Page 50 of Playing Dirty
"Yeah, well. I'd love to call out, but even going in late is a stretch for me, and I need to check in with Carol. I'm sure theboard is losing its collective mind." I sigh, reaching for my mug. "I'll deal with the whole Cillian thing later."
"Look, just give it a few days for the media storm to die down.” Celeste says, catching my eye. “Then you two can meet up with no cameras, no work obligations, and see if there's something worth exploring there. Just let the dust settle for a bit. You don't have to doanythingyou aren't ready for today."
"The board wants you to accompany Cillian to Ireland tomorrow," Carol says, her expression uncharacteristically grave as she studies me from across her desk.
“What!?” I say in a breathless rush, my composure practically disintegrating.
I've only just arrived at work, and it's been less than twenty-four hours since Cillian punched a creep on my behalf, fucked me hard enough to make me see stars,andset off a media firestorm that's had the news calling me everything from a gold-digging puck bunny to a calculating opportunist since dawn.
I’m feeling more than a little fragile.
"I'm sorry. I can push back.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “I honestly wasn't sure if you'd view getting out of the country as a relief or a burden. Since Cillian's on suspension, part of his image repair is going to a charity thing in Ireland. Dublin then a day in Galway. I guess he originally couldn't make it because of the playoffs, but now..."
I simply nod, my mind frozen as I try to process the audacity of the universe.
"And, well, the board believes your presence would provide good optics, considering you were at the center of the storm, not thatanyof this is your fault." Carol emphasizes that part. "They want to make a substantial donation too, so Solstice appears as a supportive partner in this mess. Marketing iscurrently spiraling about the brand ambassadorship. We're in full damage control mode."
I rub my temple, feeling a fresh headache brewing. "So they want to ship me to Dublin with him for a public relations tour?"
Carol nods, tapping her pen against the edge of my desk. "Just for a few days. Your own hotel, obviously. Then some media engagements and a few charity appearances. The angle is: while we don't condone violence, we take the safety of women seriously, he's remorseful and all that predictable PR spin."
I nod, staring out the window at the rows of vines stretching toward the hills. I don't know what's worse, the overwhelm of doing all of this in front of a foreign press corps, or pang of disappointment I felt when she saidyour own hotel.
Ugh. I’m not thinking straight.
"Listen," Carol says, her voice softening. "If you don't feel comfortable, I will fight the board on this. I'll throw whatever weight I have around, alright? You just say the word."
I smile a little. Carol came tearing back from the marketing photo op last night and found me in the stands within minutes of the chaos, ready to throw hands with those drunks herself. She's a tough boss, but she's always been in my corner, and I know she'd go to war with the board to protect me.
"No, I..." I pause, weighing the terrifying possibilities of what could happen. "I'll do it. I'll go to Ireland."
13
Cillian
The private airport lounge in San Francisco feels uncomfortably small even though it's actually huge. Maybe it's just my fucking worldview since the incident, where every four walls feel like they're closing in on me.
Derek and our lead PR strategist Angela are settled into the leather armchairs across from me, deep in the pre-flight strategy session. Margot is across from me too, her head bent over a planner, appearing determined to look anywhere and everywhere but my direction.
I feel like I’m going to explode.
"Damage control is always a bit of a marathon," Derek says, leaning back with a tired sigh. "Hockey fans are notoriously vicious. But hopefully this Dublin run, with all the youth sports charity events on the docket, will start to turn the tide."
"Optics are everything, Cillian." Angela nods, her tone as clinical as a scalpel. "We need you to appear humble, remorseful, and focused on charity work while you're away from the rink.And your performance on the ice will have to beflawlessthe second you return, or the press will rip you to shreds."
"Mm," I grunt, which is the most I can manage without losing my temper entirely.
As if I'm not already fucking drowning in remorse. As if I'm not desperate to be back on that ice, helping the team instead of playing the part of a professional apologizer.
I've let down the lads I spend more time with than my own family, alienated the fans, and possibly sabotaged my entire future. They won't have to worry about me performing remorse. But if they expect me to stand up there and say I should have let that assault happen, they can go straight to hell.
“And socials stay dark for the duration.” Derek nods. "Apart from the statement we already put out. The rest comes from external sources."
I nod, staring out at the tarmac. The social silence I can manage. It's the rest of the circus that's grinding me down.
"One piece of good news," Derek adds, scrolling his phone. "The guy you hit has gone very quiet. Turns out it's hard to lawyer up when there's footage of him grabbing a woman and a police report with his name on it. His lawyer stopped returning calls the day Margot's report landed."
Margot keeps her head down, focused on her planner, but I spot a tiny, satisfied smile on her lips.
