Page 5 of An Irresistible Force (Vancouver Vice)

“Where did you work before?” I asked.

“Oh, I was in Toronto.”

That was weird, coming all this way to type stuff and serve doughnuts. Maybe she had a boyfriend here or something, but I wasn’t really getting that vibe off her. She acted more like an uptight librarian or something.

“Really? You’re going to love Vancouver.” I grew up on the prairies and while I loved going back to Winnipeg, I knew when I retired I was going to stay here. The mountains, the ocean, and the easy access to the outdoors—it was a great city and it was my home now. Being known around town didn’t hurt either.

She smiled her careful smile again.

Then Swanny walked in with a young guy in a grey suit. I got up and held out my hand and introduced myself.

The young guy beamed. He had light brown hair and a cheerful expression. “Of course, I know who you are. I’m a big fan. I’m Gregory Richardson.”

“Good to meet you, Greg.”

“And I see you met my sister, Amanda, already. She’s going to be co-managing the team with me.”

Oh, fuck.

3

Is That All There Is?

Amanda Richardson

Some thingsin life are disappointing. You spend hours fantasizing about how terrific things will be, and then reality is an enormous disappointment. Like the Mona Lisa. It’s this iconic work of art—the most famous painting in the world. On my high school trip to Paris, I was so excited to finally see that enigmatic smile that’s plastered on everything from fridge magnets to t-shirts. But when I was standing in the Louvre, barely able to see the small painting through a jostling crowd of tourists, all that went through my mind was—“Is that it? I thought it would be bigger.” And that was exactly what I thought the first time I had sex too.

And now meeting Chris Luczak was falling into the same category.

It would be too embarrassing to add up all the adolescent hours I spent dreaming about this very moment. Every setting was different—a party, a post-game celebration, an empty dressing room, even inexplicably in my bedroom—but the result was the same. He would walk in and fix his beautiful brown eyes on me. “Who is this radiant being?” he would wonder, and I would smile. In my imagination, my teenaged hair was behaving, my braces were off and my zits were nonexistent. He would grasp my shoulders and say, “I’ve been searching for you my whole life.” And then we would kiss. Our kiss would be passionate, glorious, and perfect.

Of course, all my kissing knowledge back then came from books and chick flicks. Since I attended an all-girls school, I had limited knowledge of the sweaty reality of boys. But Lucky Luczak seemed like the perfect object for my teenaged affections. Drafted in the first round by the Millionaires, he started his career as a nineteen-year-old, struggled in his sophomore season, and then came back stronger than ever. “Lucky” came from his last name and not his play, because all his success was hard-earned. The team grew around him, and eventually they made him captain. He led on and off the ice, and newspaper photos were more likely to show him with kids at the hospital or at a charity than partying or carousing. But it was what he did on the ice that really counted. He played hard and inspired the team to new heights of glory and finally—the city’s first Stanley Cup.

That winning season marked the height of my crush on Lucky. The next year, I went to Reed College and finally got up and personal with real guys—see above, disappointing first sexual encounter. My new friends in Portland weren’t into hockey, or really any sports at all. Then I started working in Asia where hockey mentions were even rarer. By the time I moved back to Canada for business school, I didn’t follow hockey at all. So, when I read a few months ago that Lucky was retiring, I was surprised to hear that he was even playing anymore. He was a part of my distant past.

Still, when I walked into the boardroom, I almost dropped an entire box of doughnuts. Chris Luczak was as gorgeous as ever. In fact, he looked even better. He was tall and well built, but his dark hair now had hints of silver in it. His face, which had always been more rugged than handsome, was tanned and lined with smiling wrinkles around his eyes. Now he looked human rather than superhuman. I had committed all his features to memory back in the day, and I knew an embarrassing number of facts about his personal life.

My mouth actually dropped open when I saw him. In fact, for one moment I thought I had conjured him up in my imagination. Who hasn’t gone to a boring meeting and fantasized about being somewhere else? Imagining myself in a meeting alone with Chris Luczak was exactly the kind of fantasy I would have.

But then, the first words out of his mouth were to ask me to get him a coffee. The guy was egotistical, dumb, and completely sexist. Assuming that any woman in the room was an assistant who would love to get him a coffee? No way. My only satisfaction was seeing the completely stunned look on his face, when he finally clued into who I was. Maybe I had had a crush on him when I was a teenager, but I was a twenty-eight year old woman now.

However, Gregory was already swooning. Apparently having a “real” hockey superstar in the room, as opposed to the twenty-three men we employed in this very building, was bringing out the fanboy in him. But it wasn’t the way an interim General Manager should be acting.

“Yeah, I was right there for the Cup run. I was only fourteen, but it was still one of the best memories of my life.” Gregory was busy reminiscing, and it seemed like everyone else in the room was willing to go along with this stroll down memory lane.

I cleared my throat. My brother shot me a nervous look and Chris turned my way. He smiled again, revealing strong white teeth that I knew to be false. His two front teeth were knocked out during a playoff series with Calgary.

“What about you, Amanda? Did you come to any of my games?”

I nodded. “Yes, our father took both of us to hockey games—as soon as we were old enough to appreciate them. Well before your time.” Daddy had decreed that five years old was the right age. My birthday was in February, and I remembered all the excitement of donning a tiny Millionaires jersey and going off to the game. Having my father’s undivided attention for two hours was almost as good as the game itself. He had pointed out what to watch for in each game. “Keep an eye on Number Eight, kitten. He’s going to do something special.” And he’d always been right.

In those days, Daddy travelled a lot and worked overtime when he was home, so we only went to games once or twice a month. But we watched games on TV as well, until I became as big a fan as he was. After a couple of seasons, Gregory was old enough to attend as well, so we began going as a family of four. That was fun too, but not quite the same as those first magical times alone with my father. Then later, Lucky joined the team, and I got a whole new reason to watch the Millionaires.

“Your father is the reason we’re here,” said the other man. Donald Swan was the V.P. of Hockey Operations according to the Google search I’d done before the meeting. I had thought he was going to be alone, but apparently Chris Luczak was part of the package. Everyone in Vancouver knew Chris had been forced to retire due to injury issues, but because he was such a popular player, the Millionaires had immediately offered him a management job. However I had no idea what he did. So far, he seemed to excel at schmoozing, eating doughnuts, and alienating women.

Don continued. “We had a very close working relationship with your father, and so now that the Vice are—”

He hesitated and I wondered what euphemism he’d pull out for “your uncle’s being sued for sexual harassment.”

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