Page 75 of Head Over Skates

"Owen, Emily! Just the two I wanted to see. Got a minute to pop into my office? I have something I'd love your thoughts on."

Emily and I share a curious look but follow Nancy to her office. This woman is like a steamroller on steroids.

"Have a seat, you two," Nancy says, settling behind her large mahogany desk. "I have an exciting proposition for you both."

Emily perches on the edge of the leather chair, back ramrod straight like a cautious cat ready to bolt. I lean back more casually, trying to set her at ease with my body language.

She goes on to explain that the team is looking for ways to repair public relations after the trophy scandal, especially among the younger demographic.

“That’s why I was looking for props. I know I’m not the social media manager, but I wanted to try out some ideas before presenting them to her. But then… well, you know what happened next.”

Yeah, I know exactly what happened next. Finding the trophy gave Nancy instant status as a hero while Mark took the fall. I don’t trust this woman.

“Anyway,” she goes on brightly. “Then I thought you could help us with your blog, Emily.”

Emily makes a face, feigning innocence.

“Don’t be coy. I know it’s you. I know a lot of things, in fact. How you two have been snooping around like a couple of home-grown sleuths.”

“We… uh…” I start. But she waves me off.

“It’s cute, really. Adorable even.”

I glace sidelong at Emily. She’s clearly uncomfortable. I hope my expression conveys that she only needs to say the word and we’re gone.

"Anyway, about the blog. Just think it over," Nancy says. "We'd love your help, but no pressure."

Emily nods slowly, like she’s calculating her next words. “What kinds of posts are we talking about here?”

“Oh, mostly feel-good stuff. Interviews with the players and staff. Every now and then you could write a story with a little more meat. The… political underbelly of pro hockey. That sort of thing.”

She opens her desk drawer and reaches inside for a pad of sticky notes and writes down a number. “Of course, you’d be compensated handsomely.”

She slides the paper across the desk and leaves it there casually. Neither Emily or I dare to touch it, but bending over to take a peek, I can say there were a few more zeros than I’m sure Emily gets in ad revenue from her blog.

“Would either of you two like a mint? Or gum?” She reaches back into her desk and takes out a small dish filled with golden wrapped pieces of Éclat d'Érable. I swallow hard. It’s all coming together now. I’m ready to jump out of my chair. But Emily is calm, cool, and collected.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she says, plucking a few pieces from the dish. She unwraps one and pops it in her mouth. “I just love this brand.”

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Nancy agrees. “Owen?”

I wave my hand. “I’ll pass, thank you.”

It’s times like these I wish I could communicate with Emily through telepathy.

Red alert! Nancy’s the bad guy.

But Emily’s happily chewing the gum, chatting away about the maple flavor and wondering if it’s locally sourced.

“Does this arrangement sound like something you would be amenable to?” Nancy asks.

"Hypothetically speaking," Emily says slowly, "These meatier stories you’re talking about… if someone felt undervalued and underpaid compared to their male coworkers… I could understand if they wanted to send a message to management about addressing pay equity."

"Perhaps we could work together to expose certain... deficiencies around here, yes," Nancy says carefully. “I may know some secrets.”

Emily leans forward eagerly. "And hypothetically, if someone had taken the trophy to make a statement, it would have been for the greater good. To fight for equality."

I brace myself, ready to shield Emily if things escalate. But Nancy simply arches one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I’m not entirely sure I follow your meaning.”

---