Page 48 of Offside Rules

"Probably. I’m still working through the menu."

"It’s a better recommendation than you realize. Give me her number."

I shoot her over the contact information for Baylor.

"One favor, Juliet."

"Uh huh?" she says as I can tell she’s already moved on to the next thing she needs to get done today.

"Don’t tell her I gave you her contact information. And don’t tell her I’m involved with the foundation."

The papers stop. "Does she know you fund it?"

"No."

"Any chance you want to explain why?"

"Not particularly, no. It could potentially cause some issues that would cause a problem for me right now."

"I see. Okay, not a problem. You've always been a little secretive about your involvement. I’m not surprised, and I won’t say a word."

I used my entire first-year guaranteed contract money from Colorado to start the Second Shift Foundation. Putting my name on a check would have made that check worthless to the people I needed to help. I’d been told to stay away from Beau and his family. There wasn’t much room to misunderstand that request.

So I found another way to pay for the things keeping him from getting back on the ice. Surgeries. Rehabilitation. The bills that kept coming after everyone else had moved on to the next season. Beau was the first recipient. Then the foundation took on other donors and other injured athletes—kids, college players, people who didn’t have a professional contract waiting. Some just wanted to finish a season or get through school without their families taking on another bill. I remember exactly why the first payments went out, but Beau isn’t the only reason I keep funding it. These days, I also like being able to give without a reporter asking whether I’m making up for a late hit. The money is supposed to get somebody treatment, not get me a nice headline.

I’m not ready for Baylor to find out while she’s standing in my kitchen trying to keep her business running. I could tell her about the referral without telling her the rest. But then she’d ask why I work with the foundation, and I’d have another choice to make.

I look at her number in the message I sent Juliet. Baylor should get the job because she can do it. Juliet will make that decision after a tasting and a proposal. Keeping my name out of the conversation is for me.

"She needs to know the organization she’d be working with," Juliet says. "I won’t misrepresent that."

"Tell her everything about the event. I’m asking you to leave my name out of it."

"I can do that. You’ve kept it off everything else."

"Thank you."

"And she’ll need to do a tasting. I’m serious about that."

"So am I. If it’s not right, it’s not right." I pick up the little box and turn it in my hand. "But try the banana ones if she brings them."

"Now I’m definitely calling her."

We finish with the venue dates and the dinner options. Juliet promises to send what needs a signature, and I tell her I’ll answer the email this time before she has to call me again.

When we hang up, I open the box. Two cupcakes, one with filling and one without, each marked on the inside of the lid. She asked me to compare them. I can manage that much without making another phone call behind her back.

I take a bite of the first one, then send her a message.

Keep the filling.

Her reply comes before I’ve finished chewing.

You’re not even home yet.

Research.

You better eat the other one too. It’s a comparison.