Chapter 10
Gunnar
I stared at the analytics dashboard on my computer screen, a grin spreading across my face.
The results were in from the social media team’s six-week posts contest, and the results were even stronger than I’d expected.
I reviewed every post and then the aggregates for each of the contestants, pride blooming in my chest as I noted the engagement Zaila had created.
As I took the stairs down to the marketing floor, I greeted employees along the way with a nod and a smile. Today was a good day—not just for our online engagement but for the future of the organization.
I didn’t need to gather the team in the open meeting space in the center of their floor.
They were assembled there already. One constraint I’d imposed on the competition was that after the first two weeks, I was the only person allowed to review the numbers.
This had allowed Zaila and Jay to make tweaks based on quantitative analysis for the first half of the month, but then both were blind after that, so they couldn’t do anything to sway the eventual results.
I wasn’t exactly sure what they could have done to skew the outcome, but then again, no one liked to lose, especially when ego was on the line.
“The numbers for our latest campaign are in,” I noted, keeping my expression neutral even as most of the staff leaned forward, clearly interested in the result.
The entire organization, even the players who’d recently come back for training camp, was aware of the competition and the bet.
The wagers had remained friendly, but they were fierce.
That’s what happened with a group of such highly competitive people, after all.
Zaila stood on one side of Tim, Jay on the other. He’d been so confident about his posts that he’d talked them up with the team. I’d learned over my decades in boardrooms and corporations that true confidence was often much quieter than insecurity.
“It was a good run, Zaila,” Jay said, with a gallant smile that didn’t quite seem genuine. “I’m sure my posts crushed it.”
I chuckled as I shook my head. “Jay, I’ve got some news for you. Your posts didn’t exactly crush it.”
His face fell. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I said, pausing for dramatic effect, “your last five posts came in last.”
The office erupted in a mixture of gasps and congratulations to Zaila.
Jay’s jaw dropped. “No way,” he scoffed. “How is that possible?”
I pulled up the stats on the big screen for everyone to see.
“The numbers don’t lie, Jay. Your posts about the team’s pre-game rituals didn’t resonate as much as you thought they would.
Unfortunately, the players are going to be upset, which means they’re going to need reassurance that they’re still admired.
” I looked over at the PR staff. “Can you put together something that showcases how much our fans love the players?”
Natalie nodded. “Of course. I’d love to plan an event.”
As the group gathered to look at the results, I did feel a twinge of sympathy for Jay.
He’d been with the Wildcatters just over three years and was eager to prove himself as the new division head.
Even more, he’d navigated his role successfully under Lydia, who’d made that hard for everyone.
This loss had to be a tough blow. But a bet was a bet, and he’d been the one to push it in the first place.
As I’d suspected, Zaila had a better knack for creating engagement. She was more in touch with the online world, perhaps. I’d have to keep an eye on the social media group to ensure Jay was nurturing Zaila’s gifts, rather than stifling them.
“So,” I said, turning to Jay. “I believe you set a little wager about this.”
He groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, no. Don’t remind me.”
But the rest of the team was already buzzing with excitement. “The mascot!” someone shouted. “Jay’s going to be the mascot!”
I nodded, trying to keep a straight face. “That’s right, Jay. You’ll be donning the Wildcatters mascot costume for home games for the first half of the season.”
The color drained from Jay’s face. “You can’t be serious. I…I was just joking around.”
I shrugged, turning to Zaila. I wouldn’t punish my staff, but I wasn’t going to make this easy for him either. But even before I could ask Zaila how she felt, Tim said, “You shook on it, Jay.”
“So? It was just a silly joke.” Color appeared in his cheeks, and he clenched his fists.
“But you told me yesterday how much you were looking forward to Zaila sweating it out in the costume. You laughed,” Noelle said, narrowing her eyes.
“Me? In that...that thing?” Jay sputtered.
I pulled up a picture of Gusher, the Texas Wildcatters’ mascot, and sent it to the screen. The oversized, cartoonish oil derrick with a hockey stick and a mischievous grin stared back at us.
“I’m holding you to your word,” Tim said. Noelle gave a firm nod, and more people crowded closer, offering their support.
