Page 2 of Reputation (Toronto Royals #1)
“That’s the plan. Tabitha is just waiting for you to officially accept the role before they offer your job to the other candidate. If all goes well, she’ll be starting on Wednesday.”
Three days. That was all she was going to have with her replacement. Her mental list suddenly became daunting. Eavie shook off that thought. She would handle it, just like she always did.
“You are going to accept, right?” asked David, pulling her from her thoughts.
“Yes!” she rushed out. “Yes, of course! Sorry, my mind immediately jumped into planning mode.” She laughed, shaking her head.
“Good. You had me worried there for a second,” he joked. “Well, they are waiting for you to sign the paperwork next door. You should do that now. It’s almost the end of the day anyway, and like I said, they want to get this wrapped up right away.”
“Sure,” she answered, her gigantic smile back on her face. She stood up to leave, but paused halfway to the door. Turning, she caught his gaze. “Thank you, David.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said with a friendly wink. “Now get out of here before I change my mind and tell Tabitha I’m keeping you.”
Half an hour later, Eavie pushed through the revolving doors of the Toronto Royals Sports Complex, housing the operational departments of the Royals.
The block-sized building also housed the practice arena and the Royal City Arena, known as The Palace , where the Royals played all their games.
Her breaths burst from her chest in excited puffs.
The warm, late September sun shone through the spotless glass, reflecting the shimmering light she felt radiating inside her.
The sweet feeling of accomplishment sizzled through her veins, giving her the best kind of high.
Pivoting on her stilettos, she practically skipped down the busy streets of the downtown core toward the subway entrance.
The quick click of her heels translated her jubilation into the world.
The sounds of the city swirled around her, but it was more like background noise to the buoyant pulse of her heart in her ears.
It all felt so surreal and yet…deserved.
She couldn’t believe that only an hour ago, she had been doubting this moment would happen.
The paperwork was officially signed. As of Monday, she formally worked for the Toronto Royals. More specifically, she would be the executive assistant to Sam Morin, the general manager. She felt that everything she had done over the last seven years had led her to this moment.
Taking her phone out of her tote bag, her shaking fingers flew rapidly over the keys as she typed successive, semi-coherent texts to her best friend.
Eavie:
Oh my god…Just got the news.
I can’t believe it!
I goyt ut!
**I got it!**
As she slid her phone into her trench coat pocket, she reveled in the feeling of this accomplishment.
Another, hopefully final, step in her career complete.
If she worked her ass off for the season, proving herself, she just might be offered the permanent role.
She’d be damned if she let anything stand in her way of that very last step.
Tilting her head up to the cloudless blue sky, she beamed as if she were the main character in a Gary Marshall movie.
Giddiness filled her as the sweet thrill of success swelled in her mouth, her cheeks aching from the smile still plastered on her face.
Hearing her phone chime inside her pocket, she pulled it out to see a response from Joyce.
Joyce:
FUCK YES you did lady! Congratulations!
Mandatory drinks tonight to celebrate! No excuses!
Eavie laughed, not bothering to resist her best friend’s demand. Considering she felt like shouting from a rooftop for the entire city to hear, drinks at their favorite bar seemed like a less embarrassing way to commemorate the occasion.
Neither needed to explicitly say where they would be going. The Spot was their go-to bar down the street from the condo building they both lived in. They had been frequenting the place since before it was trendy.
Eavie:
No arguments from me tonight!
Joyce:
What time do you want to meet?
Eavie:
Does 6pm work??
Joyce:
Perfect, see you there!
Eavie:
Before putting her phone away, she pulled up her conversation with her twin brother, Eric.
Eavie:
Who’s the most brilliant and beautiful woman in your life who’s also about to be the EA to the Royal’s GM? FaceTime you later so you can witness the ensuing happy dance!
She dropped her phone back into her bag as she bounded down the old, tiled stairs into the subway.
It wasn’t quite five, but the subway rush hour was still on summer time.
No one was ready to admit that fall had begun spreading it’s fingers through the city.
People sneaking out of work early herded through the gates, criss crossing each other in their dash to get home.
Not wanting to miss the train arriving at her platform, Eavie carefully hurried down the escalator, balancing precariously in her high heels on the grated steps, and slipped through the doors as the bells shrilled their closing.
Greeted by the crush of people inside, she shimmied down the center aisle until she found a spot where she could reach the loop hanging from the upper bar.
Hugging her bag to her chest with her arm, she clasped the rung above her, catching her balance just in time.
The train jolted forward, and the sea of bodies shifted together like a current.
Glancing at her watch, she calculated she would have just enough time to run home and change into something less businessy before meeting Joyce.
“Congratulations, you badass bitch!” Joyce exclaimed, seated at their usual high-top table. At Eavie’s arrival, she pulled the cork on a bottle of champagne. The resounding pop was loud enough to hear over the hum of the crowd packing the popular bar to capacity.
Eavie laughed giddily, uncaring about the attention they were drawing. “Ah, thank you!” she said with an excited shimmy of her shoulders.
With one arm, Joyce reached out and drew Eavie into a crushing hug, which, given Eavie’s height of five foot nine, brought Joyce to her shoulder. With the other, she poured two glasses of bubbling champagne.
Joyce was the definition of petite. She was born to be a dancer at only five-foot-four, with a tiny figure and a beautifully elegant carriage. On the outside, she looked like a porcelain doll, but on the inside, she was pure toned muscle and one hundred percent sass.
Her straight, shoulder-length black hair and almond-shaped eyes, so dark that they appeared as black as her tresses, only added to her delicate image.
Still, there was absolutely nothing fragile about her personality.
Clad in a short black skirt and long-sleeved black bodysuit, she looked as fierce as her temperament.
Joyce could party most of the Bay Street Boys in this bar under the table.
Her doll-like facade hid the fact that she could chug a beer like a champ.
Handing one flute to Eavie, she said, “To you, my darling, for kicking ass and landing the promotion!”
Eavie’s smile widened as she let out an excited laugh. She raised her glass and clinked it with Joyce’s. She couldn’t douse the stupid smile she’d been wearing since she left David’s office.
“I honestly can’t believe I got the job. There were so many applicants, many more qualified than me,” she said honestly. While she had been dead set on getting the job, it didn’t stop a small part of her from doubting.
Never one to pull punches, Joyce said, “Maybe, but they picked you. Already working for the organization would set you apart,” she observed, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at Eavie.
“You have a great reputation there, and you said David gave a recommendation. I’m sure he wasn’t happy at the prospect of losing you, so for him to do that shows you earned it. ”
“You never fail to be my hype woman, do you?” Eavie laughed, taking another sip of the crisp, fruity champagne.
“Forever,” Joyce echoed firmly, punctuating the statement with a decisive nod. Her hair shimmered in the low light of the bar as it swayed with the movement.
“Now, I know this night is about me,” Eavie paused, giving Joyce a cheeky smirk, “but I want to hear all the new gossip from the company,” referring to where Joyce danced for the National Ballet and its infamous drama.
There was never a dull moment behind those elegant stage curtains.
It was probably one of the things Eavie missed the most about working for the National Ballet—real life reality TV.
Joyce returned Eavie’s look with a mischievous one that matched the twinkle shining in her dark eyes. “Oh, do I have so much to tell you!”