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He shrugs and gestures at Max who grabs a fresh one from the pile and throws it over. Goran catches it easily, but the movement makes him… ah… swing in this woman’s direction.
She lets out another scream.
I put my hand on my face and groan internally. “Goran, move. Go take a shower or something.”
“I just did.”
“Then get dressed.” I widen my eyes at him. He takes the hint and moves away.
I walk over to the woman who’s trying to stand up and gently put my hand on her shoulder. “Is anything broken?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“Did you bang your head when you fell?” I ask. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had a concussion, but it’s no laughing matter.
“No. Just my cheek.” Her voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I thought this room would be empty.” She runs her tongue along her bottom lip. “I was just looking around.”
“Okay, whose are you?” I ask her.
She blinks. She has really long eyelashes. “Whose?” she repeats.
“Whose girlfriend?” Or one night stand. We’ve seen them all. I’ve chased more than my fair share of women out of the locker room.
“Nobody’s.” She frowns. “I’m single.”
Well okay then. I look at her face again. She looks familiar but I can’t place it. “An ex?” I ask because that’s even more trouble than a current partner.
She pulls her hand away from her cheek. It’s bright red. I’m pretty sure there’ll be a sweet bruise there by morning. If she’s an ex that could be an issue, because the local press will take that kind of shit and run with it.
And here’s the thing about AHL teams. We don’t have a PR rep like the NHL teams do. Wayne is it. He deals with the press. They love him.
But he’s not here.
She finally stands. I reach out to steady her arm, but she pulls it away from me. Whatever. I’m not going to fight her.
“Is she a stalker?” Max calls out. “We should check her phone.”
“I’m not a stalker,” she mutters. “And I’m not giving you my phone.” Her eyes catch mine. They’re hazel with green flecks and for a moment I’m kind of taken with them.
Until she talks again.
“I’m a management consultant,” she says, her unusually pretty eyes not quite focused. “And I’m here to turn this team around.”
CHAPTERTWO
MACKENZIE
One week earlier…
My phone won’t stop vibrating. It’s getting stupid now, buzzing every few seconds. There are ten missed calls – thanks, Mom and Dad – plus a hundred messages on the family group chat. I slide it under my behind on the chair to stop the alerts from filling the air because my boss is giving a speech and the last thing I need is to bring attention to myself.
Or the wrong kind of attention, anyway.
“Three years of hard work,” Mark says, a grin splitting his lips. And so it should. My boss’ closing bonus for actually finishing this project and handing over a profitable business to our corporate clients will probably pay for a private jet or two. “Three years of sacrificing family life, of missing school plays and parent evenings, of telling our friends that, no, we can’t attend their wedding to the love of their lives. And here we are, older and wiser, and we can say one thing to ourselves.” He takes a pause, lifts his glass to his lips and looks out at us.
We hang on his words. Possibly because we have no idea what to do next. Sure, we’ll be assigned to other projects. Some of us will get promotions, others might take a break, actually go to those school shows.
As for me, I just want to sleep for the next hundred years.
