Page 3 of Penalties and Proposals

Needless to say, Nugget had her paws treated for slight burns every fall. I thought she would have learned a lesson, but nope. Always made me wonder if there wasn’t something about the risk, the attractions of the fire, that brought her in?

Anyway, unlike Nugget I do learn from my mistakes. I bolt from that room. How is he here? I intentionally asked for a list of players ahead of the event. I saw the list of names. He was NOT on it.

The lobby of The Regent’s Hotel is busy as people tumble from the event, but luckily the line to check-in at reception isn’tthat long. Taking a moment to calm my nerves and gather myself, I start to make my way to the front desk when my phone begins buzzing in my back pocket. When I see the phone number flashing announcing my editor fromAthletic Edge, I’m not surprised. They’re probably making sure I made it safely.

“Hey, Frank. I’m here.”

“That’s good, but also not why I’m calling.” I appreciate someone who gets to the point, and Frank’s the bluntness king.

“Of course it isn’t,” I say with a chuckle. “What’s up?”

“We’ve managed to do features in the lead-up to the event on all but one of the players who are playing for the Ice Breakers. He was a last-minute addition to the team, so our reporter on site has spent some time talking to him already, but we need some photos to go with the story.”

An opportunity to add another gig to this one? Sign me up. It’s the ultimate double dip.

“Sure, I’d be happy to do it.” I step to the side, parking myself against the wall next to a palm plant. “When do you need them and who is it?”

“His name is Noah Beaumont, from the River City Renegades. Former NHL player who’s now playing on an AHL team, but he’s a story. Known as the Comeback King. We need a bevy of different pics in the next two weeks.”

It’s as if the world around me suddenly stops on its axis. People are moving and greeting one another, saying hello and converging into small cliques, chatting and such, but to me it’s all muffled voices and muted tones. Like how adults are portrayed in the oldPeanutscartoons. A lot of“Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.” I can’t breathe—there’s no air in my lungs and it’s hard to inhale. Chills crawl across my flesh, the reaction is that visceral.

“Him?” I choke. “Why Noah?”

Frank is quiet on the other end of the line. I don’t like it when he goes quiet. His silence speaks volumes. So I try a new tactic.

“I ask because I think he was dating that actress, Cecilia Grazer, and they got a lot of press. More than enough.”

Frank’s end of the phone line is still, until a rumble of laughter echoes in my ear.

“You’re a riot, Willa. I appreciate how you see things sometimes,” he says, his laughter still bubbling through. “Yes, they got some press, but this is different. I know it’s an added responsibility and we’re putting more on your plate, but everything helps with this promotion I submitted you for.”

Oh. Danglethatcarrot, why don’t you? “Of course.”

“Team player, Willa. I want them to see in the executive offices that you’re a team player.”

I hear myself saying, “Yes, Frank” when I really want to shout, “No way, man!” Casting a quick glance around the lobby, I realize it’s filling with more people and I’m feeling cornered. Claustrophobic. Looking over toward the double doors to the event, it’s as if ants are spilling out around me. Wanting to hide from all of it, I turn and put my back to the lobby, facing a random plant. It’s just my height and filled out, not too bushy but bushy enough. Maybe I can crawl into the pot with it and stay there until it’s quiet.

“That’s the spirit. I’d like to get a range of shots. Figured since you’re there for the next month, you can get some interesting ones, candids. On the ice, casual ones not in his gear, doing things around Maple Falls. You know, like ‘lifestyle’ shots.”

“I thought you wanted them in two weeks?” I’m trying really hard not to whine, but it’s almost impossible. I’m contemplating the Academy Award I should get for pretending I’m professional right now when a small crowd pushes in on my hiding spot.

“I’d like the first batch in two weeks, but the remainder in a month,” Frank barks, back to his usual self. “We won’t do the feature until next month, but I want some early pics to show the team and higher-ups, and we’ll use them as placeholders until your other images come in.”

“Okay,” I say, sighing as someone bumps into me from behind. “I’ll make sure to set something up and see what we can do about these photos.”

Without a goodbye, because that’s the way he likes it, Frank disconnects the call, leaving me to stare at the plant and bang my head against the wall. Five times. One bang too many, but long enough to realize I’m standing in front of a parlor palm and it needs some water.

“Why. Is. It. Noah. Beaumont?” One bang for each word.

A hand taps my shoulder. My mother always told me I was too dramatic for my own good. It’s probably a welfare check. I turn around slowly, prepared to explain that I’m not insane—but when I see who’s there, waiting for me, I freeze.

Noah.

Swallowing, I stand up taller, like someone’s put puppeteer strings on my shoulders and is hoisting me up.

“Sorry to bother you, but I thought I heard you say my name,” he begins, nodding his head toward the plant next to me. “To that palm tree.”

I cast a side-eye glance at the plant, as if it’s the plant’s fault that he found me, then snap my eyes back to his. “You heard correctly.”

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