Chapter 4 #2
Her eyes widen. “It was bad, wasn’t it? I knew he was messy but…
” She trails off. “I mean, my boss told me there was a lot of mess to deal with.” There’s a barely perceptible shift in her demeanor.
Like she’s closed up but is trying not to show it.
“Anyway, hi. I’m sorry about this morning. Can we start over?”
“What happened this morning?” I ask.
She smiles again. I’m only half joking. She looks completely different from the woman laying helplessly prone on the locker room floor, and not just because of the bruise.
Sitting behind the desk she’s in control.
Her hair is perfectly tied into a pony tail, her glasses are perched on the bridge of her elegantly straight nose, and her blouse is now buttoned enough so I can’t see the swell of breasts that kind of entranced me earlier.
This is good, I tell myself. I have to work with this woman. I have to make sure she does nothing to harm the team. Having fantasies about burying my face in the valley of her chest isn’t exactly professional.
“I’m Eli Salinger,” I say, reaching my hand across the desk.
She curls her fingers around my palm. “Mackenzie Hunter.”
“Have we met before?” I ask her. “It’s just that you look familiar. But I can’t place it.” I’ve always had a knack for recognizing faces. Now that she’s upright and my view isn’t obscured by Goran’s ass it’s nagging at me.
Two tiny lines furrow her brow. “I don’t think so.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Cornell.”
“I played there a few times,” I say. “Did you go to hockey games?”
She shakes her head. “No, sorry. I think I have one of those faces. People think they know me but they don’t.” She shrugs.
“Do you know anything about hockey?”
She takes a deep breath. “Not much,” she admits.
It’s not the face. It’s the eyes. I feel like I’ve seen them before. And it’s annoying me now.
But it’s past six and I have two matches to watch at home tonight.
“Well then, welcome to the Mavericks,” I say. “You’ve picked an interesting time to come and mix things up. I assume you’ll be concentrating on the business side of things.”
“That’s why I’m here.” She nods. “But I need to understand the whole business, including how the team works. The first thing we need to do is cut down on expenditures. I’ll be undertaking a full audit of every payment we make. Including the team.”
“Our salaries are negotiated in advance. We can’t cut those.”
“I understand that. But we can freeze them. Look at bonuses.”
I shift in my seat. “My players aren’t in the NHL. They’re not highly paid. Any cut including bonuses will affect them badly. Most of them are living alone for the first time. Paying their own bills.”
“The team folding would affect them worse,” she says. “You have the IRS breathing down your necks. Nothing is going to be sacred until there’s money to pay them.”
“But you can’t do anything without Wayne’s agreement, right?
” And I know for a fact that Wayne would never agree to anything that put the team at a disadvantage.
Hockey is everything to him. Winning is paramount.
You could sell every bit of furniture in the offices and he wouldn’t give a damn. But touch his team?
You’re dead meat.
“I have authorization to make any changes needed.”
“From who?”
She doesn’t blink. “The Gauthier family.”
“Greg?” I ask.
“I said the family, didn’t I?”
Her attitude is annoying me.
“Look,” I say, trying to keep my voice reasonable.
“I get it. You’re a businesswoman. You know how to run regular businesses.
But this isn’t a regular business, it’s a sport.
You’ve already said you don’t know much about hockey.
So all I’m asking is please don’t interfere in the way I run my team.
” I let out a sigh. “Or at least run it by me before you do.”
Her frown deepens. Something I said was wrong but I have no idea what. I don’t think I insulted her. Almost the opposite. Any other coach would be screaming right now.
“Okay. I’ll do that.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you met with Wayne yet?” I ask her, because I’m certain he’s not going to be as laid back as I am about this.
She opens her mouth then shuts it again. Those two tiny lines appear above her eyes. “I’m actually meeting with him tonight at his house.”
She’s so closed off she should have a red and white sign flashing in front of her.
And yet I kind of like it. For the past fifteen years, I’ve had my fair share of relationships and had to bat off a lot of female interest. And unlike some of the guys on my team, I wasn’t stupid enough to think that interest was for me as a person.
It was for me the NHL player. It attracts people. We’re not gods but we’re different, and different is interesting.
“Give him my best,” I tell her.
“I will.”
“And ice that cheek before you leave. Twenty minutes.”
She gives me the tightest of smiles. “Sure.”
I stand and go to leave, but then for some stupid reason I turn around at the last minute. “Oh, and by the way. If you need somebody to talk to, or if you’re feeling lonely while you’re in town, give me a shout.”
I regret it as soon as I say it, because I don’t have time and I don’t really want to.
Her smile disappears completely and I regret it even more. “I’ll be fine. But thank you.” As if to reiterate her point, she picks up a piece of paper from the desk and starts studying it like she’s got a pop quiz in ten minutes.
That’s when I realize she thinks I was hitting on her. And I wasn’t. I was trying to be nice. She’s alone in a new city and knows nobody. I feel kind of sorry for her.
I close the door shut behind me and stomp down the corridor. Now I’m the one in a pissy mood. And it doesn’t feel good.