A Little Too Forward (Toronto Nighthawks #1)

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

SAbrINA

I’m shaking. Hot fury ripples through my veins as I stare at the screen in front of me. My body tenses, vertebra by vertebra, tendon by tendon, and I think I even stop breathing for a minute because I begin to see spots.

That could be the fury though. I am fucking pissed.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes. I must be reading this email wrong. Maybe my contacts are malfunctioning and I need to put in a fresh pair. Or maybe my coffee hasn’t hit my brain yet and I’m imagining this whole thing due to a sleep-deprived night and stressful morning.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I open one eye and then the other and reread what’s glaring at me from my work computer.

“That weak-willed fucker.” I grumble under my breath, realizing that no, I had read the email correctly the first time.

And if fury engulfed me the first time…well, I’m at a whole new level now.

I’m in a blind rage and out for blood.

I stand abruptly from my desk, my chair slamming into the cubicle wall. The bang is satisfying but doesn’t even register to the rest of my surrounding co-workers. No one looks up from their computers or asks if I’m okay. The floor is abuzz with news-making gossip and various game replays on the big-screen TVs.

With as much grace as I can muster, I exit my cubicle and head down the small hallway. I’m in tunnel-vision mode now. My goal: my manager’s corner office.

Chris is leaning against his office door, chatting with someone—I don’t take my eyes off Chris to notice—and his booming laugh hits me like a bullet. How could he be so jovial right now when minutes ago, he was the destroyer of dreams. The killer of my career aspirations.

My glare intensifies, and I pick up my pace. He must sense the incoming danger because his head turns my way. The smile falls from his face. Seconds later, he’s making an excuse and stepping into his office.

Closing the door.

The fool. As if a door would stop a determined, vengeful woman.

I wedge my foot in the door frame just as it’s about to close. Chris’s surprised gaze goes from the door to me, and damn does it feel good to have the upper hand. I’m realistic enough to know I won’t hold this position for very long.

“We need to talk,” I start, pushing the door back open and stepping into his office. Chris puts his hands in the air, walking backward to his desk.

“Look, Sabrina, I know you’re upset, but there was—”

“Upset? Me? Now, why would I be upset to get an email from you ripping apart all of my hard work over the last two months and learning that the job I was promised I’d move into was just given away.”

“I can understand how—”

“And an email, Chris. Really? I thought you respected me more than this. If you’re going to stab me in the heart, you might as well do it face to face. How dare you.”

“I thought it was the best way to tell you.”

I’m shaking my head even before he finishes his sentence. We both know it’s a lie.

“Come on, Chris. You sent the email because you didn’t want to deal with the emotional repercussions.”

“Look how well that turned out,” he mutters to himself.

I feel a bit queasy at his comment. Heaven forbid I show any emotion, especially when someone I thought of as a mentor and friend turns out to be an enemy. I can’t say that to Chris though. He wouldn’t understand, and he’d probably use it against me.

Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders. Stepping up to his desk, which he’s barricaded himself behind now, I calm my voice as much as I can.

“I have worked at the Toronto Sphere for over ten years. I started here as a high school volunteer, then a college intern. I’ve worked as a sports reporter, in your department, for five years. I practically live here, Chris,” I try and joke, but the words come out strained.

“I know, Sabrina.”

“And when Jules got into his accident and couldn’t work, who was it that drove across the border to make sure there was a member of the team covering the Detroit vs. Toronto game?”

“It was you, Sabrina, and you did a remarkable job.”

“You gave me the reporting position because you know I’m a damn good interviewer and reporter.”

“But it was only a temporary gig. You knew this.”

My fists ball again at my sides, and I have to pause a moment to get myself under control. “Yeah, I thought I would hold the position until Jules recovered and then have the opportunity to apply for the next live reporting spot that opened. You said that to me. I didn’t think I would be replaced with yet another ladder-climbing dude-bro.”

“Robert isn’t—”

“He is, and you know it. He doesn’t deserve this position, Chris. I do.”

“You’re a talented reporter, Sabrina, but leadership thinks Robert is a better fit for live-action hockey.”

“He mispronounced Kowalski during his last live interview. To Kowalski’s face.”

“Yes, well. That wasn’t his finest moment.”

“He has no idea about the rookie’s stats on the Vancouver Vikings and couldn’t ask a decent question at last month’s pre-season practice.”

“That doesn’t matter. He’ll be following the Toronto Nighthawks for the rest of the season.”

“You don’t think that matters? If he doesn’t keep fans up to date this year on Dawes reaching Mats Sundin’s franchise record, the fans will riot. If he slips up again and mocks Crane’s mental health challenges, he’ll not only damage our goalie’s reputation but also mess with fans’ trust.”

“I get it, Sabrina. His track record is a little shaky. But all the more reason to get him out there. Learning on the job.”

It’s then that I realize no matter what I say, I’m not going to convince Chris he’s made a huge mistake. He’s willing to risk tarnishing the Toronto Sphere ’s reputation and the sports department’s reliability in order to kiss the executives’ asses. And he won’t say it, but I know one of the reasons I’ve been pushed to the side again is because the powers that be don’t want a woman as their lead hockey reporter. Hell will probably freeze over before they try and be progressive or a leader in the industry.

“You’re still one of our best reporters, Sabrina. But instead of only reporting live at the arena and limiting yourself to hockey, you have the freedom and flexibility to write about whatever you want in the sports world.”

I snort in disbelief. What utter bullshit. He’s making my demotion back to print sound like a dream. Yet I know the freedom and flexibility he’s talking about is being able to write articles at home when one of the senior editors calls me at 3:00 a.m. demanding a piece on a trending topic.

No, thank you. Been there, done that. I love my sleep too much to go back to that hell.

I’ve worked hard, and I deserve to keep the reporting spot. I know this. It’s not vanity or ego. The ratings have spoken for themselves. But it’s not enough.

I don’t think it ever will be.

If I stay, if I concede and agree to wait for the next promotion…it will never come. The process will just repeat. I’ll continue to be overlooked, and everyone will think it’s okay. Because if I let it happen once, then why not a second time.

No. No more. I’m tired of giving more than I receive. It’s time for a change.

I come to a decision right there. “You’re right, Chris,” I begin, feeling all the tension melt from my body. I let a small, semi-fake smile spread across my face.

Chris’s shoulders fall in relief at the look on my face. He must think he’s appeased the emotional female. His hands open, ready to congratulate me, no doubt, but I stop him in his tracks.

“I am one of your best reporters. And it’s clear now that I’ve been taken for granted here. So I’m done. Please take this as my two weeks’ notice. I’ll have a letter to you and human resources by the end of day.”

Then, I walk out of his office, closing the door with a silent click behind me and a gasping, fumbling Chris.