SWNOVELS Pucking Sweet: Chapter 3
“Ugh, that man is infuriating! Everything is a joke to him. Nothing is serious. You’d think he didn’t even care that this kind of behavior could get him traded…again.” I march down the fourth-floor hallway back toward my office, heels clicking. “He’s nothing but a big…a big butt!”
At my side, Claribel snorts. “A butt? Is that the best you can do?”
“Hey, don’t laugh,” I say, eyes on my phone as I shoot off another text to the ticket office manager. “If you grew up with my Nana, you’d be afraid to curse too.”
“Were you looking at his butt, boss?”
“Of course not.”
“There’s no shame if you were,” she teases. “Hockey butts are some of the best butts around. I think it’s all the squats they do. And the lunging. They lunge a lot—have you noticed that?”
I release a weary sigh. “Claribel, please stop trying to make me picture the players’ butts. These men are our work associates now. They are hard-working professionals. We are to treat them with respect, and not ogle their…”
“Juicy hams?”
I pause, frowning at her.
“I was just trying to fill in your blank,” she says, raising a hand in surrender. “Gluteus maximus? Is that better? More technical…sounds sportier, right?”
I turn on my heel and keep walking. We have to duck around a painting crew doing touch ups to the fancy new wall mural, sidestepping their buckets and trays.
Mark Talbot spared no expense in designing this new facility, but it’s taken a couple acts of god—and more than a few extra checks—to have it ready on time. I’m still without internet or a working phone in my office. And the overhead lights keep flickering… something to do with glitching backup generators. But so long as the ice stays frozen for the team to practice, the rest of us are expected to just suffer through these initial growing pains.
This is fine. I love running a public relations department from my cell phone…incurring roaming charges because of the terrible reception inside this bunker of a building…while I sit alone in the dark. It’s all going to be just fine.
I can hear my old Division 1 track coach’s voice inside my head. Mind over matter, Poppy. Winners never quit.
Paint cans rattle as the workmen shuffle out of our way.
“Boss, I can’t make the ten o’clock,” says Claribel, both thumbs feverishly tapping out a message on her phone. “Dale is having some kind of crisis down at warm-up. I need to get down there.”
I pause again. “Wait—what’s at ten o’clock?”
“The meeting with the new Barkley Fellow. You wanted me to get some content for the socials. ‘New Doc on the Block’ and all that—”
“Oh, sweet goodness,” I gasp. “That was today? For some reason, I thought she was flying in tomorrow.”
“Nope, her flight got in yesterday.”
I flick through my calendar to make sure there’s nothing else I’m missing. “I swear, the closer we get to the start of the season, time is losing all meaning for me.”
As we stand there, Caleb Sanford comes wandering out of one of the office suites. He’s one of the lead equipment managers for the team. He gives off a broody, “don’t look at me” vibe, which I’m sure just lures all the ladies in faster. Too bad he backs up the looks with an even grouchier personality. He’d be social media gold if Claribel could just get him to cooperate for the cameras. But so far, the man has proved to be more slippery than an eel.
“Is the new Barkley Fellow coming in today?” I ask him.
“Rachel? Yeah, she’s in there with Vic now,” he replies.
“She’s here?” I cry, my excitement bubbling. After going two rounds with Lukas Novikov downstairs, this is just what I need to put my day back on track.
“Pop, I gotta go,” Claribel says at my shoulder.
“Well, come right back,” I say with a distracted wave. “I want us to dive in with her announcement. All the socials. Static posts and video.”
“Got it,” she calls, slinking away between the painters.
I step past Caleb, letting myself into Vicki’s office. She gives me a smile in welcome, but I hardly notice. Dropping my heavy bag to the floor, I only have eyes for the beauty sitting in the chair opposite Vicki’s desk. I’ve seen pictures of her of course, mainly in trashy tabloids and airport fashion magazines. But she’s even prettier in person—the dark hair, the pouty lips, the mocha chocolate eyes. She looks effortlessly cool, even in her scrubs.
“Are you our new Barkley Fellow?” I say in welcome.
She stands and holds out a hand. “Yes, hi. Doctor Rachel Price.”
I wave her hand away as I step forward. “Oh, sweetie, here in the South, we hug.” I wrap her in a quick embrace, noting the sweetly spiced scent of her perfume. “I’m Poppy St. James,” I say, letting her go. “Head of PR for the Rays. And can I just say that I am so excited to have our team participate in the fellowship program this year? I mean, who doesn’t love good press? And when I learned that you were going to be our new fellow? Well, I just about died!” I laugh, glancing from Rachel to Vicki.
“I mean, it’s enough that you’re gorgeous and so deeply talented,” I add breathlessly. “But then I found out about your family. I mean, nothing goes with hockey quite like rock and roll, right?”
Her smile falters and she leans away.
Okay, maybe I am laying this on a little thick. I didn’t just “find out” she was Rachel Price and connect the dots to her famous dad. She’s Rachel Freaking Price! She’s practically American royalty. She grew up in the spotlight—concerts and movie premieres, fashion weeks, awards ceremonies.
My family is rather established too. We’re just part of the East Coast old money set. We live quieter lives, much less public. Think DC dynasty-makers, not LA icons. But Rachel and I are about the same age. We even share some mutual acquaintances. I followed all her escapades over the years—the brief modeling career in Paris, the wrecked yacht on the Amalfi Coast, the whirlwind engagement to that smarmy fashion photographer.
