Page 7 of Playing Dirty
"Cillian?" the redhead says, snapping me back.
"Sorry, I got distracted for a second." I turn back to her. "Would you excuse me a moment? I unfortunately need to make the rounds. Meet the rest of the team I'll be working with."
I deliver it like it's a heavy professional duty I'm nobly bearing, and she gives me a sympathetic nod.
"Ugh,totally. Hopefully I'll catch you later."
She smiles and I move off through the crowd, aiming for the railing where Margot's still talking with the older woman. Margot catches sight of me first, one eyebrow lifting as I approach.
"Welcome back, Mr. O'Rourke. I figured you'd be occupied for the rest of the evening." She smiles wickedly.
The older woman extends a hand. "I'm Diane, Mr. O'Rourke.Lead winemaker here at Solstice, we’ll be working together a bit too."
"Pleasure to meet you." I give her a polite nod, then look back to Margot, who's watching me with open amusement. "So did the great catering emergency get sorted? You bolted so fast I feared the worst."
Margot narrows her eyes, as if daring me to call out her previous lie, then gives me a thin smile. "All handled, thank you. Though it's lucky I stepped in when I did, or we'd be serving cold canapés as we speak."
"Lucky indeed.” I smile at her. “Shame you ran off, though. You missed an incredible lecture on tech disruption from Harold."
Her smile spreads. "Gosh, thatisa shame."
Diane snorts into her glass. "Lord, I hope he doesn't find me later. I can't survive another minute of his lectures."
I let out a surprised laugh. "Is he a regular, then?"
Diane nods. "Yes. He has a private membership, so he gets monthly allocations and invitations to everything. But the man simply does not stop talking and you can’t get a word in. And he’s a bit of a sprayer sometimes if you stand too close."
Margot winces at the description.
"A traumatic memory?" I ask, catching Margot's eye.
She grins. "Only every time he attempts a word starting with the letter P."
I laugh again, shaking my head. "And here I was under the impression you made a point of finding something to appreciate in everyone?"
Margot looks at me, her eyes glittering with a challenge. "Like I said, Mr. O'Rourke.Somepeople make it significantly harder than others."
I smile at her. She is going to be an absolute nightmare to work with, and yet I think I'm looking forward to every minute of it.
Two days later and I'm at the rink putting on a masterclass in how to look like I've never held a stick before. I try to force my way through two defenders instead of just making the simple pass, and lose the puck for my trouble, nearly landing on my ass.
It's a rough showing, even by my recent standards. We're at the team's practice facility, just the squad and the building staff, the low drone of the refrigeration units the only soundtrack to my professional decline.
"Oof. Reckless move there, O'Rourke," Jonesy calls out from the dot, leaning on his stick with an amused look.
"Aye, piss off, Jonesy," I bark back, swinging toward the boards to dig the puck out while his laughter echoes through the rafters.
"Stick to the wine ads, star boy," Betts bellows from the blue line. "Leave the actual playing to the guys who remember which way the net faces."
"You managed a whole of two goals all last year, Betts," I shoot back, digging the puck out of the corner. "I'd be careful about critiquing anyone's accuracy with numbers like that."
A snicker ripples through the guys, and Betts performs a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like I've wounded him. I flip him off without slowing down, and the row of them erupts into laughter.
I've been getting slagging all week about the Solstice wine deal, the same way I did for the Guinness deal, and the week I shot the watch campaign, and the stretch where my face was plastered on the side of every bus in San Francisco.
None of it gets under my skin. I grew up in Ireland, where slagging is more or less a constitutional right. I wore a striped jumper to primary schoolonceand then answered to CaptainHook for three years straight. A bit of chirping about rosé barely registers.
I circle back to the dot, jaw tight, and this time I don't even bother to set up. I just wind up and hammer it, aiming for the top corner. The puck sails wide.
