Читать книгу Playing To Win - Taryn Taylor Leigh - Страница 11

3

“LUKE! HOW DID it go? I was just going to stop in and get a behind-the-scenes peek at the interviews.”

Luke pulled up short at the familiar booming voice. You didn’t stalk past Ron Lougheed, general manager of the Portland Storm, no matter how frustrated you might be. Besides, this was the perfect opportunity to bring up his concerns.

“Yeah, about that, sir... As team captain, it’s my job to make sure that my guys are centered, that hockey is the top priority. We’ve been through a lot this season and now it seems we’re finally gelling at the right time. I’m worried that Holly Evans is a distraction we can’t afford right now.”

“Nonsense! Holly Evans and her delightful brand of infotainment is exactly what the franchise needs in order to make some headway into the hearts and minds of hockey fans.”

Ron Lougheed was a heavyset giant of a man and despite his gregarious demeanor, everyone in the hockey world knew that when he made up his mind, there was no changing it.

Still, Luke had to try. “But sir, our time is better spent if we—”

“Let me tell you a little something about the business of hockey, Mr. Maguire. For the last five years, our merchandising and ticket sales have consistently ranked in the bottom third of the league’s teams. Since we made the play-offs, we’ve seen a fifteen percent jump in merchandise revenue and we’ve almost sold out tonight’s game. That’s after one post-season game. We need to ride this wave, and the Women’s Hockey Network is helping us do that. That clip of you walking away from her the other night has half a million likes. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but it’s good.”

Luke nodded. Shut his mouth. Braced for impact.

“I trust I don’t need to tell you how eager we are to see results in the postseason?”

“No, sir.”

“Excellent. Now, what were you saying about concerns?”

A headshake was the best Luke could muster. “Nothing, sir. Nothing at all.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m looking forward to watching your interview footage from this morning. After all, a captain sets the tone for his team, and I know I picked the right man to keep these boys on track. And put a couple of pucks in the net, while you’re at it. Understood?”

“Perfectly.”

Ten minutes of fuming and a chicken and pasta lunch later, Luke was back in front of the doors emblazoned with the stylized cresting wave of the team’s logo. The doors burst open just as he reached for them, but instead of revealing his sexy, skirt-suited nemesis, he came face-to-face with the rookie.

“Dude, you up next?”

“Yeah.” He glanced over the kid’s shoulder, but the doors swooped shut before he could catch even a glimpse of teal. “Yeah, I’m up next.”

“Cool. Word of advice? If you stand close enough during the part where she’s on-screen with you, you can see all the way down her shirt.”

When his tip failed to elicit any reaction from Luke, Sillinger’s cocky grin faded. “Look, Cap, I want to apologize for what I said after the game the other day. Cubs explained why you’re so tense and everything.”

The kid glanced away as he said it, so he missed Luke’s look of surprise at the mention of Eric Jacobs, or Cubs, as everyone on the team referred to him. “Exactly what did he tell you?”

“Oh, you know. All the pressure you’re under from the higher-ups. And dealing with the media. And about your shot being off and stuff.”

Luke exhaled. He should have known Jacobs would have picked up on all of Luke’s behind-the-scenes crap. The guy was eerily intuitive—it was what made him so great out there on the ice.

“Um, you ever consider that maybe your shot’s off because, um...” The kid leaned conspiratorially close and murmured, “I’m just sayin’, maybe it would help if you changed the oil.”

Luke stared blankly at the right-winger. He didn’t like where this conversation was going, mostly because he’d been thinking about it a lot since he’d watched that damn video last night. Holly Evans was beautiful, and she’d made him think about something other than hockey for the first time in a long while. And she could certainly get him riled up. Not to mention she didn’t give a damn about hockey. All things he found way too appealing at this very moment.