And those were just her teen years.
But now she’s a doctor. Her wild child days are behind her, and she’s got a bright, shiny career in sports medicine ahead. With that pretty face, and her famous father, she’ll be public relations gold for us this year.
Time to lean all the way in. “Say, do you think your daddy might be interested in coming out for a game this season?”
Her smile flickers and disappears. “Umm…you know, I’m not really sure of his schedule,” she replies noncommittally.
Vicki glances between us. “What are you two talking about?”
I turn to her. “Oh, hadn’t you heard? Our talented new Barkley Fellow has some added star power. Her daddy is Hal Price from The Ferrymen!”
Poor, sweet Vicki looks completely clueless. She must have missed the gossip train. We’ve all been humming with the news for the last two days. “Is that a band?” she asks.
I feign a gasp, clutching my chest. “A band? Vicki, they’re only one of the biggest rock bands of all time!” I turn back to Rachel, my hand lightly brushing her arm. “I swear, when I told my brother, he nearly fell out of his chair.”
“That’s great—”
“Say, does he ever play the national anthem?” I press. “You know, like Hendrix? Oh, wouldn’t that be amazing, Vic? The Ferrymen in our arena! Can you imagine?”
“That would be really great,” Vicki replies with a nod.
It would be more than great. We’d be able to ride the good press of that for weeks.
Rachel shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah, you know, I can ask.”
Okay, fine. I’ve tortured her enough for this first meeting. I turn to the business at hand. Digging inside my bag, I look for the press events calendars, pausing to shoot Claribel a text.
POPPY: Get back up here. We need pics of Rachel.
She responds in seconds, my phone buzzing in my hand.
CLARIBEL: Can’t. Rookie tripped over camera cords and almost chipped a tooth. Coaches chewed us out. Moving cords now.
I huff in frustration, tugging out the folder marked with Rachel’s name. “Sorry.” I nearly drop my phone as I right myself, folder in hand. “I’ve got, like, three press events this morning, and I’m trying to hunt down Claribel. I wanted her to get a few pics of Rachel in action—oh—do you mind if I call you Rachel?”
Yeah, I just said all that in one breath. Rachel looks at me wide-eyed, like I’m about to pop into a cloud of pink confetti. Honestly, I’m not entirely convinced I won’t. I’m wound so dang tight right now. As soon as I get off work, I need to go for a run…or drink a whole bottle of bubbly champagne…or have a back-breaking orgasm.
All three.
Preferably in that order.
Behind her desk, Vicki laughs. “Poppy, honey, breathe.”
I pause, taking a deep breath. She’s right. I can’t do this job if I’m wrapped up in a ball of jitters. Everything will work out. I’ll have a desk and lights that stay on. I won’t have to fight the players or lock them up in towers to make them behave.
It’s all going to be fine.
As I think it, the lights overhead faintly flicker.
I let out another shaky breath.
This is all perfectly fine.
“Thanks, Vic, I needed that.”
Rachel is still eyeing me like she’s not sure what to make of me.
“I’m sorry,” I say at her. “I’m just a big ole mess these days. I think it’s all this stress leading up to the first game day.”
“We’re all a little on edge,” Vicki assures me.
I step forward, handing Rachel her folder. “I promise I’m not always like this,” I say with a laugh. “I can be normal. You’ll see. Hopefully once the season starts, we’ll all find our rhythm.”
Rachel relaxes a little, taking the folder. “Of course.” She glances down at the calendar, quickly scanning each row. “What’s this?”
“That’s a schedule for some upcoming public relations events,” I explain. “With a new team, we can’t leave it to just the players to help put the Rays on the map.”
Her eyes go wide as she takes in all the colored dots. It’s jam-packed, I know. But we’re going with the “shock and awe” approach here. She glances up at me. “I’m attending all these events?”
I don’t know why she looks so concerned. Her schedule is light. I had to leave room for her to do her actual fellowship hours too. “Yeah, don’t you think it will be great? We’ve got the coaches hitting the town too, the players, even staff. Like I said, it’s all hands on deck.”
For a brief moment, she looks like she might hand her access pass back over to Vicki. Is Rachel Price about to disappoint me? Seeing as she’s a doctor now, I was hoping that she’d come ready to work. The last thing I need is another diva on this team. I already get enough of that with the players.
I mentally bat away the image of Lukas Novikov that floats in front of me. Claribel’s wrong if she thinks I was looking at his butt earlier. It’s those devilish caramel-colored eyes that threaten to make me melt.
“I really hope you’re a team player,” I press, ignoring the repeated buzzing of my phone. “Because we mean to win this game.”
“Which game?” she asks, tucking her calendar back inside the folder.
“The game,” I reply. “The only one that matters.”
She searches my face like she’s confused.
I smile, hefting my portable office back onto my shoulder. “Sports at this level is never just about the sport, Rachel. It’s about everything else. Our most important game this year won’t be played on the ice. It’s about winning the hearts and minds of the people of Jacksonville. We need to let the hockey world see that the Rays are here to play, and we’re here to stay.”
That’s my job this year, to put the Rays on the map. That’s why Mark hired me. And I can’t fail him. If I do, he won’t be renewing my contract next year. I have exactly one year to show this team and this city what I can do.
One year.
No distractions. No mistakes.
Let’s do this, Poppy. Winners never quit.