Chapter 5
FIVE
JULIETTE
I may be the only person in existence who’s ever been thrilled by the idea of sitting in a human resources meeting.
New job. New badge. New life!
Look at me go!
We’re two hours deep into a PowerPoint presentation labeled Workplace Conduct and Professional Boundaries, trapped inside a glass conference room that resembles a fishbowl, but fortunately there are bagels and other snacks.
Boundaries.
Is that corporate speak for “Don’t be an idiot at the office!”
Allison clicks the remote again, and the slide changes.
Big, bold letters:
ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS IN THE WORKPLACE
My spine straightens and suddenly, she has my full, undivided attention.
“Now,” Allison continues. “The purpose of the No Fraternization Policy is to maintain a professional environment for everyone. For you, for our coaches, for our players—and the entire staff. No Fraternizing can include the following, but is not limited to…” The slide moves again.
“‘No romantic or sexual relationships, i.e.: dating. In this digital age we also discourage…’” She glances at the screen, then around the room, looking everyone in the eye.
“‘Sliding into DMs on the Wolves network, or on social media.’”
A few people chuckle as if the idea were absurd.
I do not.
Not only did I fraternize, I orgasmed.
Oh god, what happens if I get caught?
Embarrassment heats up my entire body as the next slide appears:
CONSEQUENCES
“‘All violations will be taken seriously, especially if not reported to HR through the appropriate channel,’” Allison continues, unaware that I am internally drafting my own professional obituary.
Juliette Kennedy. Dropped dead from fraternizing.
Former new hire with good hair and an even better attitude.
Brings her lunch in reusable containers with environmentally friendly plastic.
Propositioned player number 8 outside a bar, and seduced him at her apartment, after spreading her legs and letting him lick her dry.
“‘… will result in termination.’”
Termination!
I reach for a bagel for emotional support and pull it apart, jamming one chunk into my mouth.
It’s stale.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
Allison moves on, outlining more policies and procedures.
The dress code. Explains confidentiality, workplace safety, and other communication expectations.
The drug and alcohol policy. Social media and time-off requests, but the only thing I can think about is Aaron Bishop walking out of my apartment.
The look in his eyes when he slid across the couch to kiss me.
Touch me.
Career suicide, apparently.
I swallow and fixate my attention on a new chart about email privacy protections, while my brain replays everything I’ve officially labeled a terminable offense.
Allison keeps talking.
The slides keep changing.
Two more hours pass in a blur of policies, bullet points, and the realization that my shiny new career may already be on thin ice—no pun intended!—held together by an HR handbook, a stale bagel, and the desperate hope that Aaron Bishop knows how to keep his mouth shut.
Back in the hallway, my boss Whitney is waiting for me.
She’s tall.
Polished.
Smells like expensive shampoo, expensive perfume, and gives off a quiet authority I quite admire, and am a bit terrified of.
“How was your training?” she asks.
I consider faking my enthusiasm.
“Thorough,” I say instead. “They leave no stone unturned.”
She smiles patiently. “You’ll appreciate that there are no gray areas. Only black and white.”
I nod.
She laughs and gestures down the hallway. “Walk with me?”
I fall into step beside her, still trying to regain the circulation in my legs. When they wobble, I’m grateful for the ballet flats on my feet.
“I wanted to talk to you about the annual foundation fundraiser. It’s not for another ten months, but we’re touring the ballroom again this afternoon,” Whitney says as we slow near the elevators. “I want to see the flow for cocktail hour and the stage setup in person.”
Butterflies begin fluttering in my stomach. Is she going to invite me along?
My boss taps her security badge absently against her hip. “I thought it’d be good experience for you to join the walkthrough.”
“I’d love to,” I breathe, doing my best not to sound so eager.
“Good.” She smiles, checking her watch. “We’ll head over in fifteen?”
The elevator dings behind us.
And because the universe is a cruel bitch and has a flair for horrible timing, Aaron Bishop materializes out of thin air as if I manifested him through sheer anxiety, and the fact that I haven’t been able to get him out of my head.
It’s one thing to see him in a hallway, it’s another to suddenly have him hovering over me, breathing my space…
“Hello Aaron.” Whitney radiates pleasure at his presence. “Can we help you?”
She’s so professional and composed.
He shifts the strap of his gym bag higher on his shoulder. “I think I left a folder here after my meeting earlier. Came to grab it.”
Then his eyes move to me.
Whitney turns to me, cheerful as ever. “Aaron, this is Juliette! She just joined our player engagement team. Juliette, this is Aaron—the Wolves’ secret weapon.”
