4. Graciella
The hard plastic bit into my palm, fingers cramping from how I held the press badge. A smidge to the left or right would reveal the bright red, outdated numbers.
I flashed it at the door guy, shoulders pinned back and a flirty smile painted on my lips. He gave a curt nod, eyes already fixed on the line behind me. The breath I’d held released in a puff. To think I had the balls to pull that routine every weekend when I was young.
Prefrontal cortex development was wild.
The tent buzzed with conversations, groups of reporters milling about. These things were as much about making connections as they were getting the scoop.
Sharks circled blood in the water, and based on my eavesdropping, Monroe was their target.
I spotted him instantly. Hard to miss at six-foot-something, with a back so broad the cotton of his shirt stretched taut, warping the “Stanley Cup Champions” lettering across his shoulder blades.
I picked my way through the throng of people, throwing out an occasional, “Excuse me,” or, “Move it.” Any other day, Monroe probably would’ve noticed I’d followed him, but he’d walked away pretty deep in his head.
My chest tightened, memories of a few nights ago resurfacing. Monroe didn’t know it, but we were kindred spirits. I’d lost my job over bullshit, and he was about to lose his for the same reason.
His looming unemployment was avoidable, though. And if he’d let me, instead of being a stubborn ass, I could help him…and myself.
His hands were shoved in his pockets, curled in on himself, boxing everyone out. The exact opposite of what he needed to do if he wanted to improve his reputation.
I sighed, shaking my head at the work ahead of me.
It was cute Monroe thought walking away would deter me.
Unfortunately for him, I was desperate and raised in a culture known for figuring shit out. I may not be the most educated or talented in a room, but I’d outwork everyone around me.
One of the few good things my father passed on to me.
Monroe had cracked the door to the opportunity I’d been hoping for. And I planned on kicking that bitch all the way open. But my timing needed to be perfect.
A random guy stepped out of nowhere, cutting Monroe off.
“Josh Monroe, care to comment on talks about you not being a good fit for the Stars?” The guy’s balding head gleamed under the fluorescent lights as he shoved the butt of a phone in Monroe’s face.
My heart leaped to my throat. This was panning out better than I’d hoped.
Monroe’s jaw ticked. “What the he—”
“Thank you so much for your interest in Coach Monroe,” I said, cutting off whatever irritated rant he was about to go on. “If you’re looking for a one-on-one interview, you can submit your questions to me in advance for approval, and I’ll coordinate scheduling for my client.”
I didn’t need to look at him to know Monroe was glaring daggers. The back of my head practically burned under the intensity of his attention.
“Who the hell are you, lady?” the reporter asked.
I opened my mouth to answer but never got a chance.
“Watch how you speak to her.”
Monroe’s voice had me straightening, shocked he’d come to my defense. I hid my surprise behind a fake smile and an outstretched hand. “I’m Mr. Monroe’s publicist.”
“She’s not—”
I reached back with my free hand and pinched his thigh. His very hard, chiseled thigh. “Not supposed to be working right now. You know, taking time to celebrate and all.” I shoved a little harder when he moved again. “But I always look out for my client’s best interests.”
The reporter’s nostrils flared, and he shoved the mic back in Monroe’s face, nearly taking me out with his forearm. “First, your player career ended in tragedy, and now your coaching career may come to an end. Wh—”
I pushed the phone away. “Nope, he won’t be answering that.” Nothing pissed me off more than a man not accepting no for an answer.
“What the hell, lady?”
“I believe I said no questions outside of a formal interview.” I tilted my head, ignoring the literal growl from behind me.
We’d have to work on that. “The lack of a press badge or proper equipment tells me you’re not supposed to be here.
So, unless you want to be hit with trespassing, I suggest you walk away.
And think very carefully about what you intend to say about this interaction. ”
His mouth twisted. The asshole was about to say something that’d piss me off even more, I could feel it, but he took one look over my shoulder and his face blanched.
“Yeah, whatever you say, lady.” He tucked his phone away, leaving without so much as a glance backward.
“Great. Looking forward to connecting,” I called after him, giving a little finger wave.
Two strong hands clamped onto my shoulders and spun me around.
“What the hell do you think—”
An enthusiastic clap cut him off.
"Well, that was fantastic." The newcomer's bespeckled gaze flicked between us. "I was headed over to step in myself. Worried Josh might say something unsavory, but it looks like I had nothing to worry about.” He held out a hand for a shake, a friendly smile plastered on his face. “Tommy Schwartz, I’m the General Manager for the Stars, and you are…”
Monroe went rigid.
Huh, I’d thought the GM of a hockey team would be a little more…athletic looking? I’d have pegged him for someone’s accountant, not the man holding Monroe’s future—and mine—in his hands.
“Graciella Barrera,” I replied, taking the slightly clammy hand, surprised by his firm shake. “And I was just doing my job.” I smiled through the lie.
Tommy looked over at Monroe, brows lifted. “Oh, I…I didn’t know we had you on staff.” His cheeks reddened.
“We don’t,” Monroe bit out, crossing his arms.
I slapped a hand on his shoulder, hard enough to move him forward half an inch.
“Oh, stop it, Monroe. You’re so literal.” I shot him a look, hoping it properly expressed the importance of him shutting up.
He didn’t.
“She doesn’t work for the Stars.”
I needed to find him a muzzle.
“What he means,” I blurted, “is I don’t yet work for the team. But Monroe here was on his way to make an introduction. He would like to hire me as his publicist.” My smile was so wide my face hurt.
“No, Tommy, I—”
“Oh, thank goodness, Monroe.” The GM pressed a hand to his chest, letting out a little laugh. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you’re taking this kind of initiative.”
Monroe hesitated, brows pinched. “You are…?”
“Gosh, yes,” he laughed. “When I saw you walking in, I was sure you were about to tell me something like, ‘I can do this all on my own.’ Which we both know is ridiculous.” Tommy’s smile spread from ear to ear.
Now wasn’t the time to shoot Monroe an “I told you so,” but he would definitely hear it from me later.
“We’ve already started outlining a strategy.” Ideas were stacking up in my head in case he asked for an example. “All we need is your blessing.”
Monroe turned his head toward me so fast I thought I heard a crack.
I ignored him, attention pinned on Tommy.
The guy’s eyes widened, brows peaking up over the tortoiseshell rim.
“I’ll be honest, I was really worried there about how we were going to turn this all around.
Our board is concerned that the bad press will affect our bottom line, and then, well, you know, we’d have to replace you if that was the case. ”
Monroe’s jaw popped, knuckles whitening where they hung down by his side. The air shifted, growing tense.
I stepped in, hating the worried look on his face. Monroe was hot to the touch under my palm, and I had the oddest urge to press more of my skin to his.
“That won’t be necessary. We’ll have a full PR proposal ready for how we’re going to turn this around quickly.”
Tommy’s gaze slid back to me. “How soon?”
“Monday.”
A strangled noise came from behind me, but I offered Tommy a wide smile. No way I’d admit Monroe and I might not be on the same page about the deadline I’d thrown out.
“Oh, good, we need to get on this right away. Okay, I’ll see you two in a couple of days.” Tommy nodded like a bobblehead, turning to walk away. “Oh, and Josh, good call bringing her in.”