Page 4 of He Has Pluck

Juliette’s lips are compressed into a grim line as she nods. “I see. Elevate the ordinary everyday struggle to dramatic proportions. Got it.”

“Ordinary?” I say.

“Of course. You don’t think the struggle to win some trophy—what’s it called?—is something special, do you?”

“Well, yeah. Hell yeah. It’s a big fucking deal—”

“Hardly. You can’t be—”

Delaney lets out a loud whistle, stopping my heart for a second. Juliette flinches but recovers.

“Enough. You’re both right, and you’re both wrong. The Stanley Cup trophy is a big fucking deal to the people paying you both.” Delaney pauses and stares us each down. “Though in the worldwide scheme of things, I understand the Brawler’s struggle to win the Cup is hardly a blip on the monitor.” She heaves a sigh and checks her watch, a much fancier one than mine. “Either way, this is the assignment, and I expect you both to take it seriously and give it your best effort.” She zeroes in on me. “And you need to score some goals and win us some games.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that. Call me Delaney like everyone else.”

“Got it.”

“Now we have no more time for this. Sorry Ruminski never made it.”

The door opens without a knock, and in walks a man about Delaney’s age, wearing an expensive business suit and a confident smile.

“I see you started without me,” he says. He heads straight for Delaney and shakes her hand, giving her a warm, familiar smile as if they know each other from someplace else—like bed. But that could just be my overstimulated dick talking. I glance at Ice Chip. My dick doesn’t ease up on the interest despite her purposefully averted eyes. She likes me. Underneath all the bluster and layers of glacial sediment. Why else wouldn’t she give me common courtesy?

Because she can’t stand you, idiot. But that’s just not rational. Neither are you and your moronic dick right now.

While I’m having this conversation with my moronic dick-fueled alter-ego, I miss the exchange between the guy who turns out to be Ruminski and Delaney and find him aiming an expectant smile in my direction.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, hoping I didn’t miss anything important.

“You, too. I think you’ll make an excellent focal point.”

At this, both Delaney and Juliette roll their eyes.

Delaney says, “What he means is you’ll be good eye-candy for the female audience. Which is an audience we’re always trying to expand.”

“You’ll be running a social media campaign to generate buzz?” he asks.

“Yes, if you can provide me some clips and photos,” Delaney says.

“Absolutely,” he says. “Ms. Sullivan can start today.”

I can feel waves of outrage coming off Ms. Sullivan as if she’s a volcano on the verge of erupting. And that gives me a visual of her and me and mutual eruptions—fuck. Stop it.

“That’s it, then. I’ll email you the contract for final review and signature,” Delaney says.

Ice Chip—who’s more like molten lava right now—stands abruptly and heads straight for the door.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Delaney,” I say, my gaze following Ice Chip out the door.

“Call me Delaney.” The older woman keeps her game face, but her eyes tell me she’s laughing her ass off on the inside. She’s a ballbuster if I’ve ever met one. I don’t know much about her or her job, but I respect her. Ruminski shakes our hands and follows Juliette out the door, and I’m not far behind, watching her while I sit on that knife blade between lust and disgust.

My lust wins out, and I check out her rear, which turns out to be like everything else about her—world-class.

“We need to talk,” Ruminski says to Juliette as they walk ahead of me, and even I can hear the reverberation of foreboding in his words.

She turns to face him, and our gazes catch long enough for me to see the vulnerable shadow before she turns away and nods at Ruminski.