Page 46 of See You at the Finish Line

“He’s great. Strong, capable. He’s less relaxing, but it feels more clinical, which is what some of the players like about him.”

“And what about the other one?”

“Don’t tell anyone ...” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maxim plans on firing two of them once he decides which one he wants to hire. He’ll give them the remainder of their pay and then they’ll be let go.”

“Isn’t that against the probationary contract they signed?” I ask, suddenly grateful Paige is doing so well.

“No, it’s not. The contract says something like ‘three months’ pay’ and not three months of work.”

“That’s gross.”

“Yup. That’s Maxim.” Julien sighs and Paige looks up from her conversation, her eyes flitting to me first before she smiles at Julien.

“She’s beautiful,” Julien whispers when Paige looks away. He doesn’t say it like he’s attracted to her, more like stating a fact. At least, that’s what I think his tone means.

“Can’t argue there,” I say under my breath, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling that’s settled in my stomach.

“You want to grab a drink tomorrow?” I ask Julien. He knows what I mean. The season is starting, and Coach likes the staff to go dry with the team. It makes it easier for them to cut alcohol out of their lives for eight months of the year.

“Sure,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder and heading to his next session with his trainer.

I make my way to my office, nearly crashing into Paige when I turn around.

I grab her by the arms as she stumbles back from me. “Sorry.”

When I realize what I’ve done, I drop my hands quickly. They tingle from the feel of her skin, and I have to flex them to release the excess energy.

“That’s okay. You’re actually who I want to talk to,” she says.

Don’t get excited, don’t get excited. This is just the first time I’m having a proper conversation with her, not a big deal. It’s probably work related.

“Oh yeah? What’s up?” There, that sounded good. Smooth.

“Can we go somewhere private?”

Stay calm.“Sure.”

I lead her back to my office, trying not to seem too eager or make her uncomfortable. I got lucky—the person I replaced had one of the only offices with real walls rather than glass. I love everyone here—with a few exceptions—but I like my privacy.

I walk into the room first and perch on the edge of my desk facing her, sticking my hands in my pockets to try to seem casual. She takes in the room, and I look at it from her eyes, trying to piece together what she’s thinking.

There’s really nothing personal in my office. I haven’t had the chance to hang my framed jersey my mom got me for Christmas. But there is a picture of me and my siblings on the bookshelf. The walls are blue on top and grey on the bottom, and the desk I’m leaning on is covered with paper and manuals, my computer hums at the side.

The fluorescent office lights should make the room bright, but two of the bulbs are out, so the room is darker than it needs to be. It strains my eyes sometimes.

Paige hesitates in the doorway, taking in the small space, as if regretting her choice to follow me here.

She closes the door behind her as she steps in, and it feels like all the air is swiftly sucked out of the room. It becomes deadly quiet, with very little of the muffled sound of the staff working outside penetrating the walls.

Her dark brown hair is down today, out of its usual ponytail, and it falls in loose waves around her face and shoulders. She looks like she’s wearing a bit more makeup. Not that she needs it, but it’s nice—her eyelashes are dark and long, her lips tinted a soft muted colour.

She’s stunning.

“I wanted to talk to you about the race,” she starts.

I repress the urge to visibly exhale in relief. “Okay, what about it?”

“Your email said it was mandatory. Is that even allowed?” She narrows her eyes at me. Her beautiful brown eyes.

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