Chapter 6 #2
“Okay. Picture this,” I said. “We film the players pranking each other in the locker room, but we also show them helping clean up afterward. It’s a great way to showcase their personalities and team camaraderie, as well as responsibility.”
I was so enthusiastic, I hadn’t noticed Gunnar walking up beside Jay. But I sure noticed his nod and the glint of approval in his eyes. “I like it,” he said. “It humanizes the players and gives fans a glimpse into their relationships off the ice. Let’s bring the group together to discuss options.”
We settled in the conference room, but as the social media team discussed the logistics of implementing this idea, Gunnar’s phone soon buzzed with a notification.
He glanced at it, eyes widening. “I have to go. Consider this our meeting for the day. I looked over the posts you’ve readied, and I approve. I’ll have my assistant send out an email to that effect so it’s official.”
A moment later, he was gone, taking the air with him. Jay continued to study me as I busied myself with jotting down additional notes from our brief meeting.
“Gunnar’s the guy, isn’t he?”
“What?” I asked, my gaze rising quickly to Jay’s. I willed my cheeks not to flush, but I must have failed because Jay sighed.
“Are you two dating?” he asked.
I shook my head, deciding my best bet was to say as little as possible.
“But you want to be,” Jay pressed.
I bit my lip, but I hated lying, so I gave him a brief nod.
Jay’s shoulders folded in as he accepted defeat. “Dammit, Z. I really like you.”
“And I like you,” I assured him. “But I’m not interested in a relationship right now, especially one that has no chance of ever happening. That’s what my stupid crush is. Can we never mention this again?”
Jay’s face softened. “Yeah. I can do that.”
“Thanks. Because my mother is my full focus, like I said before.”
He gave me puppy-dog eyes. “If that changes, you’ll tell me?”
I smiled, but it was sad because I knew there was no hope for Jay and me. My mother would continue to come first in my life, and Jay, while nice, wasn’t the man who caused my heart to pound or my mind to create fantasies I both relished and abhorred.
Nonetheless, I decided it cost me nothing to be kind. “You’ll be the first to know,” I assured him.
Gunnar
On Wednesday, when I should have been focused on the financial reports that my assistant, Leon, had brought me, I jogged down the steps to the third floor, where the social media team worked.
I’d done my best to steer clear of Zaila Monroe, but thoughts of her had assailed me as I slept, causing sexier dreams than I’d had since puberty.
While shocking for a man of forty, and a little humiliating, they’d also left me more stimulated than I’d been in years.
I also had to admit that what I felt for her hadn’t waned; it wasn’t going to dissipate as I’d hoped. Zaila intrigued me, and I wanted more of that heady feeling. Craved it.
I stopped before I reached the open pen of long worktables and computers set up in the middle of the floor, where the various teams met to discuss and work through creative issues.
While each of my employees had an office, the open setup in the center allowed for easy communication and had increased both productivity and creativity by double digits.
The layout had proved to be a game changer for the Wildcatters, as well as the oil and gas business I still ran, though I did that mainly from Wildcatters headquarters these days.
I stood to the side in the hallway, out of sight as Zaila spoke with Tim, head of social media graphic design, who had two high school boys and a wife he adored.
My jaw clenched as Tim scooted closer to Zaila, speaking animatedly about a filter they both liked.
I relaxed as I noted Tim’s focus was on the conversation, not Zaila.
I struggled with the part of myself that wanted to beat my chest and claim her as mine, as the urge to at least check in on Zaila had overpowered my good sense already.
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I smiled as she gesticulated, Tim hanging on her every word.
An unfamiliar warmth spread through my chest—I’d experienced this more than once recently. I tried to push the emotion aside, reminding myself yet again that I was her boss and more than fifteen years her senior, but I couldn’t help myself. I basked in her glow.
As a result, I nearly jumped out of my skin when Jay Wilks, newly promoted to social media manager as of yesterday, tapped me on the shoulder. He held up a stack of paperwork.
