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THREE

MADELINE

A week of job searching has left me empty-handed and on the brink of joining OnlyFans.

Every restaurant I visited told me they admired my resume. They applauded my experience, but they didn’t have any job openings.

I got the dreaded we’ll let you know if anything comes up smile a dozen times. Every day I’m losing faith I’ll find anything comparable to my previous salary, and every day I’m closer to selling pictures of my feet on the internet.

I settle on my bed with a glass of wine after another long afternoon of wandering around the Strip, exhausted, frustrated, and with dwindling optimism. Lucy is with my parents until tomorrow morning, and I was tempted to bring the whole damn bottle in here with me.

If I’m going to figure out my future, though, I need to keep my head clear. Getting drunk off cheap pinot noir is unfortunately not going to help the situation.

Stretching out my legs, I set my purse on my lap and rifle through it for my phone. Doomscrolling on LinkedIn sounds like the perfect way to cap off another crappy day. My fingers brush against the curve of cardstock instead of the edge of my phone, and I frown.

I set my drink on the bedside table and pull out the folded piece of paper. It’s a business card, and judging by the smudged numbers and letters, it must’ve been in my bag for ages. The right corner is ripped, but I can make out a logo on the top of the rectangle.

“‘DC Stars. Piper Mitchell, rinkside reporter,’” I read, and the night I came into possession of the card comes flooding back to me. “ Oh .”

The Stars are Lucy’s favorite hockey team, and I splurged on tickets when they played in Vegas last season. We sat five rows up from the ice, and after the game, Piper came out of the tunnel with a stack of gear to distribute to waiting fans. She said hello to Lucy, even signed with her for a bit, and gave her one of the players’ jerseys.

Luce was beside herself with excitement.

The jersey smelled like death and hung all the way down to her feet, but she didn’t care. She wore it around for weeks, and it’s still her favorite item hanging in her closet.

I don’t know where her infatuation with hockey comes from. I can barely name two teams in the league, but I’ve been trying to get better about following what the Stars are doing so I can keep Lucy up to date.

This has to be a sign, right?

This card has been in my bag for months . It’s been buried under a pack of gum and a pair of AirPods, forgotten and half shredded by keys and bobby pins, and today of all days—when I’m on the verge of freaking out—I find it?

I’m not a big believer in divine intervention. I’ve never gone to church, never believed in miracles, but I’m going to pretend finding this card is courtesy of a guardian angel somewhere out there who is reaching out to me.

I grab my wine and gulp half of it down for liquid courage. When I talked with Piper all those months ago, she said if I ever needed anything or found myself in DC to reach out. Calling a woman I barely know out of the blue is extreme, and I don’t want to seem desperate as hell.

I weigh the pros and cons while I sip my drink. By the time I finish my glass, my inhibitions are lowered. The anxiety that’s taken up residence in the pit of my stomach loosens from the knot it wove itself into, and for the first time all week, I see a glimmer of hope.

I am desperate as hell.

What do I have to lose?

“Fuck it,” I say to my empty room, dialing her number.

The call rings twice before there’s an answer, and I sit up straight.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” I say. “Is this Piper Mitchell?”

“This is she.”

“Hi. This is so weird, and I apologize in advance how I might come across.” A laugh rattles out of me, but I power on. “My name is Madeline. Madeline Galloway. We met when the Stars played against the…” I trail off and curse myself for not knowing what the hell the local hockey team’s name is. “When they were in Vegas last season. My daughter is Lucy. You signed with her?”

“Oh my gosh. Of course . Hi! How are you?”

There’s warmth in her voice and kindness in her question, like she really wants to know how I am.

It helps me relax. It lets me take a deep breath, and I draw my knees to my chest.

“Do you want the long story or short story?” I ask.

“I love a long story,” she says.

“I lost my job as the executive chef at a restaurant here in Vegas, and I’m looking for work. It feels like I’ve exhausted all avenues in the city, so I’m branching out. Do you know of anywhere in the DC area that might be hiring? Or somewhere else? I’m willing to relocate.”

“Wait. You’re a chef?” Piper asks.

“I am. Or, I was. Now I’m unhappily unemployed.” Another laugh slips out of me. If I hadn’t had that glass of wine, I might be in tears. “New owners are coming in, and they’re cleaning house. I guess the bright spot in all of this is it’s not a reflection on my work.”

“I’m so sorry. Job uncertainty is hard. What kind of restaurant were you working in?”

“A Michelin-starred steakhouse. I’ve been in all sorts of kitchens, though, and I’m comfortable with anything.”

“Anything?” she repeats.

“Within reason. I’m not great with French cuisine, but I’m willing to learn. I have a strong work ethic, and I’m able to stay calm under pressure.” I wince at my tone, at the harshness and bite behind it. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be defensive. I’m so used to having to hold my own against people—men, if we’re being honest—who are less qualified than me but in a higher position of power. It came out like a reflex, and that wasn’t my intention.”

“Don’t get me started on the power imbalance of men and women in the workplace. I see it every day in my role, and I could talk for hours about gender favoritism,” she says fiercely. “But enough about asshats who don’t work as hard as us. Have you ever considered a career as a private chef?”

“A private chef? Um, no. It never crossed my mind,” I say honestly. “I’ve done the majority of my cooking for large groups of people and in restaurant environments. It’s what I’m most comfortable with.”

