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Bobby O’Doul’soffice is laid out similarly to mine. But where mine could be called cold, and minimal, O’Doul’s is warm and inviting. Pictures of his family fill his shelves. Cards written in crayon are tacked to a special spot behind his desk. His jersey from his playing days is framed and hanging in an opposite corner. And black-and-white photographs cover his walls. They’re all close-up moments, captured in time. A puck gliding through the air, making you feel the speed. A stick hitting the ice at just the right angle. The bright silver blade of a skate. I can’t quite make out the curling black signature in the corner of each piece, but I think it might say O’Doul.
He’s built a life in this office. It reminds me of my dad’s office at the Kings Stadium.
I look forward to building that work life here.
I want this team to be a family. And I want to be part of that.
I have time to examine them all Wednesday afternoon while I wait for him to end the call he’s on with a friend of mine. Well, as good of a friend as Hunter can be, considering he’s one of the top sports agents I know, and he makes it his sole purpose in life to extract as much money out of me as he can for his players and himself. If the fucker didn’t make it as a sports agent, he’d have been a hell of a professional poker player.
He’s Declan & Sebastian’s agent. And we’ve all done dinner a few times.
But when O’Doul’s smile grows just before he hangs up, I think we’ve finally got a deal. Patrick disconnects the call and slams his hands flat against his desk. “We got him. Hot damn!” He closes his hand into a tight fist that he raises in the air in victory. He and I spent Friday finalizing our plan, and O’Doul started executing it that night. By midday Saturday, we’d secured his number two pick. There wasn’t any major movement on Monday, but by the end of yesterday, we’d managed to make two more trades and picked up another free agent. But this call was the key. The hockey gods are smiling on us today. It took a whole lotta luck and our second- and third-round draft picks next year, but we succeeded in getting O’Doul’s top pick.
Connor Callahan is coming to the Revolution.
O’Doul reaches into the bottom cabinet behind his desk and pulls out a bottle of bourbon and two glasses. He splashes the bourbon into each glass, then hands me one. “I’ve got to give it to you, Kingston. You put your money where your mouth is. I think we’ve got ourselves a team.”
I raise my glass to his. “Good.” An idea begins to form, a way to keep the positive momentum going. “I’d like to host a team event at my house to kick off the season. These guys don’t know me. They don’t know what to expect. I’d like to show them what kind of team culture I grew up with and the kind of family I want them to feel like they’re a part of.”
“Wives and kids too, or just the guys?” O’Doul eyes me warily, like he’s not sure what to think.
“Wives and kids. The Revolution is part of the King Corp. family, and that includes everyone.”
O’Doul seems satisfied as he sips his bourbon. “When?”
Considering the idea just came to me, I don’t exactly have a date planned out. “How about the Saturday after preseason practice starts? That gives me a few more weeks to get it together and doesn’t interfere with the Start A Revolution event in two weeks.”
“Have you found Daphne’s replacement yet? She’s been pulling double duty for a few weeks now.” As much as I wish we had, so I could have her transition to her new position, we’ve been interviewing for days and haven’t seen anyone who she and I both feel could fill her role as my assistant.
“Not yet. But I think we have a few more interviews lined up for tomorrow and Friday.”
His shoulders relax as he leans back in his chair. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but hear me out on this before you say no. My daughter, Quinn, just moved back home from Boston. She finished her first year of law school, came home in May, and told me she doesn’t want to be a lawyer anymore.” He raises his eyes to the ceiling in apparent frustration, grumbling, “so that’s seventy grand I’ll never get back,” before looking at me. “She has no idea what she wants to do with her life, but she can’t sit on her damn ass for the rest of it. She’s a hard worker. Incredibly capable. And she’s basically run my life and her sister’s lives for years. Plus, she knows the organization.”
I really fucking hope I’m not going to regret this. “Have her be here tomorrow at nine. I’ll talk to her. I can’t promise more than that.”
“Thanks, Max.” Apparently, all it takes to get the old bastard to call me by my first name is to hire his daughter.
I step out of O’Doul’s office, having no idea how long that meeting lasted.
Feels like a lifetime.
When I stop by Daphne’s desk, she’s staring down at the screen of her phone, clearly distracted. I knock my knuckles gently against the corner of the desk to get her attention and watch her mask the look of concern that was there just a moment ago, wanting more than anything to ask her if she’s okay.
To find out what’s been bothering her for the past few days.
But I don’t have that right.
I’m her boss. Nothing more.
So I settle for shop talk instead. “Do you think you could help me plan a season kick-off party at my house?”
“Of course, Mr. Kingston.” She bats those damn long lashes at me, and my dick jerks as I picture her doing that spread out beneath me. My sexy bombshell is dressed like a naughty librarian today. Her hair is piled high on top of her head, and a starched, white-tailored shirt is tucked into a curve-hugging black pencil skirt with a bright red belt accentuating her tiny waist and drawing my attention to curves I haven’t felt in days, which my fingers ache to touch.
But that can’t happen here.
She’s been distant since Sunday. But we’ve been busy, and I’m trying to keep it professional between these walls. “Anything else?”
I plant my hand down on her open notebook and lean in a little too close. “We’re back to Mr. Kingston?”