Not such a secret, considering he’s one of the league’s best defensemen, but he nods politely anyway, his eyes looking everywhere but at my face.
The wall.
The conference room.
Then he finally forces himself to make direct eye contact. “Nice to meet you, Juliette.”
Nice to meet me? As if he hasn’t seen me naked from the waist down and had his mouth on me!
Then, because I’m the most awkward person on the planet and have no idea how to react to his cool demeanor, I blurt out, “Good to meet you, sir.”
Aaron’s brows shoot up, the corner of his mouth twitching enough to suggest he finds the situation amusing.
Two idiots pretending…
Whitney checks her watch again, blissfully unaware.
“We’re actually heading out to do a site walkthrough for the foundation fundraiser at the end of the year.
” She hesitates, then tilts her head at Aaron.
“It might be useful to get a player’s perspective.
Would you have any interest in tagging along? ”
He blinks at her. “You want my opinion on a ballroom?”
My heart begins pounding louder than it already had been at the thought of him tagging along.
“Please.” Whitney smiles. “You are more than welcome to join us.”
He hesitates for several seconds. “Sure.” Pause. “Why not?”
Why not? Why not!
Let me count the ways.
Then, when I think the situation cannot get any more awkward and uncomfortable, a voice interrupts, causing the three of us to turn.
“Sorry—am I interrupting?”
Out of nowhere, a tall guy slows to a stop, looking lost. He’s young, ginormous, incredibly good-looking—and apparently, he’s lost.
“Hi, sorry to interrupt,” he says again, giving us a cute little wave, although there’s nothing little about him. “I’m trying to find Coach Boucher’s office? Is it up here?” He looks this way and that, up and down the long, sleek halls. “I feel like I probably walked past it a few times.”
“Garrett Storm!” my boss exclaims, delighted. “You’re the second player to wander into this hallway while I’ve been standing here—this must be our lucky day!”
I wouldn’t say Whitney is flirting, but she sure does seem excited they’re both here.
I clear my throat and decide I should say something. Anything to add to the conversation. “We must be doing something right today. Players everywhere!”
His attention shifts, and he grins widely down at me. “Well, now I know the reason I got lost. Guess I took a wrong turn on purpose.”
Heat strokes my cheeks.
“Coach Boucher’s office is at the end of the hall, third door on the left,” Aaron deadpans, nodding his head in the opposite direction. “That way.”
Garrett ignores his teammate. “I’m Garrett,” he says, pointing at his chest. “In case you were wondering.”
“I…”
No fraternizing.
Termination.
Consequences.
He laughs, unfazed. “And you are?”
“Juliette.” I offer him my hand “Kennedy. My brother Declan is one of your forwards?” Why am I asking him like it’s a question?
Ugh. Get it together.
He grins wider. “He did not mention having a sister who works in the building.”
“I’m new.” And I’m blushing.
Whitney clears her throat. “Gentlemen, Juliette and I have to get to our appointment. Garrett, Aaron is tagging along. We’re taking a look around a venue for the fundraising gala. Any interest?”
“If I’m being invited to walk through a ballroom with two beautiful women, seems rude to say no.” Garrett stares at me while he says it.
“Perfect. The more perspectives, the better.” Whitney looks pleased. Then she points a warning finger at him. “But dial down the flirting a notch, would you?”
“No promises,” he says with a wink, following her toward the door.
I follow, hyper-aware that Aaron is behind me.
Aware of him as he climbs into the Uber beside me, hands to himself but thighs touching. Aware of him as he holds the door for me when we arrive at our destination.
For a few seconds, I stand at the entrance of the ballroom, awestruck.
Glass chandeliers, marble floors, and ceilings that rise to impossible heights. I imagine it filled with tables and decorations and players dancing—and raising hundreds and thousands of dollars for the team’s charity.
Whitney is already twenty steps ahead of us, phone out, snapping photos, laser-focused as her heels click against the floors.
“Okay, imagine the registration tables here.” She gestures wildly. “Silent auction items along that wall there, stage at the front—oh! We could do a shrimp cocktail station near the columns?” My boss wanders off, frantically dictating notes to herself.
Aaron and Garrett loom beside me, the rookie player doing his best to capture my attention, while my attention is still fixated on Aaron.
“So, what’s your job here exactly?” Garrett asks.
I’m not allowed to date you, dude, dial down the flirting a notch…
“Player Engagement is my official title,” I tell him proudly, satisfied when he looks suitably impressed.
He perks up immediately. “What does that mean?”