by Anna Albo
“I’m not sure they’re going to trust me.”
“They will. You’re a bright woman with a lot of great ideas. I didn’t pay for that Ivy League education for nothing.” He patted her hand. “I know they stuffed you where they think they don’t have to worry about you, but I know you’ll be fine. And if I think I need to step in, I will. Inconspicuously, of course.”
He was a crusty old fart, but she loved him. “I should get to work. My colleague of one and I have a meeting in ten minutes in my office overlooking the Zamboni machines. I’ll see you later.”
She gave him a peck on the cheek and made her way through the stands to the empty lobby. All the vendors were slowly setting up for the season, and kiosks were being filled with Falcons memorabilia, most of which she doubted would ever be sold. While the Falcons managed to attract a crowd of ten to twelve thousand a night, the twenty-thousand-seat Stewart Center looked deserted most games. A sad commentary on a once great team.
She nodded to workers furiously setting up. With the first game of the season only days away, much had to be done, but nothing she needed to worry about. She scanned her key card and a door opened that led to the Falcons’ main offices. She shared one with Kyle McKay, in the farthest reaches of the arena next to the copy and supply room. Kyle was a part-time charity liaison and the full-time head of security. The correlation escaped her.
She found Kyle behind the desk they shared, his hulking presence taking up half the room. He was far more suited to security than charity. Her first day she’d spent catching up with him and realizing quickly how out of his element he was. Asking him to coordinate and schedule security guards at all entrances and exits was one thing he did well, organizing charity functions or coming up with fresh ideas for a fashion show was not his forte. His job as team charity liaison was basically to go along with anything the wives and girlfriends came up with in their committee meetings, and, sadly, that hadn’t been much.
“Good morning, Kyle.”
“Hello, Allie. You want the desk? I don’t need it.”
“No, I’m fine pulling up a chair.” And she did just that, taking her tablet from her messenger bag and setting it up on the few inches available. “I thought we could go over what events were held last year, how successful they were and how much money was raised. If we have time, perhaps we could look at what’s planned this year, budgets, expected revenues, etcetera.”
Kyle’s deep-set green eyes stared at her like she’d landed from another planet. “Sure, okay.” His voice lacked all confidence. He fiddled with his pen and a sheepish grin crossed his face. “I feel like I owe you the truth. You see, I don’t have much to do with the charity part of the team. Tiffani, Baker’s wife, usually does everything. She’s a bit bossy, so I let her do whatever she wants.”
Allie leaned back in her chair, nibbling on the end of her pen. “What does Tiffani have planned this year?”
“The same old. The big fancy gala, the wives’ carnival, some hospital visits, that’s all I can remember. Basically, I show up to the meetings and do what I’m told.”
She pulled up some notes on her tablet. “Last year they raised a little over ten thousand dollars.”
His eyes lit up. “That sounds pretty awesome.”
Allie crinkled her nose. “Kyle, on average, other teams raise hundreds of thousands of dollars for charity. We raised ten. I looked over our expenses and I can’t believe we managed to raise even that. We went over budget on everything. This gala, the one I keep hearing about, operated at a loss.”
A glazed expression passed over his face.
“They lost money on the gala,” she said, using a more direct approach. “They spent more on decorations and bobbles than they brought in with ticket sales.”
Recognition washed over him. “Oh, that’s not good.”
“It’s terrible.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means this fancy BS gala better go under budget and find ways to create revenue, or it’s scrapped.”
Of course, Allie didn’t think she had the power to nix anything, but Kyle didn’t know that, and she wasn’t about to tell him either.
His mouth opened ajar and he quickly closed it. “Tiffani is going to be pissed.”
“I don’t care.”
Kyle’s eyes bugged out. “You haven’t been to one of these committee meetings. The women are vicious.”
Was Kyle scared of them? Allie couldn’t believe it. “I still don’t care. We’re trying to raise money, not have events for them to wear their fancy dresses to. When is the next meeting with this quasi-committee?”
Kyle pursed his lips as fear began to set in. Allie saw it and knew she needed to dial back her frustration. “Next week, right before the start of the season,” he said.
“Who’s the player rep?”
“It’s Will Cavallo, but he’s never shown up to a meeting.”
The name tweaked instantly. “What’s Cavallo like?”
“Okay, I guess. He doesn’t get involved much but attends every event. He’s like me and does whatever they tell him to.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Not well. I see him at Falcon functions, but that’s it. The players don’t exactly hang out with me.”
Dejection hummed in his voice. Allie hated that the players didn’t socialize with the Falcon staff more. From what she’d seen, they made it a point to ignore them entirely. Her first day on the job she’d gone down to watch training camp, and the veteran players threw gloves and other gear to the equipment staff like they didn’t deserve to breathe the same air. Another time Kyle was with her and he’d said hello to a few of the players, and one looked at him like Kyle had picked his nose and wanted to show everybody.
“Do you think he’d get more involved?” Allie asked.
“I have no idea.”
“How do I get in touch with him?”
“You’ll have to talk to Dwayne in HR. He’ll make you fill out a request and from there it goes to Cavallo and if Cavallo is okay with it, Dwayne will give you his contact information.”
She gave him a blank stare. “Are you kidding me?”
Kyle bit down on his lip. “They take player privacy very seriously.” Even Kyle knew how ridiculous it all sounded.
