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“Sorry,” he said. “Lost track of time.”
“Let’s get started,” Brett said. “The top story for tomorrow is Lisa’s reporting on the package the mayor and the Coyotes ownership are proposing to the city council next Tuesday.”
“What are they asking for?” Clark asked.
The city hall reporter, Lisa Dennis, looked down at a notebook. “Full funding of construction through the sale of bonds and tax increment financing for infrastructure.”
Mark Shipman, the city editor, scoffed. “Are they going to ask the council members to lace up some skates and play hockey, too?”
“You know how it works,” Carly said. “They’re probably aiming high as a basis for opening negotiations.”
“What about the insurance?” Brett asked. “Shouldn’t the insurance settlement cover part of the construction cost.”
“The settlement is still pending because the investigation hasn’t been closed,” Lisa said.
“Make sure you ask what happens when the insurance money comes in,” Brett said. “Does it go toward construction debt owed by the city or does it go in Mila Pavlova’s pocket?”
I leaned back, the back of my head touching the conference room wall. This was what I’d been waiting for. The formal proposal of a deal for a new arena. Now I needed to write a column blasting the Coyotes, and the mayor, for asking taxpayers to fund it.
My position since the arena explosion had been consistent—a sport that caused brain trauma shouldn’t be considered entertainment. I’d seen firsthand what many years of hockey could do to a person.
But…
“You’re goddamn sexy.”
I crossed my legs, Ford’s words still echoing in my head.
Sleeping with him hadn’t changed my mind about hockey. But I wasn’t feeling as vocal about my opposition anymore. Ford was a really good man who made me feel things I’d never felt before. I didn’t want to lose that.
I went back and forth with myself as the budget meeting continued, making a mental pro/con list about writing a new column on the arena.
Pro: It was what I would have done if I’d never moved in next to Ford and gotten to know him.
Con: Ford would be disappointed.
I sighed, exasperated. How was I supposed to decide when I had one pro and one con?
I left the budget meeting as soon as it was over, going back to my office to think about the column some more. After about five minutes, Carly walked in.
“Got a minute?” she asked.
“Yeah, of course.”
She came in and sat down across from my desk. “You went from giddy to sullen in the budget meeting. What happened?”
“Oh, it’s just something I have to work out in my head,” I said.
She turned solemn. “Has Clark done or said something inappropriate?”
“What? No.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “He hasn’t exactly made a secret about his feelings for you, and I thought maybe he was coming on too strong.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not that.”
“Anything I can help with?”
I liked Carly, and I trusted her. Last year she’d opened up to me about problems she and her husband were having. She was uniquely qualified to help me figure out what to do, but it was also scary to admit something to my direct supervisor that would be seen as a conflict of interest.
