Page 25 of Wrong Number, Right Player
Since the day McKenna started? Heat creeps up my neck, despite the building’s morning chill. “Was I that obvious?”
“Emmitt, you take scrupulous notes during her presentations. Every time. And you’re the only one. You’re the player who doesn’t bother to write down anything in any other meeting, but somehow, you can’t miss a word the woman says.” She shakes her head.
Christ. If Linda noticed, who else has? No wonder Coach called me aside the other night. My jaw clenches tighter, and I force myself to unclench it before I crack a tooth.
“The team’s talking,” I say. It’s not a question.
“The team’s always talking. It’s what teams do.” Linda opens a desk drawer and pulls out a thin manila folder. “But yes, your performance last night combined with McKenna’s sudden absence has people around here connecting dots. And in my experience, when people start sniffing around, it’s best to get ahead of the news.”
The sound of the facility’s main doors opening echoes down the hallway. Early arrivals, probably trainers or equipment staff.
“What can we do?” I lean forward, the office chair creaking ominously under my weight. “There’s got to be something…a precedent, a loophole, anything that doesn’t end with her getting fired or me getting benched.”
Linda studies me for a long moment, her fingers drumming against her coffee cup. “Depends. How serious are you about this woman?”
“Serious enough to be sitting here at seven-thirty in the morning in yesterday’s clothes, begging for your help.”
“And if I told you the easiest solution is for you to walk away?”
The question hits like a slap shot to the chest. “I’d tell you that’s not an option,” I reply without hesitation, my voice dangerously low at the suggestion. “Not unless she asks me to.”
Linda nods slowly, as if I’ve passed some kind of test. “Good. Because, as it happens, I do have an idea.” She opens the folder, revealing printed emails and policy documents. “Independent contractor status. McKenna could transition from employee to consultant.”
My pulse jumps. “How would that work?”
“She’d start her own sports nutrition consulting business. Still work with the team, but would be free to take on other clients.” Linda pulls out a document covered in highlighter marks. “There are a few examples of this around the league. Especially when it comes to specialists. The Bearcats have a sleep scientist who contracts with both them and the Firebirds. San Diego uses a consultant for sports psychology who also works with the Waves and several college programs.”
The possibilities spin through my head faster than a powerplay. McKenna, running her own business, building something that’s entirely hers. No more employee handbook restrictions. No more hiding how I feel about her during meetings.
“This could be a good move for her career,” Linda continues. “More autonomy, higher earning potential, the chance to build something significant.”
“It’s perfect,” I say, grinning as if I’d just scored my first NHL goal.
“Slow down there, Romeo.” Linda’s voice cuts through my excitement like a ref’s whistle. “This isn’t your decision to make.”
The words stop me cold. She’s right. But the captain in me—hell, the man who loves her—wants to fix this for both of us. Because that’s what I do. I take care of things. I protect my people.
“McKenna has to want this,” Linda continues. “Career transitions like this are risky, even when they work out. She’d be giving up job security, benefits, and a guaranteed income. She has to make the choice for herself, not because it solves a relationship roadblock.”
I heave a sigh and sink back into the chair, my shoulders dropping as the stress of the last few days catches up with me. “What if she doesn’t want to take the risk?”
“Then you’ll know where you stand.”
The honesty in Linda’s voice cuts deep. Because she’s right, if McKenna won’t take this leap, if she chooses security over whatever this is between us, then I’ve read this whole situation wrong.
“There’s something else,” Linda says, her tone shifting to full HR-seriousness. “Timeline is critical here.”
My blood runs cold. “How critical?”
“It will take weeks, if not months, to make this happen, and until then, there can’t be so much as a whiff of anything between you two.”
“But—”
She holds up a hand to silence me. Then proceeds to count off on her fingers. “Coach asked me about ‘team dynamics’ yesterday. Derek made a comment to Whitney, wondering where McKenna was. And according to section four-point-seven of the employee handbook, once an investigation begins, alternative arrangements become impossible.” She fixes me with a look that could stop a charging defenseman. “The organization can’t be seen as creating convenient loopholes for policy violations.”
Shit. The conversation with Coach echoes in my head—all those careful warnings about poor decisions and consequences. How long before someone puts two and two together and our options disappear?
“So let me get this straight,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “I need to convince the brilliant, careful, methodical woman I’ve fallen for to completely upend her career, and take a massive professional risk, all while steering clear enough not to perpetuate any rumors?”
