Page 6

Chapter Six

Christina

My Prius rolls slowly down the winding driveway to my brother’s new venture. My siblings make fun of me for having a bargain car given our wealth, but I’m trying to balance caring for the environment without the inconvenience of a plug-in electric car. Our parents were older and passed over ten years ago. Their siblings are gone as well, so it’s just the three of us now—my older brother Greg, me, and my younger sister Amy. We each have trust funds, but the majority of the family’s wealth is in a holding company that Greg manages. I help oversee the investments for our portfolios but don’t get involved in the day-to-day operations. Amy stays as far away from all of it as she can, choosing to use her time and money to help those less fortunate.

The facility is still a construction site and I worry about nails or other debris puncturing a tire on my little car. Greg wouldn’t have thought about that as one of the fifty percent of Texans who drive pickup trucks. Why he chose that I have no idea. It’s not as though he’s handy; he probably doesn’t know what DIY stands for. Certainly, none of us has ever needed to move our own furniture, even for college.

He invited Amy and I, along with the rest of management, because the buildings and campus are finally finished enough he can show them off, including offices we’ll each have onsite. At least he’s bringing in lunch for us.

Amy negotiated her team ownership portion to include leadership of the Tornadoes Foundation and therefore the funding to pursue her dream of helping the homeless. So she’ll likely be spending much of her workdays in these offices getting that up and running.

I, on the other hand, am dreading this meeting—it’s a precursor to a temporary end of having free time, given Greg’s plan for me to meet with players to offer personal investment advice. I fell into the financial advisory role when my uncle retired and I showed an aptitude and affinity for the markets, and I was happy to take over. Numbers are steady and predictable.

I’m glad Greg is offering this benefit after hearing the stories of professional athletes blowing their huge salaries within a few years of retirement. I just wish he hadn’t thrown me to the wolves, rather than hiring someone else. Most hockey players don’t have a college education, for several English is a second language, and few to none will care about saving their money. As much as I enjoy watching hockey, I know enough to be wary of trying to offer hockey players advice on anything. They are kings of their world, young and healthy—and superstitious. While that attitude is well-deserved confidence rather than conceit, it means most won’t be ready to view themselves as fragile or their career as short-lived, much less plan for the next phase of their life.

I make a mental note to peruse the team roster to learn who is married and especially who has kids. If I can get early meetings with those, they might put in a good word with the others. Otherwise, it’s going to be a complete waste of my time when I could be spending time planning my after-school dance program. Plus, meeting more than twenty new testosterone-laden egomaniacs in rapid succession is torture, even one at a time. I was never an extrovert or good at meeting people, but after my surgery I stopped trying. If Lauren and Nicole hadn’t adopted me at UT, Maria would likely be my only friend. I’m much more comfortable with my spreadsheets or teaching dance to a handful of students ready to have fun. Even helping Maria with classes is outside my comfort zone, with the exception of Cam. He makes me uncomfortable for different reasons.

Following the signs for the VIP parking, I pull up next to Greg’s truck and Amy’s sedan. I approach the entrance to headquarters, located at one end of the massive arena. Off to my right a paved path winds through lush greenspace to a fieldhouse.

If I remember the digital mockup we used to woo investors, the players’ areas are on the bottom two floors. The next two floors house the arena’s food courts and retail spaces. And finally, the two above that are the offices. The executive offices occupy the fourth floor and are connected to the luxury boxes overlooking the rink for easy access on game days.

As I get off the elevator, I smell my favorite taco place, and my stomach rumbles. In the conference room, I grab Amy for a hug and kiss as she heads to the piles of individually wrapped tacos with various fillings set out on a counter at one end of the room. I lean in to peck Greg on the cheek as he talks to the Director of Public Relations, Saylet Young, and wave to a few other members of management as I grab two tacos and plop down next to Amy.

“How is the Foundation world?” As jealous as I am of my sister’s ability to get started on her dream, I don’t want my nonprofit tied to my brother’s organization. Sibling relations work best when we keep family and business separate, and I thank the heavens that neither of them are the least interested in finances beyond knowing they have the money they need for their passions.

Greg and I are still recovering from my stint helping him secure investors for the team and getting through the approval process with the NHL. He’s constantly getting wild hairs about some new venture, and I thought he was nuts to want to bring hockey to Austin. So I looked into it and saw that the AHL team here sold out every game, and soccer and Formula One racing have also done well. An NHL team made sense, and could be exciting. His joy when I agreed to help was overwhelming; I hadn’t realized how passionate he’d felt about this particular idea or how much he loves hockey. We joined forces and made it happen, but it’s been a long road and a lot more together time than I prefer with my domineering, CEO-type older brother. That aside, the three of us are close. We’d lay down our lives for one another.

“The usual balancing act. Not having enough money to solve all the problems we see, not wanting to suck the benefactor well dry.” Amy’s smile denies her words of frustration. Running the Tornadoes’ non-profit arm is where she belongs. Setting up a community to help the chronically unhoused and provide a supportive community with health care and dignified work opportunities of their choosing is all she’s ever talked about.