“Sometimes things get rusty when the pipe’s not clean, you understand? I mean, how long’s it been, man? In my experience, a good lube job can really help work out the kinks. And lucky for you, right through that door is a smoking-hot woman who told the entire internet that she considers you a certified Grade-A cut of beef. Plus, when I made my move, she told me she’s looking for a guy with more maturity. That’s your in, dude! She totally wants someone old. You should hit that.”

Luke was pretty sure he’d never felt more ancient than he did having this particular conversation and he was only twenty-six. “Thanks for the advice, rookie.”

“Hey, no problem, Cap. I got your back.” Brett glanced at the door to the interview room. “You need a wingman in there, or you good?”

“I think I got it,” Luke assured him.

Their conversation was interrupted by the infamous “Charge” anthem, a staple of sporting events everywhere. The rookie yanked his phone out of his back pocket. He glanced at the screen and grinned like he was on the cover of Hockey Digest. “Yes! It’s the car dealership. You are not even going to believe the sweet ride I just bought!”

He was bouncing up and down like a Chihuahua that was about to pee on the floor. “The guys won’t be able to give me a hard time about my wheels anymore. I gotta take this, Cap. Good luck in there.”

Luke waited until Brett disappeared around the corner before he stepped inside for his mandated face-off with Holly Evans, intrepid reporter.

* * *

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME, Jay? You took Salt Lake City over Vancouver in the first round? That’s ridiculous. No wonder you always lose your hockey pool. I mean honestly. I expected better of you. Vancouver clearly has the edge and—Luke!” Holly bolted off the interview stool.

She hadn’t been expecting him.

Like the rest of the team, he was wearing the navy T-shirt that mimicked his jersey, with the cresting wave on the front and his last name and number on the back. His T-shirt even had a white C on the front.

But unlike the rest of the team, the sight of Luke in his T-shirt and jeans did funny things to her hormones. Seriously, is it hot in here?

“I thought you were...not coming back...ever. How long have you been there?”

“Not long,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he sauntered farther into the room. His cocked eyebrow and smug half grin said otherwise. Holly worried that her attempt to appear innocent was failing miserably, because her thoughts were anything but G-rated.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“You know,” she said, so brightly that she could have sworn he squinted a little. “This and that.”

Luke nodded, glancing over at Jay, who avoided meeting his gaze. “Sounded like hockey talk to me.”

“What? No.”

“Yes,” he countered, matching her wide-eyed tone. “It really did. I’m a bit of an expert on the subject. Salt Lake City, Vancouver, first round. Definite hockey talk.”

Luke had already nailed the fact that she was using this job to angle for a promotion. If she confirmed it by dropping the shtick, he could have her fired before she even got started. The best way to reassure him that she was harmless was to be harmless.

Holly’s laugh was both forced and slightly manic as she shooed his words away with the dainty flick of her hand. “Oh, that. I was just telling Jay about...uh—” Think, Holly. Think! “—the numerology class I took.” She nodded, warming to the story. “Yeah, really interesting stuff. I was explaining how it can help you make decisions about important things. Like which handbag to buy. Or in Jay’s case, he’s doing some hockey thing with his friends and I was showing him how he could use it to pick teams.”

“Cool. I’d love to see how it works.” He raised an eyebrow to punctuate the challenge, and she couldn’t quite hold back her frown. But she’d come this far. Might as well go all-in.

Holly could almost swear she saw something like respect in his blue eyes as she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.

“Uh, yeah. I just added up the letters in Vancouver—A is one, B is two and so on, your typical cipher—and then you take whatever the sum is, add those numbers together if it’s more than a single digit and you have it. And in this case, it was equal to nine. Jay’s birthday is September ninth, so obviously Vancouver is the luckier team for him.”

Luke smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So it has nothing to do with the fact that Vancouver is a team with enough depth and experience that it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion that they’ll knock Salt Lake out of the first round?”

Holly shrugged. “What can I say? The numbers don’t lie.”

“Sorry to interrupt...whatever this is, but I gotta use the can,” Jay announced. “Down the hall and to the left?” he confirmed, and Luke nodded. The members of the Portland Storm were so superstitious that she and Jay had been asked to trek all the way to the building’s public washrooms because no one but the team was allowed in the dressing-room bathroom on game day.

