Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
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.
“I slept with Ford Barrett last night,” I confessed.
She smiled, her whole face lighting up. “Good for you! He’s hot.”
“True, but…I’m feeling guilty over saying we weren’t involved at the meeting a few days ago. And I’m conflicted over whether I should write a column on the proposed arena deal.”
Carly pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. “Was last night the first time?”
I nodded.
“Well then, you were telling the truth last week.”
“I was, but”
She cut me off. “Elle, are you a Coyotes superfan now who wants to sing the praises of a new arena?”
I balked. “No, absolutely not.”
“So these are your options—write about your opposition to the arena or write nothing about it?”
“Right.”
“I don’t see an issue. You’ve already written about it, so if you want to do so again, that’s your call. And if you don’t want to do so, that’s also your call. The beauty of being an opinion columnist is that you get to choose.”
I furrowed my brow, thinking about what she’d said.
“So if I decided not to write about it, you wouldn’t think I was being biased?”
She shook her head. “Our news department has to remain unbiased, but you do not. And you’re human, Elle. So you’re involved with a Coyotes player. It doesn’t seem to have changed your views on the sport.”
“It hasn’t.”
“I have to get to a meeting with Brett,” she said, standing. “Stop beating yourself up. Write about it, don’t write about it. Just go with what feels right to you.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Carly.”
“Anytime.”
She left my office and I felt a little bit lighter now that I had more clarity. I put on my reading glasses, opened a new document on my computer, and started writing.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ford
“No skin in the game? Is she out of her fucking mind? Does she have any idea what I spend on operations?”
Mila glared at me from the head of the conference table, because even though there were seven people in this meeting and even though those were rhetorical questions, she expected me to answer them.
“Which question do you want me to ask her?” I asked evenly.
Her eyes widened and she stood up. She slammed her fist on the table several times, the pens on the table moving just slightly.
There was no way those punches hadn’t hurt her hand, but she didn’t let it show.
“Whose team are you on, Ford?” Mila demanded.
I was about to answer when Jack Carruthers, the public relations guru Mila had just hired, spoke up instead.
“Ms. Pavlova, let’s focus on the actionable items”
She turned her sharp gaze on him. “Jack, I’m paying you a hell of a lot of money to just sit there. So just sit there. I need to know why my own team captain is having a personal relationship with a journalist who hates our team.”
Coach Maddox exhaled through his nose, probably feeling caught between a rock and a hard place. I wasn’t conflicted at all, though.
“What’s between me and Elle is none of your business,” I said. “You don’t own me just because I signed a contract to play on your team.”
Mila threw her arms in the air and walked over to the door, putting her head down and taking a second to gather herself. That was uncharacteristic; usually she just exploded with no regard for the consequences.