Page 76 of Brooklynaire

Luckily I don’t have much more time to worry about it. The car pulls up behind the bus. We’re at the players’ entrance to the stadium. When I peer out the tinted windows, I note that security has done a nice job roping off the sidewalk. A red carpet is set up and waiting for the players to make their entrance, and a crowd has accumulated outside thebarriers.

The limo door pops open. “Ready?” the driverasks.

I see Heidi Jomove.

“Wait…” I try to say, because Nate is supposed to get out of the limo first. But puppies are quick. So a moment later, Heidi Jo is standing out there, blinking rapidly as a million flash bulbs go off in herface.

I hear Nate chuckle as he follows her out of the car. The shutters continue to click as he calmly takes Heidi Jo’s arm and guides her toward the carpet. A normal person would look mortified at accidentally stealing the limelight. But not our Heidi Jo. She stops at the base of the red carpet like an Oscars invitee, then turns to wave to the crowd. Another million clicks, and Nate gives the crowd a stiff wave and an even stiffer smile before tugging Heidi Jo toward the entrance and finally disappearinginside.

What the hell was that,anyway?

Usually I’m watching this procession from the stadium, not the car. And usually there aren’t quite so many people around. But this is the playoffs, and suddenly all of Brooklyn has become a hockeyfan.

Not wishing to repeat Heidi Jo’s command performance, I sit tight as the door to the bus opens and O’Doul steps down. He waves to the spectators, who promptly go nuts. They’re here to see the players, who emerge from the bus one at a time now tocheers.

With all the attention focused on the stream of athlete hotness, I eventually slip out of the open limo door, thanking the driver. Wielding my clipboard, I march toward the door. Nobody gives me a second glance, because all eyes are on theplayers.

Georgia is waiting just inside. “What the heck was thatgirl…?”

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t warn her to stay out ofsight.”

“I already have three texts from journalists wondering which college girl Nate Kattenberger is dating.” Georgia rolls hereyes.

Of course shedoes.

My friend drops her voice. “Maybeyoushould have gotten out of the car first,” she whispers. “Try that on forsize.”

“You’re hilarious,” I hiss. “Maybe on Monday I’ll actually do that, just to complicate your life. You can try to kill the story that Nate only dates assistants andinterns.”

“And only people under five feet four inches tall.Billionaire romances the vertically challenged, film at eleven,” Georgiagiggles.

“I hate you,” I say. But I’mlying.

Players stream down the corridor past us, headed for the locker rooms. They’ll take off their suits and put on warm-up gear. They’ll have last minute meetings, they’ll get sore muscles taped. They’ll tape and retape their sticks. They’ll hydrate and stretch and indulge in smacktalk.

I love game night. The energy in the building has given me a little liftalready.

Heidi Jo comes tapping toward me down the hall, her heels clicking importantly on the concrete. “Omigod, y’all! That was so nice of Mr. K to walk the red carpet withme!”

“Like he had a choice,” Georgia says under herbreath.

“Mr. K?” Is she kidding me rightnow?

“What do we do next?” my internchirps.

“Weneed to make sure you don’t jump out of limos with the bossman again,” Georgiasays.

“Sorry,” Heidi Jo says brightly. “Whatelse?”

Georgia holds up a finger, asking for another minute of my attention. “One more thing? There’s a reporter forObserverwho’s dying for an interview with Nate. But I find the whole thing a littleweird.”

“Weird how?” Iask.

Georgia’s eyes flit up the corridor and then back to me. “I don’t know this reporter very well. But she wants to write a story about why Nate bought a hockey franchise. But he won’t take the interview. Do you have any idea why? You’ve known him longer than Ihave.”

Slowly, I shake my head. At the moment I don’t feel like I know him very well at all. “When Nate bought the team, I was surprised. I didn’t know he was considering it. But I will say that our first office had a hockey poster on the wall.” I close my tired eyes and try to remember. “The Blackhawks, I think?” I had that poster framed when we renovated our offices that first time, because our new digs were classier, and I didn’t want to encourage the guys to decorate in the style of Early DormRoom.

But then the poster disappeared? I hadn’t seen it in years, come to think ofit.