Charging (Gold Hockey #10) - Elise Faber Page 0,2

Char picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, teetering for a second before regaining her balance. It had been a long day—cough, a long year—so she was ready to go back to her house and not wear a suit or heels.

For at least a weekend.

Because although there would be a short break, pretty soon, the meetings would start up again. Scouts would need to be sent out, positions would need to be filled as the normal turnover from support staff and players occurred—different job offers taking her staff, contract issues changing the roster. There would be endless marketing meetings about the direction of the team, its social media and public image, practice facilities and all the issues that came from having to coordinate what the team needed in two separate spaces, planning ahead for travel, checking in with the analytics crew, making sure the team stayed on budget.

Luckily, she had plenty of people under her.

Luckily, she’d interned in most of those departments and knew some of the pitfalls.

But it was a big job.

And she enjoyed every part. Loved that she could put her degrees—bachelor’s in business, master’s in sports management—to good use. Loved that she’d been able to make her way from intern all the way up to GM through perseverance, hard work, and sheer dint of character.

The team might not have won, but she’d achieved something special this year.

And just like that Chubby Bunny contest, she was going to come back for a second chance, only the next time she’d win the whole damned thing.

Purse in her other hand. Jacket over her arm.

She almost left the box, but in the end, she picked it up, started walking to the door. It was as she struggled, arms thoroughly full, to turn the knob that she realized what she was doing.

Carrying the box when her hands were already full.

Letting Logan into her head.

Allowing him to make her feel things she didn’t want to.

“Ugh.”

Despite that, she didn’t put the box down. Because she wasn’t going to lose to anything, not even gravity, dammit. No fucking way. She got that freaking knob turned and the door opened and made her way down the hall on aching feet.

But the heels stayed on, and the slippers stayed in that damn box . . . at least until she saw the trash can.

Then both the box and the slippers went kerplunk.

The thunk as they hit the bottom of the plastic was beyond satisfying.

Char smiled, feeling better already. Then she hiked her bag higher and turned the corner to head out to her car, her mind on a long, hot bath, on comfy pajamas, and a large glass of rum punch. Though . . . if she knew then what happened to those slippers after she’d gone, she wouldn’t have been nearly as sanguine.

It wasn’t until later that she understood her downfall had been born the moment she’d allowed Logan Walker into her office that night.

Logan Fucking Walker.

His specialty was devastating her life.

Three

Logan Fucking Walker

He sighed as Char turned the corner after dumping his gift in the trash.

It wasn’t unexpected.

But he hated the idea of her walking around in those torture contraptions, hated with a fucking passion the thought of anything hurting her.

Of course, that overlooked the fact that he’d hurt her.

“Fuck,” he muttered, walking over to the trash can and retrieving the slightly battered box. Thankfully, it had been the sole thing in this receptacle, the Gold staff being scarily efficient at their jobs.

And that included the newest addition of Char.

GM.

Fuck, he’d been so excited to hear the news over the previous summer. So damned proud of her. They’d met during their lowly rookie/new intern years, and to see her climb high, to fulfill the dream she’d once talked about had filled Logan with a pride he knew he had no right to feel.

Because he’d broken any connection between them.

Not just broke but utterly decimated it. Threw it down the fucking garbage disposal and flipped the switch.

Shredded the tie connecting them in order to set her free.

But he was done letting her fly.

They weren’t what they once were—untried, in an insecure position. They had long-term contracts, money in the bank, credibility in the league.

And they were part of the Gold.

Relationships ran rampant through the ranks.

Coach and player. Trainer and player. Player and player—though in fairness, Stefan Barie, the former captain of the team, had retired a full year before.

So, what difference did one more relationship mean?

And GM and player didn’t sound so unusual