The two of them watched Jay leave, and she used the silence to regroup. She felt much more formidable when her adversary’s baby blues swung back in her direction.

Until he said, “What is your game?”

“Game?”

His laugh was derisive, but kind of sexy for all that. “You’re not fooling anyone. I know something’s up with you and I intend to figure out what it is.”

Oh great. That was all she needed, this handsome bastard messing up the most real-life, on-camera experience on her résumé. She might not like this job, but it was good experience, and she certainly wasn’t going to lose it by making him suspicious on the second day.

“Up to something?” She placed a hand on her chest like a Southern belle. “Me?”

His parry was a narrowing of his pretty blue eyes. “Something has been bugging me about your act since the moment we met.”

“Oh, you mean that time you were so unchivalrous as to walk away from me without answering my question?”

“So I asked myself,” he continued, without missing a beat, “why would someone who disliked sports so much that she asked about beards instead of the game bother to make a fake sports show? And the only answer I could come up with was, she wouldn’t. The way I see it, you have your own agenda, and it’s not going to do any of the members of this team any good.”

Holly shook her head, eyes wide like an ingenue. “I don’t know what you mean. The Women’s Hockey Network is all about asking the kinds of questions we girls find important, such as what kind of cologne do you wear?”

He smelled so good she was actually a little curious.

“Oh, really? You’re gonna keep up the act?”

Luke stepped closer. His big body sucked up all the oxygen, and her breath came faster to compensate. Who knew having a man accuse you of being smart was such a turn-on?

“That’s the only question you want to ask me? I’ll give you a free pass, on the record. Ask me anything. No holds barred. Nothing’s off-limits. And I guarantee you a real answer. I promise not to say ‘no comment.’”

Holly’s hand clenched into a fist.

Any question. On the record. The reporting equivalent to winning the lottery.

She could ask about his brother’s accident. Be the only reporter ever to get a statement on the one topic that was off-limits when interviewing Luke Maguire. Hear in his own words how it felt to be back in the play-offs for the first time since tragedy struck.

And she wanted to. She wanted to ask more than she wanted her next breath. But she wasn’t supposed to know anything about hockey, so she restrained herself. Because if she took the bait, she would confirm that when given the opportunity, she’d put her ambition before the team. And she’d be done here. He could not only get her fired, but ruin her career. She had to keep her eye on the prize. She had to believe that one day, she would earn that story from him on her own merit, not as blackmail, and it would be worth the wait.

So she did what was best for her career and took a deep, centering breath. Man, he really does smell amazing. “Seriously, is that the new Hugo Boss fragrance?”

He narrowed his eyes and the crease between his brows deepened. It made him look even sexier, if that was possible.

“I’ve got my eye on you, Evans.”

Not exactly the part of him she wanted on her just then, but probably the safest of the available options.

“I’m going to figure out what you’re doing here and I’m going to expose you.”

Geez. Everything sounded sexual when he was standing this close. She upped the ante and took a half step closer to him—she definitely wasn’t going to let him intimidate her in this sexy game of cat and mouse they’d embarked on. If he thought she was going to let him be the cat, he was so very wrong. She’d been holding her own in a man’s world for a long time.

“You can try, but there’s nothing to expose. What you see is what you get.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that, Ms. Evans. The truth is hiding somewhere behind that big hair and tiny suit.”

“Look at me, Mr. Maguire. You honestly think there’s room to hide anything under this suit?”

Her breath stuttered at the sudden fierceness in his eyes, the predatory gleam that pinned her in place. Were their lips getting closer because he was leaning in, or had she swayed toward him?

She was drawn to his body, hard as iron and just as magnetic. Her fingers brushed his biceps as his hands made first contact with her waist. She didn’t want to stop looking at him, but her eyelids grew heavy as their breaths comingled and his lips moved closer, closer still...

