Page 2 of Ice Ice Maybe
“I signed Mitch Redding from the Tampa Bay Lightning before today’s trade deadline,” he said. “A press release will go out within the next few hours.”
My mouth dropped open in surprise. Mitch “The Decapitator” Redding was coming back to San Diego? The Tampa Bay enforcer had racked up more penalty minutes in the last decade than any other player in the league’s history. His playing prowess was legendary, but so was his volatile temper. Getting on his bad side was not a good idea, on or off the ice.
“The last time we made the playoffs, Mitch was a Sea Lion and led us the entire way. We were foolish to let him go,” Mr. Dalton said. “The goal is to make a run for one of the wildcard spots to make the playoffs, but that means we would have to win at least fifteen of our last twenty games.”
“Wow—that won’t be easy,” I said.
“But it can be done,” he said. “Remember the St. Louis Blues when they went from dead last to winning the Stanley Cup?”
I nodded. “It was one of the most impressive comebacks in NHL history. I was in awe.”
“You and me both,” he said, giving me a knowing smile. “If the Blues can pull off a miracle like that, so can we. It’s a gamble, but Mitch Redding is our only hope of turning this dismal season around.”
“I would love to see that happen,” I said. “But what does Mitch Redding have to do with your daughter, or more importantly, with me?”
“Mitch and Zena have a history,” Mr. Dalton said. “I need to ensure that history stays in the past. Your dating her putsdistance between the two of them and also keeps my ulcers in check.”
“I see,” I said, even though I really didn’t. “But won’t my going out with Zena just make him jealous? It seems counterproductive to piss off your new star acquisition when you want him to lead the team to the playoffs.”
A sly smile crossed Mr. Dalton’s face. “On the contrary, Nolan. Mitch takes out his frustrations on the ice. The Tampa Bay Lightning won the Stanley Cup two years in a row. The first time was after Zena broke up with Mitch. The year after that, a friend embezzled two million dollars from him, which resulted in another Stanley Cup win for their team. I don’t like the guy, but an angry Mitch Redding is a force to be reckoned with, and he’s our ticket to the playoffs.”
I nodded slowly, pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Our San Diego Sea Lions were one of the worst teams in the league the last two years. Mr. Dalton was clearly willing to try anything to turn things around, but I still didn’t understand why I had been the chosen one.
I shifted in my seat again, still struggling to wrap my head around the absurdity of the situation and looking for a way out of it. “Why would you trust me with your daughter? You know nothing about me. I might be a closet psychopath.”
A chuckle escaped him, then he rattled off facts about my life with frightening accuracy. “Nolan James Reid, born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Promising hockey career cut short by a shattered right knee caused by a freak skiing accident in Sun Valley, Idaho. You moved to San Diego after attending a wedding here and meeting Emily Thornton, one of the bridesmaids as well as a high-fashion designer protégé. You married her six months later, divorced a year after that when she accepted a job in Paris with Coco Chanel. You’ve been our Zamboni driver for the past six seasons, a helluva good one.You mind your own business, humbly doing the job you are paid to do, flying under the radar. You volunteer in your free time, teaching hockey to underprivileged kids. Your best friend is Tyson Freeport, our genius director of marketing. You hit the gym four days a week to stay in shape. You have a cat named Mario Le Meow.” He gestured to the framed Lemieux jersey on the wall, then grinned. “I was also a big fan of ‘Le Magnifique.’”
He’d obviously done an extensive background check on me, which made this whole scenario even more bizarre. What else did Mr. Dalton know about me? My blood type? Did he know I liked to sleep on my back or that I sang horribly in the shower?
“Wow,” I said. “That’s impressive.”
Mr. Dalton leaned back, a proud expression on his face. “This franchise is worth a billion dollars. I make it my business to know everything about everyone, right down to the time the sales manager disappears into the bathroom with the newspaper each morning to do his business.” He smirked. “Ten fifteen.”
That was slightly disturbing to know.
Note to self: Do not use the bathroom during business hours.
“And your daughter?” I asked. “She knows of this plan of yours?”
“Of course.” Mr. Dalton’s expression softened slightly. “My daughter is my pride and joy. I consider every possibility before I do anything that involves her. Zena approves of the plan, one hundred percent, since she wants nothing to do with Mitch. She also considers you the best choice to help us execute it to perfection.”
I couldn’t believe the spoiled daddy’s girl, Zena Dalton, knew who I was. We’d never met, but I’d seen her up in the owner’s box during many of the Sea Lions’ home games, and also at a few events, including the yearly holiday party. The only thing I knew about her was from what I’d heard from people who worked forthe organization, but that was enough to know that she was not my type.
“Dating my daughter is now part of your job, outside of your Zamboni schedule, since nothing is more important than maintaining the ice for the players,” Mr. Dalton added. “There’s a stipend, of course. Two thousand a month, which is on top of your current salary. Plus, all of your dating expenses will be covered.”
He reached into his desk drawer and extracted a platinum corporate credit card, sliding it across the oak desk in my direction. My mouth dropped open when I saw it had my name on it. How long had he been planning this?
“Use this credit card for anything and everything,” Mr. Dalton said. “Spare no expense because my daughter and this team are worth every penny. Meals, gifts, vacations—whatever it takes to make your relationship look authentic.”
Vacations with Zena?
This was getting worse by the minute.
I blew out a deep breath to calm my nerves. “Mr. Dalton …”
“Fine—let’s make it three thousand a month,” he said without blinking. “You’ll be at Zena’s beck and call, day or night, whenever she needs you. When she tells you to jump, you ask how high.”
The gravity of his words pinned me back against my chair. I was suddenly a professional male escort, like Dermot Mulroney inThe Wedding Date.
