Nadia POV
The Owner's Box
The cab dropped me two blocks from Halverson because I couldn't justify the fare all the way to the VIP entrance — not on what was left of my checking account, and not in front of a driver who'd clock the difference between me and the people actually invited here.
I covered the rest of the distance on foot, hugging my notebook against my chest and rehearsing the sentence Cole had texted me that morning: “Tell them at the owner's entrance you're with me. They'll have a name on file.” As if that were a normal thing to say. As if my name being "on file" with a professional hockey team's ownership group was a sentence that could exist in the same world as my student loan statements.
The owner's entrance was a glass door tucked around the side of the arena, unmarke