“Starting next month, you’ll be bringing Gusher to life for thousands of fans,” Noelle said. “What a gift you’ll give them.”
Tim grinned. “You can post about it, complain good-naturedly, too. I bet those posts will get a ton of engagement.”
Jay groaned as he sat and buried his head in his hands, muttering something about regretting his life choices. But I couldn’t stop smiling. This unexpected turn of events might actually be good for our in-house team and the Wildcatters on the ice.
As everyone separated and went to their offices, Jay lingered, so I did, too—though I stayed behind him. “They love you now, Zaila Monroe,” Jay muttered at her doorway. “Hope you can keep it up when the spotlight shifts.”
Zaila
That evening, after my big win in the social media challenge, my coworkers dragged me to the Frozen Puck, a karaoke bar across the street from the arena.
I’d never been before, and Noelle insisted I needed to unwind after the stressful month.
She wasn’t wrong, but my worry wasn’t for the reason she assumed.
I wasn’t overly stressed about Jay or work; I was concerned about my mother and my inability to stop thinking about Gunnar Evaldson.
He was my boss—actually my boss’s boss’s boss, and my little crush embarrassed me almost as much as it annoyed me.
Gunnar was good-looking. He was suave and confident, and those eyes seemed to laser into my soul and pull out yearnings for cuddles and kisses I hadn’t known I had inside me.
But nothing was going to happen between us.
Because he was the team owner. And the wielder of immense power…that I found so sexy.
The moment we walked through the door of the bar, some of the younger Wildcatters players—including Jeff Cross, that troubled one who’d caused the social media storm a couple of weeks ago—raised their voices and glasses toward us.
“The winner is here,” Jeff shouted.
I rolled my eyes. So much for him toeing the line.
Though I guessed as long as he met the criteria laid out by the rest of the team—namely, not posting about his partying and attending the PR events—his current beers with teammates weren’t a problem.
It just felt like one, and I sighed as I noted his glassy eyes and too-wide smile.
“Hey, it’s your PR savior!” one of the other players called out, waving us over.
I hadn’t learned his name yet, mainly because he wasn’t on the first line and had done nothing noteworthy. I had a strong suspicion I would remember his name—ah, he just said it was Brady—after tonight, especially when he spoke up again.
“Let us buy you ladies a drink!”
“I’m okay,” I said, hands up, trying to back away. I wasn’t much of a drinker. My father always said alcohol rotted the mind, and the one time I’d had a few hard seltzers in college, I’d learned I did not like being hungover.
“C’mon, have a drink with us,” Jeff wheedled. “We’ve gotta say thanks.” A waitress dropped off twelve shots, and Jeff shoved one into my hand. “On three!” he called.
Brady counted down, and they slammed their shots back, Noelle following suit. She widened her eyes and darted them to the glass before she grimaced.
I looked down at my shot. Gunnar would probably sound like my father, telling me shots were a terrible idea. And I needed Gunnar Evaldson out of my head. I was so tired of batting away thoughts of him.
So I picked up the glass and slammed it back.
The burn of the liquor seized my lungs, making breathing impossible. Noelle shoved a second glass in my hand, saying it would chase the drink. I took a long sip before realizing it was some other form of alcohol.
My lunch-less afternoon caught up with me immediately.
Before I knew it, Noelle, Brady, Jeff, and I were several rounds in, and the room had started to spin.
As the opening notes of “Love Shack” by The B-52s filled the bar, the karaoke machine and screen beckoned, and in my alcohol-infused state, belting out my favorite party song seemed like a brilliant idea.
“I’m going to sing!” I announced, stumbling towards the stage.
Nadine hooted and cat-called while the guys howled.
I grinned as I picked up the mic. I strutted across the stage, mimicking exaggerated model poses as I warbled out the lyrics.
I’d just hit the last stanza when I glimpsed a familiar face at the bar entrance.
Gunnar had arrived, his expression a mix of amusement and concern.
Fucking Gunnar Evaldson. I’d spent a good bit of time this evening not thinking about him, and now he was here, ruining my fun. I stumbled off the stage, giggling as I for some reason made my way directly toward him. “Gunnar! You came to hear me sing!”