I almost stand up again.
“We need to talk about—”
“The disaster today? Yes, and I am on it. I have a whole PR plan prepared.”
“Do you? Good. Did you email it to me?” She’s scrolling through her email.
“Er, no.” I set my notebook on the desk. “Just worked it up on the train.”
Dana looks down her nose that must have cost a fortune because it’s perfect yet not fake looking. There are three lines on my little notepad. “A press conference,” she reads upside down.
I hurry to turn the notebook to face her. “With snacks.” I point. “And a volunteer event with the players to help inform people why gambling is wrong.”
“The Rhode Island Hockey Club makes eighty percent of our advertising revenue off of online gambling ads.” Dana doesn’t blink.
“So…”
“So?” She looks down pointedly.
“Right.” I scratch it out. “Well, there’s the Puppies on Ice Day.”
“What does that have to do with the crisis?”
“Uh, I mean, who doesn’t like hot guys and puppies?” My sweater is soaked in sweat. My sports bra is drenched. I am wearing too many layers. “It’s, uh, warm in here, isn’t it?”
“I will handle the crisis PR response,” Dana says. “Never complain, never explain. Besides, once we announce our new coach, no one is going to care that the old one is currently being strip-searched in prison.”
“Oh, we have a new coach?” I perk up. “Is it Jared Trotz from Toronto? I heard his name getting thrown around and—”
“I’m a businesswoman, Ellie,” Dana sneers. “I’m not paying some overbloated whale carcass with bad feet millions of dollars to shout at the players and lose games. I can find someone to do that for much cheaper. And I have. You start tomorrow.”
“Start? Start what tomorrow?” My eye is twitching.
“You are the new coach of the Rhode Island Hockey Club.”
“Ha! Hahaha! Ahahaha! Funny. Sooo funny.”
Dana’s not laughing.
“I mean—” I start to panic. “I’m just a girl. I’m a child, a mere babe. I can’t coach a team. I live at home. I don’t have my shit together. Like, at all.”
Dana doesn’t care. Dana is bored of listening to me.
The perfectly manicured nails are tapping on the blotter again. “You are the only staff member left aside from Stacey in HR and Harlowe, who books the hotel rooms and food. We’ve had a wave of resignations.”
“Thanks for giving me a heads-up,” I mutter.
“You know hockey.” It’s not a question. “You played D1 at Boston University.”
“Yeah, on the female team.” I feel sick.
“You were on the USA Hockey team,” Dana continues. “Went to world championships. Earned an Olympic silver medal.”
“The girls’ team.Girls,” I repeat. “And I wasn’t that good. I’m a little on the short side.”
Dana stands up. She is not on the short side. And she’s wearing So Kates, so that’s like an extra five inches on me. “And you coach currently, and ref, do you not?”
“Yeah, again—girls. Little ones.” I mime with my hands. “Tiny. Children.”