“Here are the engagement numbers you asked for,” he said as he glanced past me, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “Zaila’s really settled in well, hasn’t she?”
I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral. “She’s an asset to the organization.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “An asset?”
I felt my jaw clench. “Yes. She’s smart and capable.”
Jay’s smirk widened, and I saw calculation in his eyes. “You two work well together. She seems quite…taken with your management style.”
Jay was fishing, probably because he was also attracted to Zaila. I didn’t have time for these games. They weren’t professional.
“She seems to fit right in here,” I said carefully. “Just as you are an asset to the Wildcatters office culture. I enjoyed your…interesting way of getting Zaila’s attention with the prank earlier this week.”
His smile turned smug. “That was a good one.”
The truth hit me like a puck to the mouth: Jay was young, attractive, and a much better match for Zaila, at least on paper. My long-clipped rebellious side roared to life—the one that had often left Karl rolling his eyes at my ridiculous attempts to garner his attention.
I cleared my throat. “It was. And it brought about some exciting new ideas.”
Jay looked thoughtful. “So…you’re saying I could do something like that again?” His eyebrows rose.
Was I? That would be spontaneous, possibly chaotic, and potential repercussions ricocheted through my mind. But it would show Zaila that I wasn’t a stuffy suit who didn’t know how to enjoy life…
I forced a nonchalant shrug. “In good fun and nothing that could embarrass or endanger a colleague, then sure.” What the actual hell had I just said?
“Really?” Jay asked, disbelief twitching across his features.
“I have to tell you, I didn’t make my fortune by coloring inside the lines, Jay.” I patted his shoulder a bit too forcefully, slightly mollified when he winced. “I appreciate creativity.”
And you’re not the only one who can play, asshole. I learned and perfected this game before you were in high school.
Jay studied me for a long moment. “So you’d be okay with me setting up a week or two of office pranks, just to see where the creativity flows, of course?”
I shrugged. “It’s the off season. The players aren’t practicing, and this is the least busy time of year. Seems like a good time to try it.”
“Which is why we do that team-building retreat in September,” Jay concluded. “I really thought that was as interesting as you’d allow us to be.” He blinked, as if seeing me for the first time.
I chuckled, glad for the diversion from Zaila. Karl and I had always enjoyed pranks. Maybe bringing that here would inject some much-needed lightness into the organization, and into me. I’d been in a rut for so long I no longer even realized it was a rut.
By all measures, I was in my prime, but I’d spent over two decades mourning my older brother, my hero, even as I’d tried to continue his legacy by playing hockey through college. It was time to let loose.
To be fun. To see if I had anything in common with Zaila Monroe.
As much as I still struggled with whatever this was happening to me, I liked her, I respected her, and I desired her.
I wasn’t ready to ask her out, but I did want to see if I’d overblown my interest. If I hadn’t, perhaps I’d come up with a new plan.
As Jay left, I turned ] toward Tim and Zaila in time to see her throw back her head and laugh. Her smile was radiant, even from this distance. I sighed, running a hand through my hair.
When I got back upstairs to my office, I was surprised to find the Wildcatters’ team captain waiting for me.
“Did we have an appointment?” I asked.
Cormac Bouchard shook his head. “No, but can I have a few minutes?”
Since Cormac rarely came to see me and typically handled player issues with the coaching staff, I was intrigued—and worried.
“Of course.” I ushered him into my office and waited for him to take a seat at the table I used for informal meetings.
I grabbed us each a water and sat down across from him. “What’s bothering you?”
He began with a deep sigh. “Some of the new guys,” Cormac said, shaking his head.
“They think this place is just one big party with excellent perks and sweet money. I’ve never met a group less interested in hard work and toeing the line.
” He leaned closer, his expression tense.
“I think Jeff Cross is close to going off the rails—much worse than his college coach let on.”
I settled back in my chair, absorbing this additional detail.
