26. Schmoozin’ for a Bruisin’
Chapter twenty-six
Schmoozin’ for a Bruisin’
Callum Morris, NPHL Network Analyst:“Well, Jeff, the Titans continue to set the pace in the Atlantic despite that recent bump, but the road to playoffs is rarely smooth. The only real talking point is still Carter Reynolds and that noticeable shift we’re seeing in his game.
He's choosing his moments more carefully, attacking with less frequency and relying on positioning over outright explosiveness.
Whether that's the natural evolution of a captain managing an eighty-two-game season or something more is anyone's guess, but with Blackwater continuing to pile up points, it's a question nobody inside the Titans seems particularly interested in answering right now.”
“Call sheets are up !”
I take one from the bundle of papers passed to me, handing it off to Erin from Ness’s team on my left.
Up on the podium Ness flicks through a clipboard, looking harried. “Meridian wanted a joint approach, so today is going to be an absolute fuckload of fun for all of us.”
I gnaw at a loose nail, my eyes running down the list. The room around me is filled with people waiting for orders, all of us summoned to support the team’s Sponsor Day.
Both teams. Ness looks disgruntled as she jerks her thumb to the guy on her right. “This is Nathaniel. Nate. PR lead for the Aces and overall pain in my ass.”
A few muffled guffaws sound. Nate rolls his eyes.
He’s wearing the same black tee and lanyard the rest of us have on, signaling us as the hired help for the benefit of the hundreds of people descending on the Furnace today.
“Always a pleasure to work with you, Vanessa. Anyway. You all have tasks distributed to you alongside timings. Our job today is to get every player everywhere they need to be on time, and without any issues. Ideally without any fighting. But if it happens, make sure you’re close to a camera.
The senior team has a separate schedule to support individual players depending on their tasks, but flag one of us if you need to. ”
Ness sniffs and folds her arms. No black tee for her. She doesn’t remove her signature red blazer for anyone. “Ideally not me. I won’t care.”
More laughter. The atmosphere here is laid back. Sponsor Day is hard work, but generally pretty fun. Leaning against a pillar at the back, I feel my skin tear away from my nail, the pain fleeting.
Would’ve been nice to feel it, but the best I can summon is a healthy dose of apathy. I look down at the call sheet again, searching for my name against the long list of interviews, photoshoots, content filming and advertising slots.
It doesn’t take me long to find it.
I find Lauren speaking to Nate at the front of the room after he dismisses us, pushing against the flow of black heading out. Holding up the paper, I wait a few seconds before cutting in. “Hi. Sorry. I need to swap with someone.”
There’s no way I’m spending this much time with anyone from the Aces. “Carter will lose his shit if I’m paired with Boone.”
“You’re only with Mercer when Carter’s there too.” Lauren double checks her own sheet. “He and Boone have that joint press conference last thing. I figured you’d want to be around.”
She gestures at my uncomprehending stare. “You know, because of everything. But if not—you want me to change it?”
In case they tear each other’s heads off. Shit. She may actually have a point. I take a step back, already praying for the day to be over with. “Uh. No. Don’t worry.”
“Call if you need me.” She holds up her phone, and I get the sense that she actually means it. “Or if you need a break.”
I already need a break. Joining the stream of helpers, I make my way downstairs.
The middle of the players center is full of hockey players, all of them suited and booted with pretty hair and glowering faces.
To say this day isn’t their favorite is probably understating it.
The only exception is Jonas, who I’m pretty sure got up at four to primp.
Joining the queue, I wait for my turn. Each helper steps forward and calls their disgruntled players, vanishing into different rooms and floors.
When it’s my turn, I steel myself. At least it’s not Boone.
Not yet, anyway. “I need Benji Laine, Mackenzie Shaw, Austin Navarro, Dylan Rhodes and Noah West!”
Bad enough. Carter is already called up, buried somewhere in the building around us, but Liam glares at the floor as the others filter out of the crowd and head up the steps. Mackenzie grins as he reaches me. “Look who it is, Navarro. Our favorite Titan. Where d’you need us, Rosie?”
Benji gives him a sharp look as I consult the call list. “You all have sponsor slots scheduled for the next two hours. Meet and greets. Fifteen minutes each in the Gretzky suite, there are stations set up. Smile, look pretty, don’t talk about anything real and you’ll be fine.”
Noah looks horrified. They all do, actually. “Two hours?”
“Mhmm.” Taking pity on them, I decide to offer a bone. “I’ll keep you supplied with coffee and crumb-free snacks if you stay on time and don’t spill anything down your shirts. Otherwise we have to go back to wardrobe, and you all look too pretty to change.”