“Gotcha. Well, I don’t have any restaurant connections,” Piper tells me, and my heart sinks to my feet.

That increasingly familiar dread is back, and the glimmer I saw ten minutes ago snuffs out.

“I totally understand. Thank you so much for?—”

“If you’re open to talking more about a private chef gig, I might have something that could possibly work for you.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. There’s a DC Stars player who’s in need of some help in the kitchen. He’s a really nice guy, but he can’t keep anyone around for longer than a week,” she says, and I frown.

“That doesn’t sound promising. Is he a micromanager? Does he only eat food with human blood in it?”

Piper bursts out laughing. “No, but that would make him a hell of a lot more interesting. The people he’s hired in the past haven’t had his best interests at heart, and he keeps striking out on the chef front. Don’t tell my boyfriend, but he’s my favorite guy on the team.” She squeals then lets out a yelp. “Sorry. My other half heard me say that.”

“Are you dating one of the players?” I ask, smiling at the affection she’s obviously being shown. I remember those early days in a relationship when you can’t keep your hands off each other. How everything is easy and fun. “Which one?”

“Liam Sullivan. The goalie. He’s allergic to having a good time, and I’ll do anything to push his buttons. Anyway. Let’s get back to you. How do you feel about cooking for one person instead of an entire restaurant?”

“I don’t have experience, but it can’t be much harder than pushing out eight hundred plates of food a night for a full dining room. I’m definitely interested in hearing more.”

“Eight hundred plates? My god. Are you Superwoman?”

“Hardly.” I smile and put her on speakerphone so I can pull up the Notes app. “How would this work? Should I set up an interview or a Zoom call? He’ll want to meet me, right? Is knowing anything about hockey part of the criteria for this position, because I can’t tell you shit about the sport. Like, I know there are sticks, but that’s about it.”

“Not having a clue about hockey is going to earn you a lot of brownie points. Can you name anyone on the team?”

“Um. Liam, obviously, but only because you just mentioned him. And Maverick… Molder? Miller? Something like that. Lucy loves him. There’s a blond guy too, isn’t there?”

“There is a blond guy,” she says, but she doesn’t add anything else about him. “This is going to sound slightly unhinged, but are you free to come out to DC for a few days? The team starts training camp on Monday, so they’ll be in town for a bit before they hit the road for the preseason. I can introduce you to him in a setting that doesn’t feel so formal. If you two get along, you can set up an interview so he can ask you some questions.”

“There is literally nothing on my schedule for the foreseeable future, so I can fly out whenever is convenient for you all. Except…” I play with my comforter and gnaw on my bottom lip. “I have Lucy. My daughter. She can stay with my parents while I’m out of town, but I’m a single mom and her sole caretaker. I’m not going to uproot her life until I know this is something that could work. If I do get this position, she would have to move with me. Knowing that, do you think I should still interview?”

“Yes,” Piper says without a second thought. “She’d be welcome here if you decide to take the job, and that’s something you can talk about with him. I’ve known him for years, and I meant it when I said he’s one of my favorite guys not just on the team, but in my life. I promise Lucy joining you won’t have any impact on if he wants to hire you.”

This conversation with Piper has lit a spark in me. I never thought I’d consider DC as a landing spot, but the more we talk, the more I feel like it’s what I should do. What I need to do.

I’ve never been someone who takes a giant leap, and trying this new and exciting thing might be the kickstart I’ve been searching for.

“That’s… that’s really good to hear.” I swallow and glance up at the ceiling. “A move like this is so scary to think about, but that might be a good thing. Change isn’t always bad.”

“I remember feeling stagnant in my career, but a big change that terrified the hell out of me at the time ended up being the best thing to ever happen to me. I want that for you too,” Piper says, and I notice how easy she is to talk to. She’s genuine. Authentic in her enthusiasm and gracious in her sympathy. Hell, she answered the phone for a number she doesn’t know. That speaks to her character. “Even if that’s not in DC.”

“Do you think I’m out of my mind for getting on a plane to interview for a position I’m not sure I’m qualified for?” I ask. “Like, this is kind of absurd.”

“No.” There’s a smile behind Piper’s voice. The soft inflection in the single word makes me smile too. “I think you’re brave and strong for doing something so far out of your comfort zone. I can already tell we’re going to be good friends, Madeline.”

“I’m going to get emotional.” I wipe under my eyes with my thumb. “I’m sorry. It’s been a hard week, and it’s difficult to stay positive when I’m considering someone other than myself.”

“I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

“Could you send me some hotels in the area? And any other information you think I might need?” I ask.

“Hotels? No way. You’re not going to spend money when you have a daughter to take care of. You’ll stay with us. We have too much space, and you’re more than welcome here.”

“Really?”

“Really. Liam doesn’t like a lot of people, but he’ll get over it.”

“Thank you, Piper. I can’t tell you how much this means to me. To us. I know it might not work out, but if it does, it could change my life. You’re an incredibly generous person,” I say.

“We all deserve the chance to be happy. I have to run, but let me know if you need anything else. I’ll text you some more details.”

When we hang up, I’m dangerously close to bursting into tears, but this time, it’s from happiness, and that’s a damn nice change of pace.