Greg claps his hands at the front of the room. “Does everyone have food? I’d like to run through a few things with you before we take a quick tour of the facility.”

His fanatical focus has kept the organization and construction from any major delays, but it’s exhausting sometimes. At thirty-five, he has the maturity of more than a decade running the family’s conglomerate and the enthusiasm and energy of youth. He’ll make a great leader for a bunch of alpha male hockey players. I was like that about dancing and hope to be again about my nonprofit. Amy is equally passionate about her work, so I guess it’s a family trait.

“We have one final walk-through by the city to sign off for full occupancy, at which point we’ll open it fully to staff and to players as they arrive.” He looks at our Operations Manager. “I think a few are already here?”

Kayla nods.

Greg continues, “We have the grand opening on Labor Day weekend, then the training camp with some quick decisions needed to get us to preseason play. Let’s go around the room and report where everyone’s at and if they need anything from the team.”

I zone out, enjoying my tacos.

Before Saylet begins her report, Greg interrupts to say, “By the way, I’ve said it before, but I’m saying it again now. I expect everyone in this room to attend the ball. Yes, it’s a holiday weekend, but please plan to be there this Saturday. Hopefully we’ll avoid that timing in future years.”

I give a tiny negative shake of my head when he catches my gaze. Way too much peopling. I prefer a Merlin role to Greg’s King Arthur.

He returns the gesture with a firm nod, insisting. “Owner,” he mouths silently.

“Ugh,” I mutter.

When Saylet wraps up, he claps his hands and rises to his feet. “Alright, let’s check this place out!” We all follow him for the inaugural tour.

I had seen the plans. Heck, I had estimated the cost of the plans. But seeing the state-of-the-art facility is a whole different ballgame. Or hockey game, as the case may be. He’d wanted to include everything possible to lure the best players and staff here. So, as he points out in each room we tour, everything has the best equipment—the gym, the PT rooms, the portable X-ray machine, even the locker room is fancy. My guess is it’ll still stink by the fifth game, if not before, but whatever. Onsite daycare is offered for employees with children.

After seeing the back areas on the rink level, we step into the arena. I stare at the ice from behind the goal, as well as the handful of players running drills. Greg explains that three layers of ice had been laid, with white paint going between the second and third application of purified water. At that point, it was a blank oval as though for figure skating, although it’s colder—he calls it “fast ice”—which figure skaters would hate. In the fourth layer, the blue and red markings that make it a hockey rink were painted, then ten more layers of ice had been laid, and it was finally ready for the few early arrivals to test out. Standing against the boards, smelling that faint ice odor that is as much cold as it is smell, I begin to feel Greg’s excitement. Our team logo, a bold purple circle containing a stylized tornado with a hockey stick in hand and a puck floating in the funnel, at center ice proclaims our readiness to take the NHL by storm. I can almost hear the drum thumps as the team is announced.

We circle up through the food court with vendor signs already up—all spots were filled months ago by eager restaurants. Greg is only allowing locally owned companies to sell here.

By each outside entrance to the arena, team store skeletons sit waiting for merch to be stocked. As starters are identified, named apparel and stuffed…what? tornadoes? I don’t know and don’t ask…will be ordered. As various players gain popularity, the rest will be filled in.

The last stop before returning to the executive suite is the box level, via keyed elevator. The owner’s suite is over center ice, of course, with a standing bar and buffet area in the back half, and stadium-style tiered seats in the front. There are four TVs, just in case visitors are too busy wining and dining and forging business deals to watch the live action. I shake my head, memories of my short dating history with Greg’s friend, Travis, intruding. He was all about wheeling and dealing. Still is.

Amy catches my head shake and leans in, tilting her head toward a door in the side wall. “The private restroom might be worth it, though.”

I snort.

Greg and Saylet are standing in the front row of the stadium seating watching a few players practice. With no jumbotron and DJ, we catch wordless sounds of their muted chirping and the incredibly fast scrapes of their skate blades on the new ice.

I blink. I’ve only seen a handful of games in person since Greg played in college, and they were nothing like this. Even in a few man practice, these guys are fast , seeming faster than on TV. And the puck is even faster, flying at the goalie after the loud thwack of a stick against it. I lose track of it for a microsecond, but despite all odds the goalie blocks it and laughs at his teammate.

His laugh sounds familiar. I frown. I can’t place it. But all these guys have just arrived. I consider asking Greg if he played with any of them in college, but given his age, I’m pretty sure that’s not the case. I drop it, as I’ll meet all the players within a few weeks anyway.

* * * *

After the tour, I swing into the executive kitchen to grab a fancy coffee from the machine that has more buttons than my entire kitchen before heading to my office.

Now that I’ve seen the whole place, my plan is to go through my client list and figure out where to meet them. This floor screams management. The cubicles, offices, and conference rooms behind a fancy entry area with a reception desk with expensive flowers don’t even make me comfortable. I want to partner with the players, offering advice rather than mandates. So that means meeting them on a more even playing field—or rink, I suppose. My hope is to take my laptop down to an empty room on the players’ floor that has a table and chairs. There are a few such rooms for agent meetings and phone calls along the hall where the PT rooms and coaches’ offices sit.

