Page 7 of Daddies on Ice
3
TISH
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
A lump of nerves bundles in my stomach as I walk into the Thunderwolves’ clubhouse.
I can’t believe how fast Ash got me in to speak with the coach.
Earlier today, the idea of being the PR person for the team sounded like a dream come true, a chance to test my abilities and get a nice reference under my belt.
But now, I’m not so sure.
In the few of hours since I’d agreed, I’d seen two more scathing news reports on the team and its members.
Most of it was just regurgitated headlines, but there was another one about a new teammate who has been undergoing gender reassignment to identify as a woman.
Since women aren’t allowed on the team, the league forced the team to let him go.
I walk down the long hallway where the offices are located at the back of the clubhouse. The floors are surprisingly shiny.
I guess I expected them to be all scuffed up, considering how many hockey players come in and out of this place.
But it actually looks nice, like administrative offices should.
I stop in front of a wooden door with “Coach Carl Zoren” etched into a brass placard. I raise my hand to knock then lower it.
Do I really want to do this? Do I really want to take the chance with my future?
But I’d already told Ash I would, and he went to the trouble of setting up this meeting. It might look bad on him if I don’t show. Plus, if I turn around every time I’m uncertain about something, I’ll never get ahead.
Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door. A second later, a gruff male voice yells out, “Enter!”
I’m not quite sure if that’s a good start to the meeting.
At first, I open the door slowly, mentally chide myself for acting so timid, and push the door open all the way and step inside.
Coach Carl sits behind a massive desk covered with papers and Thunderwolves’ memorabilia.
Sitting dead center is a desktop computer, a bobblehead of himself taking its position on top of one of two monitors.
“Mr. Zoren?” I say, stepping further into the room. “I’m Trisha Johnston, but most people call me Tish. Ashton Frankson arranged for us to meet regarding a PR position for the Thunderwolves.”
There’s a long, uncomfortable minute before Coach Carl looks up from his paperwork and meets my gaze.
He doesn’t offer me a chair, doesn’t even stand, as he leans back in his chair, a protesting squeak loud in the quiet room.
“He did,” Coach Carl says. “I’m just not sure why.”
I don’t wait for him to offer for me to sit in one of the leather chairs before his desk.
I’m wearing a smart dark blue business suit today.
I’ve been told the color matches my eyes and compliments me, and I can use the confidence booster. Especially as I sit and cross my leg over the other and look at the grouchy coach.
“Because Ashton knows I’m good at what I do?—”
“So you’ve worked in public relations before?” the coach interrupts.