On paper, Jeff Cross had been a solid offensive addition with strong statistics and athleticism, but his personal choices hadn’t been well-documented.
I could see now that it was likely intentional.
If they had been, neither Silas nor and I would have picked him.
As it was, perhaps I should have seen that red flag more clearly and not been so focused on one-upping Leon Johanson, Karl’s former coach who was now the offensive coordinator for Boston and had been very interested in Cross.
Such pettiness had a way of biting the vindictive person in the ass. “What does Coach Whittaker say?”
Silas Whittaker was the team’s head coach. Cormac raised an eyebrow. “He’s talking to Jeff right now, for the fourth time in the last two weeks.”
That revelation weighed heavy on my chest. “He’s not a team player,” I surmised. “And he’s not settling in because he’s used to being the star.”
Cormac nodded. “With an even bigger ego. He’s a rookie in the NHL.
You and I both know he’ll have his ass handed to him in the first period of the first game.
I’m worried, Gunnar. This guy’s already changed my locker room.
If nobody shuts him down and puts him in his place, he’ll mess up the team.
I planned to go out on top, and Jeff’s already caused enough adversity to make me question that possibility. ”
“That serious?”
“Well, Maxim wants to pound his face in, and Stolly’s had it out with him because he made comments about Stolly’s wife.”
I sucked a breath through my teeth. “He said something about Millie?”
Cormac’s face soured. “How hot she was from the back, but how the glasses detracted from her overall appeal. Took me and Maxim to peel Stol off the snotty little shit. And Jeff laughed.”
“Is that why Silas is talking to him today?” I asked.
Cormac shook his head. “Today he overslept by three hours. Missed practice and weight training. But he said it’s fine because he can skate around all of us old men any day of the week.”
Yeah, those comments and that cocksure attitude were only going to cause more problems. I didn’t have patience for the Jeffs of the world, so either the rookie would fall in line or he’d be slap shotted into a better fit for him, which would mean a less-successful team.
That was the deal when you came to Houston: Silas’s word was law.
Everyone believed in and followed the values of inclusion and hard work, my mainstays.
If they didn’t, they didn’t last.
“I’ll talk to Silas, and we’ll keep you in the loop,” I told him. If the locker room was splintering before preseason, I needed to get ahead of the fracture fast.
“Thanks.” Cormac stood and stretched, tension still etched into his face. “By the way, you need to tell your new social media intern to take the CATS up on lunch. Keelie’s gotten her feelings hurt by the rejection, and that pisses me off, too.”
“Zaila’s been mean to your wife?” I couldn’t fathom such behavior.
“Nah, man. It’s just that Keelie’s pregnant again, and everything makes her cry,” he clarified.
“Currently, it’s Zaila trying to keep a professional distance.
I thought about talking to her myself, but Keelie would get angry, and I hate that shit.
So, I’m telling you.” He turned toward the door.
“If you want me in a good-enough mood to deal with that rookie’s assholery, make your intern play nice with the CATS. ”
I shook my head and raised my hand in a wave as he departed. Now I was in the middle of a friendship dispute? I just wanted this day to be normal. I reached for my phone to check the schedule and got hit with a flood of alerts—mentions, tags, and texts from players and even a few board members.
One stopped me cold: #GunnarTheGoalie is trending!
I clicked the link and blinked. There I was, in a photo from the end of the charity game when I’d scored the winning goal. Except in this version, someone had Photoshopped me into goalie pads that looked more like a bad Superman suit.
The caption read: “When your billionaire boss can score goals, stop pucks, AND fund the team.”
A breath hitched in my chest before I realized it was a laugh. Soft, surprised. Hell. It was stupid…and really funny.
I scrolled farther, finding meme after meme. Fans were already adding their own. This gag was blowing up, and I’d bet quite a bit of my bank account that Zaila Monroe had come up with it. That woman kept me on my toes, and damn if I didn’t love every second of it.