I can’t cope with the puppy eyes.
“Hear that?” Austin murmurs. “She thinks we’re pretty, Mac.”
Jesus. Even his voice is hypnotizing. Nothing about the smile he gives me says he remembers the elevator back in Chicago. My face flushes. “Let’s go. Day’s wasting’.”
It doesn’t get any slower from there. I nudge them from slot to slot, herding them into their media interviews and dodging the harried assistants trying to get increasingly flustered players to their own locations.
“Hey.” Mac catches me as I deliver him to his first network interview, his fingers skating across my arm to stop me abandoning him. “You know we’re not media trained, right?”
I stare at him, aghast. “You’re not media trained?”
“Ach, no.” He looks sheepish. “None of us are. There wasn’t exactly money to spare before Meridian stepped in. Our Sponsor Day last year was local radio and a few Costco sandwich platters.”
Shit. I did not, in fact, know that. I look into the room over his shoulder and drag Mac out of sight before he’s spotted. “Uh… you’ve got Callum Morris.”
Mac blanches. “Callum Morris? The sports anchor? What the fuck do I say?”
“This is an easier one,” I reassure him.
“Callum’s very good. Very focused on the game, so keep your words on that and don’t let him draw you into any shit-talk.
The ones to watch out for are the regional and national general anchors.
They’ll ask you all sorts, try and draw you in on wider issues, but he just cares about the sport.
Nice guy. Two kids in high school, married for twenty years.
If you get a brain fart, repeat the question back to him or drink some water to buy yourself a bit of time. He won’t mind.”
“’Kay.” He blows out a breath. “Shit, I’m nervous. I mean, I’ve done post-game interviews and shit, but never one-on-one, you know? Feels like a spotlight.”
I find myself smiling. “You’ll be great.”
“Well, I can’t disappoint you now.” He steps inside, offering me a grin over his shoulder.
I watch him stride over to Morris and shake his hand, any sign of nerves vanishing beneath a cool veneer of confidence I wish I could pull up as easily.
Slipping inside, I hover next to the coffee table in case I need to feign a puck-related emergency and pull him out.
Jonas approaches after finishing up his own interview at the station beside Mac. “Hey. All good here?”
Nodding, I take a sip from my coffee. “Fine. You?”
“Really good so far.” His face highlights his delight. “I think the Cheetahs are gonna ask for a deal extension. Takes us into next season.”
“That’s great. I’m pleased for you.”
He beams and pecks my cheek. “Feels like everything’s really coming together, doesn’t it? I’m hoping MVP Games will offer too. They seemed really interested. I think the talking points helped, so thank you.”
“No problem,” I say softly.
He fidgets in place. “You, uh. You know where Lauren is? I wanted to ask her a question.”
Not a flicker of discontent gets through. “Try the Messier suite. I think she was setting up with Dick.”
Or maybe I’ve stopped caring.
“Thanks.” He heads off without looking back, a skip in his step. Glancing over, I see Callum Morris laughing at a gesturing Mac and decide it’s safe to step outside for a bit of air.
Crossing the corridor, I lean over the balcony and interlock my fingers, watching the mass of people below. So many of them. So many faces I know, but I feel so far away from them right now that I might as well be standing outside the doors.
A few minutes later, a sleek tan suit leans over beside me. “Pretty full on, huh?”
“You’re done with Eileen already?” I keep my eyes on the crowd. “Mac told me you’re not media trained. Tell me you didn’t cause a regional incident.”
Ness will kill me. Austin Navarro laughs softly. “Don’t think so. Although there’s a phone number in my pocket I need to quietly dispose of.”
Frowning, I turn to him. “Eileen Nathers is sixty-three. She’s the beloved grandmother of regional morning television.”
And a cougar, apparently. It goes to show. You never truly know people.
“Yeah.” He tugs at his tie, loosening it. “But her granddaughter’s single. Very nice. Med student. Likes dogs, opera and true crime. Good teeth, apparently.”
Still unprofessional. I find myself deeply unimpressed with little old innocent-looking Eileen. And her perky, med student granddaughter. “Is she a person or a horse?”
He gives a full, belly-deep chuckle, and several people below look up to stare.
I’m not surprised. Even his laugh sounds like it came from the freaking heavens.
Surprisingly irritated by the notion, I look over my shoulder.
“Want me to bounce her out of here? I don’t care if she bakes good cookies. She shouldn’t have done it.”