Chapter 8 Carl
CARL
I regret hiring her. At least, that’s what I thought at first.
Trisha had walked into my office looking so damn hopeful, and I caved. A single mom, right before Christmas, blindsided with a layoff—how could I say no?
I know what it feels like to carry the weight of a child, to wonder how the bills will get paid.
I didn’t think she had the backbone for this job, not with the circus that is Thunderwolves PR.
But Ash vouched for her, and hell, there weren’t exactly candidates lining up outside my door.
If I’m being honest, though, there was another reason I hesitated.
The first time I laid eyes on her, I’d almost told her no on the spot—not because she lacked credentials, but because she was too damn beautiful.
That silky dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, those wide blue eyes that seemed to see straight through me.
The way she carried herself—nervous but determined—had thrown me off balance in a way I hadn’t expected.
I knew right then she’d be a distraction.
And in my world, distractions are dangerous.
What hit me hardest, though, was her age.
She’s young.
Too young.
Around the same age as my daughter, for Christ’s sake.
The realization had slammed into me like a puck to the ribs, cold and unyielding.
I told myself that alone was reason enough not to bring her on.
What kind of man notices a woman who could’ve gone to school with his own kid?
But she’d looked at me with that mix of fear and determination, chin tilted just high enough to tell me she wasn’t going to give up. And, against every ounce of good judgment I had, I hired her.
I expected to be disappointed. Instead, she surprised me at how she handled Jake’s mess.
Clean, sharp, effective.
I’d thought about the same plan myself and shelved it, afraid it would set off alarms in the media.
But when she laid it out, her confidence smoothed away the risks I’d seen.
For the first time in months, I felt like maybe our PR mess had a chance of being fixed.
Or maybe it’s wishful thinking.
That should have been the end of it. Business only.
But then there’s the way she’s sitting across from me now—one leg crossed, the smooth curve of her calf catching my eye before I force it back up to her face.
I’ve been around beautiful women before. They come with the territory—professional athletes attract them like moths to a flame.
But Trisha…there’s something about her that refuses to be ignored.
I hate admitting it, even in the privacy of my own thoughts, but part of the reason I hired her was this—her. And that’s also the problem.
I’m a widower, raising my six-year-old granddaughter because my own daughter can’t get her shit together. Coaching takes every ounce of my time.
I don’t have space for a relationship, and certainly not with a woman closer to my daughter’s age than mine.
But none of that stops the pull I feel every damn time she’s in my office.
I clear my throat, needing to ground myself, and slide a blue folder with the Thunderwolves’ logo on it across the desk. “Your paperwork. Contract and tax documents, but also your Christmas schedule. You’ll be traveling with the team this month.”
Her head lifts, eyes catching mine. She’s not surprised—I can see that—but there’s a flicker of something else there.
Worry. Maybe hesitation.
“I figured I’d be going with the team.” Her voice is even, but I catch the way her fingers toy with the edge of her notebook. “I just wasn’t sure how…involved you expect me to be.”
“As involved as it takes,” I answer, leaning back in my chair.
My voice comes out rougher than I intend as my mind conjures up other ways she could be involved that doesn’t involve business, gravel catching in my throat. “Press, community events, game nights—you’ll be there for all of it.”
Her mouth parts slightly, and for a moment, all I see is the soft curve of her lips.
She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to measure if I’m being fair or if I’m throwing her into the fire.
“And you’re sure it’s okay that Becky, my daughter, comes along?” she asks.
I lean back further, forcing myself to meet her eyes instead of letting my gaze drop to the line of her throat. “She can come. We’ll make it work. My granddaughter will be with me, too.”
Relief spreads over her features, softening her expression in a way that makes my chest tighten.
I should look away, I know I should, but the way her shoulders relax, the way her lips curve ever so slightly into a smile—it makes me want to say something I shouldn’t.
Like ask her out for drinks so we can get to know each other better. On a more personal level. Damn it, I need to get a grip.
“You don’t have to look so surprised,” I mutter, almost to myself.
“I’m not surprised,” she counters with a soft smile. “Just…grateful. Not every boss would be that understanding.”
The way she says boss makes heat creep down my spine. I clear my throat, but it does nothing to steady me.
Her gaze lingers, steady and searching. “I just want to be sure I’m doing this right,” she says, voice low but firm. “I know what’s at stake for the team.”
I nod, forcing myself to keep it professional. “Just remember—your job isn’t to save the world in one day. Handle what’s in front of you, one mess at a time.”
The corner of her mouth curves into the faintest smile, and it shouldn’t hit me the way it does.
That little flicker of confidence—like I’d managed to ease her nerves—lands square in my chest.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lowers her eyes back to her notes.
I shouldn’t notice the small things, but I do—the quick sweep of her lashes, the way her lips press together in thought.
It’s nothing. It should be nothing.
And yet, I can’t look away.
We move on to the team’s latest crisis—the general manager fired for embezzlement.
“I’ve been thinking about the embezzlement fallout,” she says, her tone shifting, more business now.
She straightens in her chair, notes forgotten for the moment.
“We can’t erase it, but we can redirect the story.
If we put together a holiday fundraiser—something completely transparent—it would show the community and investors that the team is moving forward, not hiding. ”
I arch a brow. “Transparent how?”
“All proceeds go directly to a charity. No one from the Thunderwolves touches a dime. We’d use an outside financial group to oversee it, so the public sees there’s no chance of money disappearing into someone’s pocket.”
She leans forward slightly, hands moving as she explains, her face lighting with energy. “It’s about rebuilding trust. And if the cause is local—say, children’s hospitals or youth programs—it also ties the team back to the community.”
Her excitement is contagious, but damn if I don’t notice the way her blouse shifts with her movement, or the gleam in her eyes when she’s passionate about something.
I force myself to keep my gaze locked on hers.
“It’s not a bad idea,” I say slowly, scratching my jaw. “But fundraisers can look like cheap PR stunts if we’re not careful. Especially with the press already circling like vultures.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Not if we’re clear from the start. No glossy spin, no overblown promises. Just…do the work, do it honestly, and let people see it for themselves.”
Her conviction hangs in the air between us, stronger than I expected.
I find myself studying her, the sharp mind behind the soft smile, the way she speaks with more fire than most of the guys on the team.
“You sound pretty damn sure of yourself,” I murmur.
Her lips twitch, almost a smirk. “Well, isn’t that why you hired me?”
The words are light, professional, but they land heavier than they should.
I clear my throat, realizing I’ve been staring too long. “Right. Draft the plan, and we’ll go from there.”
Her smile lingers for a beat before she bends back over her notes, and I shift in my chair, silently cursing myself.
First day on the job, and I’m already fighting to keep my head where it belongs.
After quickly jotting down her notes, Trisha thanks me quietly and walks out, and I watch her go.
My eyes hungrily eat up every sway of her hips as if daring me to follow her.
The door shuts. I curse under my breath and rake a hand through my hair. “Get it together, Carl. She’s off-limits.”
My phone rings, yanking me back. It’s the board.
“Carl,” the voice on the other end says, “until we find a replacement, you’re stepping in as general manager. Effective immediately.”
I grip the receiver, a bitter laugh catching in my throat.
As if I didn’t have enough on my plate—now it isn’t just the team’s reputation Trisha has to fix. It’s me, too.