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“Cool.” Calista’s heart beat harder at the sight of hockey images. “Dahlia actually has experience there. She worked in the front office before I accumulated the shares for the acquisition.”
“Wasn’t she fired?” Olivia chipped in the question, not to be snide, but lawyers liked clarity and didn’t hide from difficult facts. “Just saying.”
Sort of. “Not for performance.” Dahlia had been let go because she’d stopped dating Dodo Applebaum, the former majority owner. That sounded bad, so Calista didn’t share that part. Dahlia’s dismissal last month didn’t reflect her qualifications at all. Calista untangled the sentences in her mind. “Dahlia works there again, now.” And Dahlia would remain in the head office if Calista kept control of the hockey team. If Calista failed with her bid for ownership, Dahlia would likely have to leave again. Dahlia had lost enough—her man, her planned future, her job. Calista could get the last one back for her permanently. If Calista didn’t screw up. The pressure mounted in her brain and her heart. She shoved the idea off; she could do this.
Calista owned seventy percent of the stock. The fact that she had majority stakes seemed mathematically clear to her. But the other shareholders, the Applebaums, were fighting the purchase, and no matter what, they still held thirty percent and a minority vote, unfortunately. Unless she could think of a way to get them to sell their shares.
“I set up internet alerts to chart the players’ activities.” Vivien spoke with careful, slow language, which implied Vivien may have searched forbidden websites. The unspoken word hacked hung in the classroom. “These alerts have given me privileged information.”
Olivia drummed her fingers on the desktop. “Tell me everything, but only in terms of what you found, not how you found it.”
“Friday night, at 10:00 PM, a number of Snowers players have passes for the Mer-bar.” Vivien raised her arms to the sky. Her hood fell back, catching on one of the messy horns her dark brunette locks were styled into. She flattened her palms in the air as if she had completed an Olympic routine instead of taking half an hour to get to the point.
“Sirens, shots, and suckers? Sounds like a lawsuit ready to happen. Dahlia won’t like that. Given her push for positive social media, she’ll take away the players’ purity points.” Olivia’s hazel eyes glinted as she processed all the potential pitfalls, but her voice held more relish than warning. “How are you going to make those rowdy men act right while out of the country? Are you going to cancel their admission to the Mer-bar? Is that what this is about?” Olivia tilted her head and her brown hair and swung against her collar. “Honestly, as long as the bar has adequate consent forms, the Snowers’ organization won’t have a problem, legally speaking.”
Calista needed a third friend who knew P.R.
Vivien repeated her victory arm gesture. “Wrong, my herd.” With one hand, she pointed to herself. With the other, she held up three fingers. “I got us tickets so we three can go to the Mer-bar and revel.”
Oh. Calista shook her head. Nope, that was not her idea of a good time.
Vivien stared at her with a knowing expression, clearly ready for her refusal. “Let’s just say one Captain Ronan Stromkin has a ticket.”
Electricity shot through Calista, and she did her best not to flush, though she knew her eyes were widening and her mind was changing.
“We’re going.” Vivien hummed their purity pledge motto, “No wedding, no bedding.”
Olivia rocked her shoulders to the rhythm and chanted the second verse of the purity pledge the three of them had all taken last autumn. “No gold band, we just hold hands.”
Calista didn’t love the third line, I do, or we don’t, so she simply chanted the final verse to show she was in on the plan. “No marry, no cherry.”
“No marry. No cherry.” Vivien said solemnly and held her computer so they could easily see the screen. A mermaid holding a large ticket faced them. A fishing net held by a buff fisherman hovered just above her head. “I’ve secured our entrance to the Mer-bar, Friday night, 10:00 PM. Pack a passport and a bikini, geniuses. Friday, we jump into the mermaid tank.”
Her own ticket to the Mer-bar? A chance to see Ronan again. Calista smiled. This time, she’d form words in front of him. She’d articulate all that she had wanted to say back when she was near naked and mute back in the stadium conference room. Excitement rose inside Calista, and her grin evolved to giggles. Yes, redo, version two, clothed and articulate. Sign her up to take on the tank.
Olivia blinked and said nothing.
Silent was not Olivia’s usual mode. What was she thinking? Probably, international lawsuits begin with one ticket.
Artie made furious marks in his scientific notebook.
A thousand questions tangled inside Calista’s mind. She opened her mouth to talk bikinis and share her puck versus snowball costume adventure with her buddies.
The professor came in.
Calista shoved her comments back down. Dang. They’d just gotten their conversational flow going, and he’d interrupted them. They didn’t need supervision, oversight was stifling them.
The professor went to the head of the room, flipped open his laptop, and his name populated on the smartboard—Professor Terrence. He was a handsome man with a lean build and overlong blond hair. Ah, she knew him. She hadn’t realized her special project’s Professor Terrence was Professor, “call me Terry” who she’d met at the Renaissance fair via Piper. Professor Terrence had been one of Piper’s English professors.
Olivia and Vivien sat up straighter and exchanged a glance.
He was good looking. Sure, he was no Ronan Stromkin, but he was worth staring at. This class might not be so bad after all. Could he skate?
The professor nodded at them. “I’m Professor Terrence.” His British accent came out clearly, as he said his name.
Calista and her two female classmates nodded back. Artie didn’t look up from his wires.
“In the future, you will likely work for corporations, interact in boardrooms, participate in trainings, and chat at water coolers. At minimum, in your future jobs, you’ll be expected to share status updates. Proper English, social awareness, and solid communication skills matter. That’s what we’re building here. You will work together with minimal supervision and present a final project, which I will grade.”
