“The outcome had nothing to do with my relationship to Coach Enver. It was based on the facts of the case and appropriate league protocols.” Sweat prickles on the back of my neck.
“If you say so.” Brett takes a drink. “Just saying, must be nice to have that kind of access. Most PR directors have to fight for a seat at the table.”
The conversation shifts, people drifting away to other groups. I’m left standing with Chuck who’s looking at me with something like pity.
“Don’t let Brett get to you,” Chuck says. “He’s bitter. You know he’s been trying to land an NHL job for two years.”
“I know.”
“But he’s not entirely wrong. People are going to question how you got the job. That’s just reality when you’re working for an organization your father coaches.”
“I know that too.”
“So prove them wrong. Do the job so well that nobody can say you didn’t earn it. Handle every crisis perfectly. Make the organization look good. That’s how you shut people up.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“Good.” Chuck claps me on the shoulder. “Just keep your head down and do the work. Results speak louder than rumors.”
He drifts off to talk to someone else, and I’m finally left alone at the bar.
I order another drink, trying to shake off the conversation. But Brett’s words keep looping through my mind.
Having family connections makes things easier. Most of us have to earn these positions the hard way.
Must be nice to have that kind of access.
People are going to question how you got the job.
This is exactly why I can’t screw up. Why every decision I make has to be perfect. Why I can’t let anything…personal feelings, attraction, whatever this thing with Masterson is…compromise my judgment.
Because the second I make a mistake, every skeptic who thinks I didn’t earn this job will have ammunition. Every person who whispered “nepotism” when I was hired will feel validated.
I’ll prove them right—that I’m unprofessional, that I didn’t earn this position, that I got it because of my last name instead of my abilities.
And my father’s position becomes complicated too. People will ask if he knew about poor decisions, if he’s covering for his son, if the organization’s judgment is compromised.
The stakes aren’t just my career. They’re his career, too. The team’s reputation. And everything I’ve worked for since I left Chicago.
All of it could come crashing down because I can’t maintain professional boundaries.
I finish my drink, say goodbye to Chuck, and hurry out of the bar.
As I drive home, my mind trips back to Vancouver and how I wanted to step between her and Masterson the second she got too close. I had no right to feel that kind of jealousy.
And then when he showed up at the hotel bar, looking at me like he could see right through this bullshit facade I have to put up any time I’m around him.
“You were jealous.”
I was. And it scared the hell out of me.
Because jealousy implies possession. It implies feeling something beyond professional concern. And most of all it implies I’m thinking about him in ways I absolutely should not be thinking about him.
Once I’m back in my apartment, I pour myself a drink even though I’ve already had two, and sit on my couch in the dark.
Tomorrow, I'll go back to the office. I'll be professional. Competent. Exactly what Bob Marshall hired me to be.
And if I see Masterson, I'll be cold. Distant.
