Chapter 3
Zaila
I strode into Wildcatters Hockey headquarters the next morning, ten minutes earlier than my designated time, with my head high, just as my parents had taught me.
Being early shows respect for the other person’s time.
Project the confidence you want others to perceive in you.
Those two statements had served my daddy well throughout his forty years in the military.
I missed him; I’d come to realize I’d always miss my father.
I smiled at the receptionist as I stopped at the front desk.
Casually, I placed my hand on the gleaming surface, but that was so I didn’t face plant into the polished hardwood floor as my knees shook like a skyscraper during a Houston thunderstorm.
If Gunnar Evaldson saw me today, would he throw me out?
I desperately hoped he’d forgotten the whole Soda Incident.
“Zaila Monroe. I’m the social media intern,” I said without my voice cracking. Minor victories.
“Of course, Ms. Monroe. You’re a few minutes early, which will win you brownie points with Lydia. She’s a stickler for time. I’m Flora.”
Nothing was going to win me points with Lydia, but I kept my mouth shut as I shook Flora’s hand, noting how well put-together she was.
The Wildcatters organization must’ve been flush with cash because everything gleamed and sparkled, including the workers.
I glanced down at my outfit, suddenly feeling like I’d shown up to a black-tie gala in pajamas.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I leaned in, lowering my voice. “I’m so excited to be here. My father was a huge hockey fan.”
Flora smiled. “Totally understand. I knew nothing about the sport, but I learned once I got the job because this organization is fire, not just in the league but as a place of employment.” She winked. “You’re going to love being a Wildcatter.”
My smile grew as excitement hummed under my skin. “I sure hope so. Though Lydia’s not impressed with me because I spilled my soda on Mr. Evaldson last night at the charity game.”
Flora laughed. “No, Lydia doesn’t like you because you’re young and attractive.
And she has a thing for Mr. Evaldson. Fair warning, most of the people who work here do because, OMG, that man is…
” She waved her hand in front of her face, and I giggled.
“If you do a good job, others will notice, and that means Lydia will have no choice but to acknowledge you as well. Mr. Evaldson runs a meritocracy.”
“Good to know.” I nodded and returned to my game face, ready to start the day and my career.
This internship had been highly coveted among those in my graduate program.
Getting the spot had taken an insane number of dedicated hours and lots of letters of recommendation.
My hope was to turn this position into a permanent one at the end of the season or use the social media skills I learned here to move into marketing at a large firm.
Thankfully, Houston had many to choose from, but the Wildcatters had been top of my list thanks to their consistent high marks from current employees and the generous pay package.
Still, as Flora led me to Lydia’s office, it felt like I was walking into the lion’s den—if lions wore designer suits and discussed social media strategies.
Lydia might be a stickler for time, and she clearly hadn’t forgiven me for the Great Soda Incident, but she seemed to have determined that encounter would mean Gunnar didn’t like me.
That allowed her to be much nicer than I’d expected.
She walked me through my job description, showed me the main pages I’d help manage, and ensured that I met the other three people on the socials team, which included two guys named Jay and Tim, as well as Veronica, who handled copyediting.
Jay Welks—I remembered his last name but not the rest of the teams’—smiled warmly at me, flashing a deep dimple that paired well with his straight, white teeth. He seemed to be the resident expert. The rest of the team was polite, if guarded. Tim offered a small, awkward wave.
“We’re lean, but we’re awesome,” Lydia said with a chuckle. “We take care of our players and organization because they’re the best in the league.”
A recurring theme of the day for sure. Everyone who worked for the organization gushed about the quality of the players and personnel.
“Mr. Evaldson hand-picked every senior staffer,” Lydia said. She leaned in closer, her eyes wide. “And everyone stayed.” She gave a slight nod to emphasize her point about no turnover.
But I already understood. My father spent decades working his way up to the military brass; I recognized the need for loyalty and charisma, and Gunnar Evaldson had enough rizz to inspire the loyalty. That probably meant good things. I hoped.
Anyway, none of this was new information. Like my dad had taught me, I’d done my research, treating this job post as a potential operation for which I needed to gather intelligence.
Lydia went on. “We’re under the marketing and promotions department, and Noelle Fischer is a truly excellent boss.
She works really, really hard to showcase the best of the organization and its employees, not just the players.
In fact, next week, we’re starting a new series that highlights the equipment team. Those guys know their stuff.”
“That sounds interesting,” I said.
“It is. Oh, don’t worry, you’ll settle in quickly.”
She offered a smile, though I noted it didn’t reach her eyes. Maybe she still wasn’t sure about me. But she seemed to be thoughtful, so I needed to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“We have a lot of images and ideas, and the reason we chose you over the other candidates was your eye for aesthetics,” she explained, “and your ability to condense difficult concepts into hashtags.”
I nodded. I’d gone through a rigorous interview process to get here, to my dream position.
“In fact, we’ll start now with the images we want to sprinkle in throughout this next week. I’ll walk you through our current process, and then we have a meeting with Noelle and Gunnar to discuss how we can clarify and improve our messaging.”
