Page 39 of Thrown for a Loop
The GM is still ranting. “And you’ll work with PR on an apology statement. Plus, you’ll make yourself available for any and all community volunteer projects the team is sponsoring this season.”
Chase’s jaw tics. But he doesn’t argue.
And I’m still stuck onseven figures. That’s… impossibly bad.
“Excuse me, if I may,” Tremaine says, raising a hand. “We’re missing an important step here. Last night was an anomaly for Chase, so we should also be askingwhy. What’s going on in your life that’s brought this on?” the captain asks calmly. “And what can I do to help?”
Even through the veil of my panic, I manage to take that in. And wow. I knew I liked that guy.
Bess turns to look at her client. “Chase,” she says meaningfully, as if prodding him to explain something specific.
But after a long moment, Chase gives his head a shake. “It was nothing. Just a bad night after a bad game.”
For the first time since I stepped into the room, Bess looks truly disappointed.
“All right, then,” Tremaine says, with a shake of his own head. “If that’s all it is, then I’m sure we can get past this with some goodwill and some skillful PR.”
“That’s where I come in,” Sailor says. “Every news outlet wants a statement. I’ll have that ready for Chase’s approval in the next two hours. I’ll also want him to post it on his own socials.”
“He doesn’t have socials,” Bess points out.
“He will by the end of the day,” Sailor says with a smirk. “And we can post new content every time he spends hours serving soup to the hungry and giving flea baths to rescue kittens. You guys can hire a social media manager, and the team will make the content.”
Bess glances at Chase, who nods sullenly. “Okay, but he gets approval for every post.”
“Fine.” Sailor nods. “After the apology, we’ll look for opportunities to highlight the more serious side of your personality.”
“Really?” The GM sighs. “Does Merritthavea more serious side?”
“I’m serious about hockey, no matter what you think,” Chase says, finally speaking up for himself. “I’ll string together a few good games, and then none of this will matter anymore. You watch.”
“I’m eagerly awaiting that development,” the GM grumbles. “In the meantime, you doeverythingSailor tells you. We all have better things to do than sit around thinking about how to make you look like less of an asshole on Dumbstagram or DickTok. Now excuse me.” He rises. “Sailor—do your thing. And Merritt—your fine is due to me by Wednesday. I expect to read your apology statement while I’m sipping my first martini tonight.”
Then he exits the room as cheerfully as he entered it. Which is not very.
After he departs, I brace my elbows on the table and try to stay calm. But the wordsseven figuresare still bouncing around in my head like shrapnel.
“So let’s hear your idea,” Bess says to Sailor.
I’m startled when the PR guru points at me. “Yesterday, our press release about Zoe got picked up by a flood of outlets. They loved her. So let’s run with it. Zoe will hold a one-on-one coaching session with Chase, and I’ll invite some journalists to observe them working together.”
“Oh,” Bess says, while my stomach twists. It will be stressful enough when I finally get Chase into a private session with me. I don’t need strangers watching.
“I love it,” Tremaine says, oblivious to my distress. “It’s a greatphoto op—Chase trying to keep up with Zoe on drills. She skates like a demon, man. Eat some protein before your session.”
Chase glances toward me. The flash of ocean blue is familiar, but the unreadable expression is not.
“So what do you say?” Sailor asks, clicking his pen a couple of times, in what might be a tic.
Bess glances at Chase, her eyebrows raised. “Sounds painless, don’t you think?”
I brace myself for him to argue the exact opposite. “Sure,” he says flatly. “If that’s what you want.”
“Awesome!” Sailor chuckles. “The press’ll eat it up. There’s nothing more fun than watching a top player take skating tips from a hundred-pound woman with a ponytail.”
Bess sighs. “I was with you until you used Zoe’s gender and body measurements to make your point.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sailor clicks his pen again. “My job is all about optics. I’m paid to put a spotlight on this stuff. And this would still be a good idea even if Zoe weighed in like a sumo wrestler.”