“Okay, I’m back. What’d I miss?”

“Nothing!” Holly and Luke sprang apart at Jay’s intrusion. Her heart thumped with a cocktail that was one part adrenaline and two parts unassuaged lust. She tugged at the bottom of her blazer, sneaking a quick glance in Luke’s direction. He exhaled and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

Guilty. They looked as guilty as a couple of teenagers who’d been caught making out. Which they probably would have ended up doing if not for Jay’s poor timing.

“Geez, Jay. You’ve been gone long enough. Let’s get this interview going, shall we?” Her hand went to her hair—a classic Holly-ism that gave away her nerves. Good thing Luke didn’t know that, she decided, dropping her hand. Luke lifted an eyebrow and Holly was sure she was blushing. Damn it.

“My pleasure,” Luke said.

Jay, however, was not fooled in the least, and the look he shot her said she owed him an explanation. She waved him behind the camera and directed Luke back to the stool where their interview earlier had gone so wrong.

This one went a lot better. She had to hand it to him—he was as consummate a professional off the ice as he was on it. Charming, funny, quick with a witty answer. No one who saw this footage would dream for a minute that he believed her to be a threat to the team. In fact, the only question that tripped him up was “Do you have a secret talent?” She could have sworn he blushed a little before he stammered some nonsense about speaking a little French.

Then she sent him off to shoot some B-roll with Jay, which involved posing and puck tricks in the hallway.

For the first time all day, she was alone in the Storm’s dressing room with a microphone in her hand. It was a pretty surreal experience, both as a hockey fan and as an aspiring sports reporter.

She’d watched it on television all her life, a reporter interviewing some member of the team or other, a bunch of bare-chested, sweaty-haired men talking about a big win or a battle-weary loss. The locker room looked different now, empty and quiet, all the jerseys clean and hanging number-side out, equipment neatly arranged on the shelves above each player’s designated spot. Holly tried to just enjoy the moment, but her stupid heels were pinching her feet, reminding her that she was only living a fun-house version of her dream. But one day, she vowed. One day she’d be here, wearing pants and asking serious, in-depth questions.

And then Luke Maguire wouldn’t be the only guy on the team who suspected that she was an expert on this stuff. Everyone on the roster would know she could hold her own.

She set the mic on the stool Luke had sat on for part of their interview and headed for the forbidden bathroom. Jay and Luke would be occupied with filming for at least five minutes. What harm would it do to sneak a peek?

It contained all the typical male bathroom accoutrements—urinals, stalls and a ginormous gang shower. But it was elevated to luxe standards by the details: gleaming navy and white tiles, stainless steel fixtures and enough accents of Portland Storm teal thrown in to pull it all together. Calculatedly masculine and very go, team, go!

Bracing a hand on either side of the sink, she stared into the mirror. She barely recognized herself. Gone were the usual blond ponytail and unadorned brown eyes. No T-shirt and jeans. She flexed her feet against the stiff leather of her heels—definitely no sneakers.

She wanted to splash some water on her face to assure herself the reflection in the mirror was just a mirage. But the sad reality was that the made-up, well-coiffed woman who was staring back at her now was the version of herself that had scored the biggest deal on her résumé by far.

This was the Holly Evans that was being invited to appear on local morning talk shows and well-respected podcasts. Hell, she’d even gotten a call about turning the Women’s Hockey Network into a weekly comedy-sports show on satellite radio. And if fancy suits and a little lipstick were what it took to fulfill her dream of being a sports reporter, then it was a small price to pay. Right?

Holly sighed. This was who she was now, at least for the duration of the Storm’s play-off run, and a splash of water wasn’t going to change that. Besides, Paige had done such a lovely job with the goop on her face that she didn’t dare. She settled for another sigh and tugged a few stray pieces of hair back into place before she headed for one of the navy stalls.

“Whatever it takes,” she muttered to herself.

She’d just locked the stall door when the sound of footsteps made her freeze.