Page 12 of Broken As Puck

Mitch Davenport, a veteran goalie, stomped up behind him just in time to provide the perfect interruption.

“It’s Mitch’s turn,” I declared, narrowing my eyes at Matt and practically daring him to try to continue this conversation.

Matt’s lips firmed and he looked like he wanted to argue, but with Mitch standing there, he couldn’t say anything unless he wanted to give us away. He’d already made it clear in the past that he wasn’t proud of his association with me, so I doubted he’d do that now.

When he walked away, I let out a sigh of relief. Whatever he might think we needed to talk about, we most certainly didn’t. If he intended to make excuses for breaking my heart, I wasn’t interested in hearing them.

“Where do you want me?” Davenport asked.

Half an hour later, I had photographs of every player who’d been at training and I was sitting at my desk in the offices above the changing rooms, examining them on my computer, when I sensed someone approaching. I glanced around and struggled to hide my surprise as Joseph Trent, the team’s owner, sank onto the chair beside me.

“Hi, Chelsey,” he said, smiling. His blue eyes were crinkled at the edges, and he was clean-shaven and wearing a designer suit that made it perfectly clear he was in excellent shape for a man in his late forties.

It was just as well I didn’t have any photographs of him to share with Layla because I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist teasing me about him being a Daddy, and I preferred not to think of my boss’s boss like that.

“H-hi,” I stammered, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Do you need something?”

He rested his elbow on the next desk over, which was currently unassigned, and studied me in a way that made me feel like the fine print in a contract he wasn’t sure about. “Am I correct in understanding that you photographed the players this morning? All of them?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“What were your first impressions of them?”

I frowned. Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

His eyes never left mine. It was slightly disconcerting. “I want to know how they react to changing circumstances—especially with the probation hanging over us. There’s been a lot of change over the past year, and some people handle that with more grace than others. I’d like your take on the matter.”

I pursed my lips and mentally flicked through all the interactions I’d had that morning. I knew he was my boss, but spilling everything to him felt a little like being a double agent, and I didn’t like it.

“Most of them were fine.” That was the truth. “A few clearly resented what we were doing, but none were blatantly rude to me.”

“Which ones showed their resentment?” he asked, withdrawing his phone from his front pocket and lighting up the screen.

I grimaced. “Delacrue, McKinley, and Virtanen all made comments to the effect that they didn’t want to do it, but they all did as I asked and signed off on the use of their photographs.”

He nodded and tapped on the screen. “Thank you. Were any players particularly enthusiastic in embracing your efforts?”

At this, I snorted. “Young has a future on the catwalk if he wants it. Rasmussen laid it on thick too. Kelly and Gadot were very good-natured.” I hesitated, then added, “Matthews encouraged McKinley to cooperate.”

I may not want to give Matt any positive feedback, but I wasn’t going to lie out of spite either.

“And Harris?”

I considered for a moment. “I won’t say he enjoyed it, but he went along with it willingly enough.”

Honestly, I understood Harris’s reluctance given the number of social media pages dedicated to sharing photos of his ass, not to mention what had happened with the scandalous photographs of him and his fiancée last season. If I were him, I’d be wary too.

“Good.” Those vivid eyes of his brightened. “I thought he might be…hesitant…after that awful business with him and Jane.”

“If he was, he didn’t let it get in the way of him doing his job.” I admired him for that. From my scant acquaintance with him, I could already tell the team captain was a private guy.

Mr. Trent stood and pocketed his phone. “Let me know if you run into trouble with any of them. I won’t tolerate you being disrespected because someone has a problem with you doing your job.”

I dipped my head. “Thank you, sir.”

He strode away. I looked back at my computer screen and groaned when I realized it was filled with an image of Matt Matthew’s wicked smile.

Goddamn.