I licked my lips, throat suddenly dry. “I’m meeting with Mr. Evaldson today?”
Lydia frowned as she nodded. “Yes.” She drew out the word.
“We all meet regularly with department heads and top management, and you met him last night, anyway. While that was super awkward, dumping soda on him, we can’t let that stop us.
” She smiled, one full of calculation and teeth. “This will be better.”
No, it wouldn’t, which was precisely why Lydia was putting me in this position. I rested my hands on my fluttering stomach. “Oh-kay.”
Lydia’s confused frown morphed into understanding.
“There’s no need to be nervous. We’ll have checkpoints in place to make sure we catch any potential errors.
And that’s not because you’re new,” she added.
“It’s because this is the public face of the team, and we want the brand to reflect our values. ”
“No pressure,” I murmured.
Patting the back of my desk chair, she said, “Oh, there’s pressure, but you brought that on yourself by acting the fool last evening. Now, I’ll let you finish getting settled. The meeting’s at three.”
My stomach plummeted to the bottom of my stylish pumps.
I’d been right to be nervous, as it seemed Lydia was determined to keep me off balance.
Everyone in the city, possibly the world, knew of the billionaire oilman turned NHL owner.
Gunnar Evaldson’s philanthropic achievements rivaled those of the Rockefellers, and his team’s rise through the ranks of the NHL were storied, but equally as well-known was the fact that Gunnar Evaldson suffered no nonsense and even fewer fools.
He created a plan, stuck to it, and saw it to completion. Rinse and repeat.
That was why, even with his generous seven- and even eight-figure donations, he remained one of the world’s wealthiest. My mother used to say white stuck to rice because it knew a good thing. I’d never completely understood that saying, but it seemed to apply to Gunnar Evaldson.
And now I knew he was even more charismatic in person.
I might have spent all of one minute in his company, but I suspected the man’s icy blue eyes—more crystalline and more precise than any I’d ever encountered—had catalogued everything about me.
What he’d done with that information after the fact, though, remained to be seen.
While I enjoyed the morning of meeting my coworkers and getting to sign in to my laptop for the first time, I dreaded three o’clock. But that didn’t stop it from arriving. When it was time, I followed Lydia to the meeting with a pounding heart and sweaty palms.
“Ms. Monroe. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Gunnar said as Lydia introduced us—thankfully not bringing up the Great Soda Incident.
I blinked up at him, noting the nearly imperceptible gray at his temples that fanned lightly into his thick blond hair.
It looked as effortless as the cut of his bespoke suit.
Now that I could study him, Gunnar Evaldson was like Chris Hemsworth with more money and the ability to buy a hockey team. My ovaries did the cha-cha.
“I’m glad to see you without your soda today,” he added, his voice like warm honey over gravel.
I smoothed my hair. “Well, I’m pretty sure I’ll never order another one.
I don’t really like the stuff, and last night was enough to end any positive vibe it might have had.
” I shrugged. “It’s just something my father used to get when we went to hockey games together, mainly because my mother refused to let us have sugary drinks at home.
It was our thing.” I pressed my lips together to stop my rambling.
“I make you nervous.” His mouth compressed, though his eyes sparked, causing an answering fizz in my chest.
I’d never been this aware of a man before.
And I was not just aware; I was attracted.
I swallowed, trying to force down the blush of awareness and need that had crept up my neck.
“Nervous? No, not at all.” My inner snark kicked in.
“Just contemplating whether I should feign a sudden illness to escape this meeting. Totally normal first-day jitters.”
“Unnecessary. I get the best ideas from engaged professionals who understand that they have more expertise in their area than I do. I’m here to learn. From you.”
Was there anything sexier than a successful man looking me dead in the eye and telling me I could teach him? Nope. Nothing.
While I’d teetered on the brink before, I now fell into complete infatuation, right then and there.
I lowered my lashes, not wanting Gunnar to see the desire that had to be broadcasting from my face.
He was everything I wanted and more that I hadn’t yet fantasized about.
Gunnar Evaldson had become my unattainable sex god, better than any book boyfriend, and all in the last sixty seconds.
I was so fucked…because I wouldn’t ever get to fuck him.
Sigh.
“Let’s get started,” he said. “You can share your knowledge with me.”
His eyes warmed, so I forced a smile. “Sure, Mr. Evaldson. I’d be thrilled to share my limited knowledge with you, so long as you understand that I’m still learning.”
I locked my knees as I raised my head, meeting his gaze, just as my father had taught me.
“Make the connection, even when it’s hard—especially when it’s hard, Zaila.
That’s how you get ahead in this world, by making that connection.
” My father hadn’t meant to connect with a future of twisted sheets and sweaty bliss, but that’s where my mind went. Sorry, Daddy.
Gunnar’s lips parted as his pupils dilated, making me wonder if he felt the connection between us as well. To me, it was as clear as the Great Wall of China. But who knew what Gunnar perceived. It was possible he was humoring me, or just wondering whether he’d left the stove on at home.