’ve never heard you say those two words the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “So I cleaned up the language a little, who cares? The important thing is they’re looking to fill a senior analyst spot in the NHL department, not a junior spot. No need to work your way up when you’re already starting right at the top. It couldn’t be more perfect.”

There’s no such thing as perfect. There’s always a catch.

“Why do you think they’re not promoting her former partner?” I ask.

The answers come all at once and range from plausible to ridiculous.

He’s content where he is.

He has mafia ties, and they’re worried he’ll pass on confidential information.

He picks his nose on camera.

He’s really bad at his job, but he’s a nepo baby, so they can’t fire him.

He has a wife and kids, so he doesn’t want the extra responsibility.

The sheer volume of theories that come pouring out of my coworkers are almost enough for me to wish I hadn’t asked.

I’m getting that overcrowded henhouse feeling again. Part of me wants to cover my ears to block out the sound, but the other part is desperate for any scrap of information.

They always promote the partner or a teammate of the person who left. It’s easier than trying to teach someone new all the practices and expectations of whatever specific team they’re covering.

If what Caleb overheard is true, then there’s something really messed up about that guy if he wasn’t promoted.

Caroline’s assertive tone cuts through the chatter. “Olivia, can I see you in my office, please?”

My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. She’s calling me in to tell me she convinced them to bring me on instead of one of the guys. The dream I’ve had since high school might finally be coming true.

Whoa, girl. Stay rational. This is probably about the report you were working on.

But what if it isn’t?

Girl, breathe.

Everyone is looking at me. I need to make myself move or I’m going to become even more of a spectacle.

As I step through the crowd to Caroline’s office, I hear murmurs of wagers being made.

“Why don’t you have a seat so we can get started?”

Her tone is frustratingly neutral.

“Is this about the analysis for the AHL president? Because I'll have that done by the end of the day and I’ll be creating the presentation tomorrow. Everything is on track there.”

A smile twitches at the corners of her mouth.

“It does connect to what I want to talk to you about but only minimally. As far as the presentation goes, I’m most likely going to be handing it off to Caleb and Garrett.”

There’s that little smile again.

Does that mean what I think it means?

“Why is that?” I ask.

“I assume your coworkers filled you in on the situation on the east coast?”

“They did.”

“Apparently, you’ve got quite the admirer over there. They requested you specifically for the senior analyst position. The other department heads tried to talk him out of it, suggesting their own people, but he didn’t bite.”

Of course they did.

“I’m guessing you put up a pretty big fight on my behalf.” I smile gratefully at her. “Thank you. That really means a lot.”

“I didn’t have to say a word. Before I could, Jackson—the man Caleb saw leaving my office—said that if the Blades couldn’t have you, they wouldn’t be taking anyone at all from this office. I told him I’d talk with you first so you could decide in a lower-pressure moment whether you wanted the position or not, but woman to woman, you’d be crazy to pass this up.”

“Wait, you said Blades. Are you telling me the Boston Blades asked for me personally?”

“Yes.”

That’s when all the pieces click into place.

“Damn it, Max. I told you to stay out of it,” I mutter to myself.

“Caroline, I don’t think I should take this job. I believe I’m getting the position because my brother badgered that office into hiring me. Someone who actually deserves it should get it.”

She lets out a low whistle. “Wow, that is a lot to unpack there, so I’m going to start with the thing that surprises me the most. I heard what you said under your breath and this Max you’re referring to—your brother—is Max Winters. The same Max Winters that’s the active team captain for the Boston Blades. Am I right to make that assumption?”

“Yes.” I hang my head. “I didn’t want to tell anyone because I wanted to earn my place here on merit alone rather than because of who my brother is. That’s the whole reason I applied for the position here in Minnesota.”

She shakes her head. “I thought you were smarter than that, Olivia. I really did.”

If she reached across the desk and slapped me, it would have hurt less.

“If I had known that I would have been able to get the pro division interested in you sooner. There’s no way Dave could have kept you in the junior analyst position for that long, and I could have even leveraged that to get you on my team far earlier.”

“See, that’s exactly why I didn’t advertise it. I wanted to earn it on my own,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.

“Struggling endlessly for the sake of struggling just makes you a useless martyr. You’re talented, but you know as well as I do how difficult it is for women to advance in a male-dominated field. Did you ever think for even a moment that you could use your connections to get to the top and push for actual change?

“How many more girls could you have inspired to join this field if you were doing color commentary and TV guest spots for the pro leagues? I value your hard work and your commitment, but that pride of yours might end up ruining your career. I know I can’t make you change your mind and take the position you’re being offered, but I will have failed you as your boss if I don’t strongly advise you to reconsider your answer.”

I want to argue with her. I want to tell her she has no clue how cold it gets living in your brother’s shadow and she has no right to speak to me that way.

But she’s right.

She’s right about everything.

“How soon do they want me in Boston?”

“As soon as possible. Does this mean you’ve changed your mind?” Caroline asks.

Although it feels like I’m betraying my principles, I say yes and take the transfer paperwork back to my desk to start signing.