“Punctuality?”
“Not being late.”
“I’m a man of many talents.” He looks around the small room, at the camera setup, at the two chairs positioned to face each other. “This looks like fun.”
“It’s not supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to keep you from saying something stupid to reporters.”
“I don’t say stupid things to reporters.”
“You told an ESPN journalist last season that if the refs did their jobs, you wouldn’t have to do it for them.”
“That’s not stupid. That’s accurate.” But he can’t hide the grin spreading across his face. It’s sexy as hell and wildly inconvenient of me to realize it, especially when we’re going to be sitting in close proximity for the next couple of hours.
“That’s the kind of statement that gets you fined.” I gesture to one of the chairs. “Sit. We’re going to practice.”
He sits, and the chair, which is built for normal-sized humans, looks small under him. Jesus, he’s huge. Six-four, probably two hundred and twenty pounds, all of it muscle and bad decisions.
I sit across from him and pull out my question list.
“Here’s how this works. I’m going to ask you questions the way a hostile reporter would. Your job is to answer without getting defensive, without admitting fault, and without saying anything that creates new headlines.”
“So basically, I have to lie.”
“Think of it as being strategic.” I look at the first question. “Let’s start easy. ‘Mr. Masterson, do you regret your actions atPuck Fest?’”
“Yes.”
“Expand on that.”
“Yes, I regret my actions atPuck Fest.”
It’s going to be a long couple of hours. I put the paper down. “You have to give them more than that or they’ll fill in the blanks themselves.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Say that you regret the way you handled the situation. Say that you let your emotions override your judgment. Say that you’re committed to representing the Raptors with professionalism.”
“That’s your statement from the other day.”
“Yes, and it works. Try it.”
He sighs and shifts in his chair. The sudden movement makes his shoulders look even broader, if that’s possible.
I press my lips together.
Focus, Noah.
“I regret the way I handled the situation atPuck Fest,”he says, his voice totally flat. “I let my emotions override my judgment, and I’m committed to representing the Raptors with professionalism going forward.”
“Better. But you sound like you’re reading a script.”
He looks at me, a grimace twisting his features. “I am reading a script. You wrote it.”
“I wrote talking points. You’re supposed to make them sound natural.”
“How am I supposed to make corporate bullshit sound natural?”
“By believing it. Or at least pretending to believe it.” I lean forward and the scent of his cologne teases my nostrils, taunting me. I clutch the sides of the paper. “Look, I get that this feels fake. But the alternative is saying what you actually think, which will get you suspended again.”