But for now, I enter my office and pull my laptop out of the bag I dropped here before the walkthrough. My office is small by request—I hope my visits will be infrequent. In fact, I attempted to decline having a dedicated office, but Greg was having none of it. But it does have a beautiful view of the green area and fieldhouse behind it. I made sure my desk was positioned so I get to enjoy that view, not just have it as a backdrop to impress or intimidate visitors. Thus, I sit perpendicular to the door and the window, able to keep my eye on comings and goings on both sides. My sister’s office is right next door. As we’re less involved in the daily operations of the team, there are several other members of management between us and Greg, which works fine for me.

As we’re closer to the elevators than his corner office, I’ll get to see who gets called up here. Just because I don’t want to date them doesn’t mean I don’t recognize that hockey player physique is amazing, and I haven’t yet seen one at the NHL level.

My thoughts drift to another amazing body—Cam’s. With his high, round butt and thick thighs, he could give a hockey player a run for his money.

Focus. I’m here to focus. I need to start putting names with faces, as I hadn’t paid attention to who Greg selected from the expansion draft beyond the guys already playing at a level to make sports news highlights.

In addition to starting with the married players, I’d like to identify who’s emerging as a team leader so I can schedule them early as well. I make a note to ask the GM and head coach who they’re considering for the Captaincy. No, first I should ask Greg who owns that decision so I don’t step on any toes before the season even starts.

I open up Excel and start my spreadsheet. Name, age, marital status, and salary. Halfway through the HR files, I move the mouse over the next name, preparing to click. Cameron Hill. The unique name leaps out at me. To have my dance student and a player, both new in town, share it seems more than coincidental. Please no . My friends have all but convinced me to have a brief affair with my sexy student, and this could ruin it.

I don’t remember my dance student’s last name. Maria handles the scheduling and billings. Swallowing hard, I click. There he is, as sexy and delicious as ever, that one dark blonde wave hanging over his forehead, the dimple in one cheek where his mouth curls a big higher. The warm brown eyes smile as much as his mouth does.

Holy smoke . That’s why the goaltender’s laugh sounded familiar. It was— is —my Cam.

Unable to look away, I scrabble blindly for my phone and dial Maria.

“Hey, what’s up?” she says. The background noise is one of her preferred dance pieces so she’s not at the café and is practicing solo, or she wouldn’t have answered.

“He’s-he’s—” I can’t say the words out loud. If I do, it’ll be real. My most fun dance partner ever would be an employee, which means a double no fraternization rule. Greg had the standard corporate no frat rule instituted for the Tornadoes org. Even without it, an owner dating a player would be incredibly awkward. And Greg would be worried and annoyed especially after my breakup with Travis. As Greg’s best friend and five years older than me, he’d seemed glamorous when I first graduated a few years ago. At that time my entire focus was on learning the management of our family’s finances. He helped me make connections and find new investment opportunities. But as I learned the responsibilities that came with our family’s wealth, and began to focus on how to put that to good use, his attitude of “you can never have enough money” became tiresome. He hadn’t understood, and even went so far as to complain about how intense Amy was about helping the homeless. As soon as he criticized my sister’s philanthropic efforts, I was done. Now, things are awkward when we’re in the same room together.

“Um, Chris? Who and what is he? Can you give me a hint at least? Sounds like…?” she jokes, referencing Charades.

I take a huge breath and whoosh it out. “A hockey player.”

“Oh yeah? You met one? How was his ass?” I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Cam. Cameron.”

“Your student? Is a player for the Tornadoes?”

“A goalie. Yes.”

“Dayum. I bet Lauren’s not even going to be pissed he doesn’t have a toolbelt.” Then she asks, “You were considering hitting that, huh? And now you can’t because he works for you.”

“Not really. And especially not given his age. He’s twenty-four. I guess it was all a pipe dream. He’s such a great dancer, it makes it harder.”

She snorts.

“Girl, stop being dirty.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, it would have only been a short-term thing. Now it’s a non-existent fling. It’s just a shock.”

“And disappointing. I get it. I’m sorry. It did sound like an excellent end to your dry spell.” She snorts again.

I groan.

“Can you get the PR Director to do a calendar of the team shirtless, and at least use it for your spank bank?”

“You’re not helping. I’m sorry I called you.”

“You love me.”

“I do. Ah well, I’ll get over it. Thanks for listening.”

Until I saw that photo, I hadn’t admitted to myself how much thought I was giving to the idea of taking him for a test drive to see how sex felt with a dance god. I guess it’s back to the drawing board. I’d worry about the next dance lesson and whether to tell him or not, but the secret will be out in a few nights anyway, when he sees me at our charity ball. It’s not even worth skipping it, since I’ll be offering him financial advice within the next few weeks anyway. And for the sake of the team, we’ll hopefully have a long and profitable business relationship.

Damn shame I didn’t take him up on the meal invitation, though. I might have if I’d known that was my last shot at socializing with him.