I finish my beer, head up to my room, and lie in bed staring at the ceiling.
Two assists. Zero penalties. A win on the road.
By all accounts, tonight should feel good.
Instead, I’m thinking about the way Noah looked at me when he said “goodnight, Masterson.” Like using my last name was a deliberate choice. A reminder of the distance between us.
A distance he has no intention of closing.
CHAPTER 10
NOAH
I shouldn’t have goneto Vancouver.
That’s what I keep telling myself three days later, sitting in my office staring at the article on my laptop screen I’m not actually reading.
Marshall asked me to check on Masterson. I did. Job done.
Except I didn’t just check on him. I acted like a jealous asshole when some woman offered to buy him a drink.
I physically got in between them and used my position to shut down a harmless interaction. Then I snapped at him when he called me on it.
Professional.Realprofessional.
My phone buzzes with a text from Chuck Flannelly, a PR director I worked with in Chicago.
Bay Area Sports PR Mixer tonight at The Vault. 7 PM. You coming?
Shit, with everything going on, I’d totally forgotten the event. It’s a monthly networking thing, industry people comparing notes and making connections. Usually I’d skip it since these events are more about posturing than actual networking. But maybe getting out of my own head would help.
I type back.I’ll be there.
I get Chuck’s reply seconds later.
Good. Haven’t seen you since you moved. Drinks on me.
The Vault is an upscale bar in SoMa that caters to the sports industry crowd. When I arrive at seven, it’s already packed with PR directors, agents, sports journalists, a few athletes I recognize but don’t know personally.
Chuck spots me immediately and waves me over to the bar.
“Noah! Look at you, big-time NHL PR now.” He claps me on the back. “Good to see you, Chuck.”
“Oakland treating you well?”
“It’s been good. Busy.”
“I bet. The Raptors are having a solid season.” He holds up two fingers at the bartender. “How’s it feel working for your dad?”
There it is. Thirty seconds in and we’re already on the nepotism gig.
“I work for Bob Marshall, the GM. My father’s the head coach. Different departments.”
“Sure, sure. But still, family business and all that.” Chuck grins like he’s joking, but there’s an edge to it. “Must be nice having connections.”
My hand tightens around the glass. “I got the job based on my qualifications.”
“Of course you did. Chicago’s loss, right?” He hands me one of the glasses of whiskey the bartender places on the bar. “Though I heard some people were surprised when you left since it was a sudden move and all.”
