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“It’s not a problem,” I said, uncomfortable with her praise. “Promise me it’ll stay anonymous.”
“I promise. You have my word.”
“Okay, I have to go. My accountant’s name is Liz McCoy. I’ll have her reach out.”
“I’ll be expecting her call.”
I wanted to say more. To tell her that she’d moved me to drop more than a hundred grand with her writing talent and I was awed by that. I couldn’t, though. Not while I was surrounded by my teammates.
“I’ll see you around,” I said instead.
“Okay.”
I’d ask my teammates later to kick in for the donation, and I’d cover everything they didn’t.
Elle’s column and our phone call had accomplished what I thought was impossible—I’d gotten my mind off of tonight’s game. For a few minutes, anyway.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Elle
“Is that…theSportssection?”
My boss Carly Zimmerman, theChronicle’sopinion editor, knew me well. I normally had strong aversions to tomatoes, movies with Ben Affleck, and all things sports.
All three were disgusting to me. I’d never forgive Ben for what he did to Jennifer Garner. But this morning, I had checked the sports section to find out if Ford and his team had won their game last night.
They had, and I’d actually been…relieved? Pleased? I already thought Ford Barrett was dead sexy, but his offer to pay for the prosthetic leg of the boy I’d written about had made it clear there was a lot more to Ford than a pretty face. And a killer body.
“I wanted to see if the Coyotes won,” I said with a shrug. “Did I tell you my next-door neighbor at my new apartment complex is their team captain?”
Carly’s jaw dropped as she sat down in front of my desk. “Really? What’s that like? Does he party at all hours?”
“No, he’s actually really quiet. He isn’t home very much.”
My boss arched a brow. “I guess there’s no chance the two of you will become friends, given the columns you’ve written about the team.”
“Right,” I said, feeling a small stab of regret.
I stood by my views about the dangers of hockey, but I also wondered what it would be like to gaze adoringly at Ford and silently green-light his seduction of me.
“Speaking of your columns about the Coyotes, have you gotten any more threatening emails?”
“No.”
Carly gave me a long, questioning look. “You’d tell me if you had, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, but honestly, I haven’t. It’s been a while since I wrote my last column about the team. That guy probably thinks he scared me into submission.”
Several months ago, after theChroniclepublished a couple of my columns about the Coyotes and the new arena their owner wanted to build, I’d gotten a few emails from someone who told me he wanted to beat me to death with a hockey stick. Hate mail was part of the territory for an opinion columnist, but the writer of those emails had seemed unhinged. I’d shown them to Carly, who showed them to theChronicle’smanaging editor, and the two of them had contacted the police.
They hadn’t been able to find the sender of the emails, but Carly told me she wanted to know if I got any more.
That was part of the downside of being from such a high-profile family. We never discussed it, but when I was a kid, my grandma was kidnapped and held for ransom. My grandpa had paid for her return and the police had traced the bank account of the kidnappers and arrested them.
My apartment lease was in the name of my grandparents’ company. They were the ones who had insisted I move somewhere with security. I tried to keep a low profile, but since my name and picture appeared in the local newspaper with my columns twice a week, it was low-ish at best.
“I need you to cover for me at an event next week,” Carly said.
