Page 64 of Captain's Claim

Still smiling, I reach for my phone, ready to text Blake some kind of thank you. Probably something snarky, just to keep it light. Because I absolutely refuse to process whateverthismeans.

But the second I tap the screen, I freeze.

My notifications are insane.

Hundreds of them.

Texts. Missed calls. Emails. Social media exploding like the Fourth of July fireworks.

Then my eyes catch on the time in the corner of the screen and I spit a mouthful of coffee all over my new duvet.

"Fuck! I'm late!"

***

I rush into the interview room at Icehawk Stadium, my hair still damp from my rushed world-record length shower. My blouse is slightly misbuttoned, and I’m positive one of my heels is on the verge of snapping…

But I'm here. On time.

The production crew buzzes around, setting up lights and microphones while Greg fusses with camera angles.

"There she is!" Big Mike's deep voice carries across the room. "Our viral sensation."

I pause, my spine stiffening. "Sorry I'm late. I was finalizing the youth program documentation you requested-"

Not to mention, my head is stillkillingme.

"Oh, don't worry about that right now." Greg waves dismissively at the folder in my hands. "We've got bigger plans."

My stomach drops as I notice the camera setup. Three angles pointed at the interview chairs, none focused where the youth player will be sitting.

"Um, why-"

"The response to that skating video was incredible," Big Mike says, showing me his phone and cutting me off without even noticing. "We're onto something here. Engagement is through the roof. Comments section's gone wild speculating about you and Blake."

"And then that son of a bitch went and added fuel to the flames by blowing that kiss at you," Greg chuckles, grinning. "Classic Maddox."

"That wasn't the point of-"

"Sophia, listen. We need to capitalize on this momentum," Big Mike interrupts. "More content with you and Blake. Behind-the-scenes stuff. From now on out, you'll travel with the team, do interviews... all that usual shit."

"Travel with the team?" I blink. "What about my marketing initiatives? The community outreach programs I told you about?"

Big Mike claps my shoulder. "Thisismarketing, Sophia! The fans love you. You're relatable, you're fresh - you're exactly what we need right now."

I glance between them, reality sinking in like ice water down my spine. They don't care about my expertise or my plans for digital transformation.

They just want to parade me around like some kind of hockey Kardashian.

I haven't even looked at my phone this morning, but the way it's lighting up every few seconds tells me all I need to know.

My jaw clenches as I watch the crew adjust yet another light to hit my 'best angle.' Everything I've worked for, reduced to this - being the pretty face they can use to boost engagement.

I've spent my entire career proving I'm more than just a woman who happens to work in sports. Northwestern degree, innovative campaigns, countless late nights perfecting pitches – and what does it get me? A chance to be the Icehawks' version of a social media influencer because I happened to fall on my ass in front of their captain.

My phone buzzes again, probably another notification about that damn video. Each ping feels like another nail in the coffin of my professional credibility.

The youth program documentation in my hands – my real work, my vision for meaningful content – might as well be blank pages now.

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