Chapter 36 Tate
TATE
“Tate.” Jordan storms into my office. “Our entire scouting department quit? What the fuck?”
“Good morning.”
She stares at me, waiting, and gestures at me with urgency.
“How are you today, Jordan?”
“Tate.”
I smile. Can’t help myself. I spent the last few days reminding myself to be professional with her, and yet I’m taunting her again. “I’m great, thanks for asking. I hit a personal record at the gym this morning.”
Working out helps with the whole Jordan problem. The overwhelming, interrupting thoughts about her. The inappropriate ideas.
“Good for you.”
The cat deposited another lacy scrap of Jordan’s panties at my bedroom door last night, like she knows I’m struggling. These ones are light pink. So sweet and feminine, so unlike Jordan.
Or maybe not. Maybe she wears pretty, feminine, lacy panties all the time.
She gives me a flat look. “What’s the deal with the scouts?”
I sit back, folding my arms over my chest. “The North American scouts quit.”
“All of them?”
I nod. “We still have three guys in Europe.”
“Shit,” she says under her breath, dropping into the seat in front of my desk, looking so at ease in this office.
She’s wearing a white collared shirt with blue stripes, the sleeves rolled up. Navy blue trousers. A tan high heel peeks out from beneath the hem as her knee bounces, and I see why Volkov is always staring at his wife’s shoes.
“No notice,” I continue, distracted. “They went to Dallas. They’re Bernardi’s old guard.” The previous Storm coach, who was fired in disgrace after a record terrible season. He’s with Dallas now. “They’re loyal to him.”
Worry is written all over her pretty face.
She cares. I knew it. She’s invested. A pulse of reward goes off behind my sternum.
“You’re wearing heels.”
“Hmm?” She looks up at me, frowning, and I nudge my chin to her feet.
“You usually wear boots.”
“Oh. Yeah.” She gives me an odd look. Is she embarrassed?
She looks lovely today, and I wish I could tell her.
“It wasn’t raining, and it felt wrong to let them sit in my closet.
” Her fingers go to the end of her ponytail.
“And the stylist included them with this outfit in the booklet, so . . .” She shrugs.
I know. Page seven.
“What are you going to do about it?” she asks.
I stare at her. About the heels? Think about them constantly, that’s for sure. Are they comfortable? Do her feet hurt at the end of the day?
“We still have gaps in the team,” she says.
What are you going to do about the scouts, she meant. I’m a fool.
“We still have cap space to spend,” she continues, talking faster. “And you have your hands full. There’s no way you have time to look for prospects.”
“No, I don’t.” The urge to do it all tightens around me, but she’s right. Scouting isn’t my job, and it would risk me dropping the ball with the team.
I rub my jaw. “I was thinking you could do it.”
She stares at me with wary apprehension. “No.”
“You were right about Hutton and you were right about Yang-Hanson. We need a scout, Jordan.”
“I have no experience.”
“That’s not true. Maybe you didn’t play, but you grew up around hockey. You studied it in school.” She tenses, but I continue. “You have a remarkable aptitude for predicting team dynamics based on player personalities. In my eyes, that’s even better than a few years in the NHL.”
Her face is going red.
“We need you,” I tell her. “We’re hiring more scouts, but I want to wait for the right fit, and who knows how long that will take? Maybe through the summer.”
She hesitates. “We have so much at stake this season. I don’t want to screw up and everyone—” She cuts herself off. “I don’t want to cause problems.”
And everyone what? I wish I knew why she dropped out of her master’s program.
I want her to tell me, though. I want her to trust me.
“I believe in you. I believe you’re the best person for this job. We need you, Jordan.”
She takes a deep breath, holding my eyes with fear in hers. I want to gather her up in my lap and tell her it’s going to be okay.
A problem, because I don’t feel that way with any other employee.
“Okay,” she says, swallowing.
“Okay? You’ll take the job?”
She nods and I smile with pride. She’s scared but she’s still moving forward, still taking risks and pushing herself out of her comfort zone.
She doesn’t even realize how courageous she is.
“Where will I be based?”
I nearly laugh. Jordan thought I was going to send her away? Absolutely not.
“We’re going to do it a little differently. You’re going to stay with the team. Watch their games, watch the other players.”
It’s an unusual approach, but my gut tells me to keep Jordan close. That she’s better with the team than away, in some barren apartment on the other side of the country, all alone.
Jordan has been alone long enough.
“Is that okay?” I ask, and she nods. “Great.” I lift my eyebrows at her. “Find me someone good.”
A wide, happy grin pulls across her mouth. It’s just a brief moment before she tamps it down, but my heart jumps in my chest.
The part of me that loves watching people rise to their potential? It vibrates. Making Jordan a scout was the right decision. Now I need to be patient.
That afternoon, I drop by my office on the way to practice, and something on my desk makes me laugh.
A box of Dunkaroos, the ones with vanilla icing and sprinkles.