“How do we schedule committee meetings? How does Cavallo find out? Do we have to go through Dwayne? Or do we have a carrier pigeon do it? We could tie a little note to its foot and send it down to the rink during practice.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Does Cavallo even know about the next meeting? Maybe that’s why he never shows up.”
“Tiffani sends out the announcements. I’m sure she has his contact info.”
Allie stared at the behemoth in front of her. She expected Kyle to be like all the other men in the Falcons organization and dismiss her, but he was different. When it came to the foundation, he was out of his element, but he treated her with respect and she trusted him. He talked to her, which was the most important detail of all. “I’m going to get that information from her before the next meeting.”
“You better clear that with Dwayne.”
“I’ll make sure to do that. Until then, this is how it’s going to be,” she said. “I’m going to work on this, come up with ideas and ways to revamp what already exists. Your job is to follow my lead and go along with it. How does that sound?”
“A bit scary, but I’ll do it.”
“I’ll make contact with Cavallo. I’m sure he’ll be at the mixer on Friday. What’s this thing all about anyway?”
“It’s a meet and greet. It’s supposed to be a casual thing for the players and management. It lasts an hour then everyone buggers off.”
“Sounds exciting,” Allie said sarcastically. “Once I talk to Cavallo, hopefully I can sway him to come to meetings. And possibly get his email address without going through Dwayne and his imaginary force field.”
Kyle laughed, slamming his fist on the des
k. Allie’s tablet fell from its perched position. “Oops, sorry.”
“No problem,” she said, putting it back in her messenger bag. “We’ll talk Monday and compare notes.”
“Hey, Allie?” he said before she left.
“Yeah.”
“It’s really nice working with you. It’s nice having someone around to talk to. And you’re nice and funny.”
She smiled. He was an oaf, but he was her oaf.
ALLIE GOT HOME, CHANGED into her comfiest yoga pants and collapsed on the sofa. She took her phone and called Cate. She answered on the third ring.
“Well, hello there, Puck Bunny.”
“Please, don’t ever call me that again,” Allie said, massaging her sore neck muscles. She’d been spending too much time hunched over her computer and tablet.
“Are the guys hot?”
“I haven’t met any of them yet. I watched them practice today. Does that count?”
“No. Sounds boring. How’s the job?”
“I’m up against a bunch of women who like to throw parties and have the Falcons pay for it. I can’t have the contact information of the player rep on my committee unless I fill out a form. Did I mention that that player has to approve the request? As for Eddie, he has no clue how badly managed his team is and doesn’t understand why they aren’t in first place on a shoestring budget. Did I mention the sandwiches? Forget I mentioned the sandwiches. Other than that, it’s grand.”
“Ugh. Sounds brutal.”
“There’s some sort of wine and cheese function Friday, so I’ll get to meet the player rep. I assume I won’t have to fill out a form to talk to him. The worst part? He sounds about as interested in the venture as a kid is with a bowl full of broccoli. But forget about me. How are you? How are the wedding plans?”
“Going slowly. It’s hard to plan a wedding from New York when you’re getting married in Toronto. Andy is a typical man so he’s completely disinterested. I’m starting to wonder if we should downsize the whole thing. I’m not the type of person to go for all that fancy shit. When I see you over Christmas, you have to help me pick out a dress. The thought of dress shopping, or any shopping for that matter, makes me want to throw up.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you. Not so much of the vomit and dress shopping.”
“I liked it better when we were living together, going to school and dreaming of grandeur. Now I’m on one coast and you’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“St. Paul is quaint. Besides, Skype is like being together.”
“I beg to differ. How do you share a pail of ice cream through Skype?”
“I guess you don’t.”
“Are you going to travel with the team? Then you can come visit.”
“I’m pretty sure the nobodies like me don’t get to travel anywhere except to and from work.”
A silence followed. “You sure this is what you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Eddie begged me to join his company, and he’s been so successful, I just didn’t realize he’d stick me with the Falcons. And then I think, where else would he put me? I don’t want to work with Gwen or Roger, so this was the only option.”
“If you don’t like it there, promise me you’ll walk away. I know you feel loyalty to him, but don’t waste your life wallowing in that shithole job.”
“I don’t want to write it off yet.”
“I hate to cut this short, but I have some briefs to work on. We’ll talk tomorrow. Speaking of briefs, send me pics of the hot guys. Preferably shirtless and in their briefs.”
“Aren’t you getting married next summer?”
“Can’t I enjoy men in their skivvies?”
Allie rolled her eyes. “Enough talk about underwear. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Coming Soon
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About the Author
Anna Albo was born and raised in Winnipeg, Manitoba. She’s a prairie girl who loves the city.
From new adult to chick lit and everything in between, Anna writes contemporary romance and women’s fiction that makes people laugh and love.
She received an Advanced Degree in Political Studies from the University of Manitoba and the knowledge she gained there creeps up in her books along with the occasional historical reference. She is a history buff.
When Anna isn’t writing her latest book, she’s enjoying a cup of tea while attempting to create a culinary masterpiece.
She lives in Winnipeg with her partner Mike, their dog Rocco as well as their cats Joseph and Summer.
To get updates and information on new releases, visit her website at www.annaalbo.com and sign up for my newletter
Read more at Anna Albo’s site.