Chapter 3
TISH
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
A lump of nerves bundles in my stomach as I walk into the Thunderwolves’ clubhouse.
I can’t believe how fast Ash got me in to speak with the coach.
Earlier today, the idea of being the PR person for the team sounded like a dream come true, a chance to test my abilities and get a nice reference under my belt.
But now, I’m not so sure.
In the few of hours since I’d agreed, I’d seen two more scathing news reports on the team and its members.
Most of it was just regurgitated headlines, but there was another one about a new teammate who has been undergoing gender reassignment to identify as a woman.
Since women aren’t allowed on the team, the league forced the team to let him go.
I walk down the long hallway where the offices are located at the back of the clubhouse. The floors are surprisingly shiny.
I guess I expected them to be all scuffed up, considering how many hockey players come in and out of this place.
But it actually looks nice, like administrative offices should.
I stop in front of a wooden door with “Coach Carl Zoren” etched into a brass placard. I raise my hand to knock then lower it.
Do I really want to do this? Do I really want to take the chance with my future?
But I’d already told Ash I would, and he went to the trouble of setting up this meeting. It might look bad on him if I don’t show. Plus, if I turn around every time I’m uncertain about something, I’ll never get ahead.
Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door. A second later, a gruff male voice yells out, “Enter!”
I’m not quite sure if that’s a good start to the meeting.
At first, I open the door slowly, mentally chide myself for acting so timid, and push the door open all the way and step inside.
Coach Carl sits behind a massive desk covered with papers and Thunderwolves’ memorabilia.
Sitting dead center is a desktop computer, a bobblehead of himself taking its position on top of one of two monitors.
“Mr. Zoren?” I say, stepping further into the room. “I’m Trisha Johnston, but most people call me Tish. Ashton Frankson arranged for us to meet regarding a PR position for the Thunderwolves.”
There’s a long, uncomfortable minute before Coach Carl looks up from his paperwork and meets my gaze.
He doesn’t offer me a chair, doesn’t even stand, as he leans back in his chair, a protesting squeak loud in the quiet room.
“He did,” Coach Carl says. “I’m just not sure why.”
I don’t wait for him to offer for me to sit in one of the leather chairs before his desk.
I’m wearing a smart dark blue business suit today.
I’ve been told the color matches my eyes and compliments me, and I can use the confidence booster. Especially as I sit and cross my leg over the other and look at the grouchy coach.
“Because Ashton knows I’m good at what I do—”
“So you’ve worked in public relations before?” the coach interrupts.
My cheeks heat slightly. “Not exactly,” I admit. “But I plan to open my own company some day, and marketing and publicity are my passion.”
He raises one dark eyebrow. “Then you plan to cut your teeth on the Thunderwolves?”
Yes, actually, but I don’t think that’s something he wants to hear. I meet his light blue eyes directly, and for an instant I’m struck by just how good looking he is.
Of course, I’ve seen him plenty of times when I’ve gone to games, but never up close. He’s always in the box or rushing out on the ice to yell at the referee.
I’m not usually attracted to older men, but there’s something about this coach that…well, attracts me.
He’s in his forties with long gray hair and trim beard streaked with dark red, his original color I assume.
His tan skin is amazingly unlined, except for a few small ones at the corner of his mouth.
There’s a small star-shaped scar on his left cheek, probably a result of his hockey playing days.
The coach raises his eyebrow even higher, and I realize with mortification that he’s still waiting for me to answer.
“Mr. Zoren—”
“Carl,” he interrupts. “Or if that’s too personal for you, Coach Carl.”
I nod. “Carl. The way I see it, the Thunderwolves need help—desperately—and I don’t see anyone else brave enough to take on the challenge.”
Was that a bit too over the top calling myself brave?
“I’m familiar with the sport and the team. I am also aware of all the bad press.”
“Who wouldn’t be since the Thunderwolves airs daily.” Carl crosses his arms over his chest. He’s slender but muscular, his dark gray shirt stretching over his muscles. “And you think you can turn that around?”
“I know I can,” I say with more confidence than I feel. Like Trent and Ash told me earlier, it’s going to be one hell of a challenge.
My only concern is that they’ve damaged themselves so thoroughly, the only option might just be to stop the bleeding.
Carl sits up in his chair, his gaze taking me in—all of me.
He’s studying me so thoroughly, I feel everywhere his eyes reach as if it’s a physical touch.
I squirm slightly and sit up a little straighter.
“Okay, then. How would you handle the news that broke today,” he asks, “assuming you’ve seen or heard about it.”
“I have.” I nod. On the drive here, I thought about what I might do if I get the PR job, so my answer is quick.
“You’re talking about the teammate who secretly married his brother’s fiancé.
I’d arrange for a photo shoot with the three of them together, looking happy with no hard feelings.
Of course, it will have to look like a candid shot, not planned. ”
He scrubs at his well-trimmed beard. “And if the brother doesn’t agree?”
There’s always that possibility. Since the brother is not part of the team, he’s under no contractual obligation to do PR promotions or do what’s necessary to keep the team’s name untarnished.
“Then, I suggest we do nothing.” His eyebrows rise when I say “we.” “Not unless we’re pressed. If we have to say something, then it should be about how this is a personal family matter and has nothing to do with the organization.”
Carl leans back in his chair again, his index finger and thumb cupping his jaw.
He stares at me for so long, I start to fidget, gripping my hands together in my lap to keep them still.
“Ash told me that you’re a single mom and are not currently working.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.
“We are getting ready to go on our Christmas tour.” Carl pauses to watch me closely, as if gaging my reaction. I only sit and wait for him to continue. “That means a lot of traveling, are you prepared for that?”
“Yes, and I actually look forward to it.” When he raises that eyebrow again, I explain. “I’ve never really been anywhere, so this job would give me the opportunity to visit some places.”
“You would be traveling with the team. I don’t provide separate transportation for PR since they need to be with the Thunderwolves at all times to try and keep them out of trouble and to deflect the press.”
“I understand.” The way he’s talking, it sounds like he’s going to hire me, and excitement builds in my chest.
My stomach churns a little with anxiety, but that could also be from all the snacks I ate earlier when Trent and Ash were at my place.
“Your daughter can come with you if you don’t want to make other arrangements,” he says. “I take my granddaughter with me, so maybe the two can become friends.”
“That would be great.” I would love it if Becky could make a new friend, especially while we’re traveling. Since it’s not something we usually do, I’m not sure how she’s going to react to being on the road and around so many people.
Carl leans forward, grabs a folder, and slides it across the desk toward me. “Fill out the paperwork and turn it into human resources up at the front of the club. We leave in six days.”
I take the blue and gold folder with the team’s emblem of a silver wolf mid-howl and blue lightning cracking behind it.
By the time I look up, Carl has returned to working, shuffling papers around.
“I…thank you,” I manage to get out.
He doesn’t look up, just waves a dismissive hand.
Okay, then. I guess the meeting is over.
I stand, adjust my purse strap over my shoulder and tuck the folder into one arm, then leave.
My thoughts are so consumed with this new challenge and responsibility, that I don’t pay attention to where I’m going, which is why I’m so surprised when I crash, literally, into a hard chest.
Two strong arms reach out to steady me and I look up. And up.
Into the most gorgeous pair of green eyes I’ve ever seen.
My heart stops then starts pounding against my chest as my mouth grows dry.
I know who this is. Jake Sorenson.
The one guy both Trent and Ash have repeatedly warned me about.