Damage Control
1166 Words
By ten fifteen, Nolan had managed to turn one careless sentence into a problem large enough to require an emergency meeting.
I knew this because my supervisor had just dropped a folder onto my desk and said, “Fix him.”
Not the interview.
Not the statement.
Him.
I stared at the folder.
“Is that an official communications strategy?”
“It is now.”
I sighed and picked it up. “Where is he?”
“Locker room.”
Of course he was.
I found Nolan twenty minutes later, sitting on the bench with his elbows resting on his knees, still wearing his practice gear. Most of the team had already left, but he was alone, scrolling through his phone as though the internet wasn’t currently enjoying itself at his expense.
He looked up when I entered.
His eyes went straight to my face.
“You look pissed.”
“I am.”
“Good morning to you too.”
I shut the door behind me.
“You have forty minutes before the interview.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to answer every question exactly the way I tell you.”
His eyebrows rose. “That’s optimistic.”
“Nolan.”
“All right.”
I dropped the folder beside him.
“Your statement.”
He picked it up.
“‘The Portland Pilots are a talented organization, and I respect their players. My comments were made in the heat of competition and were not intended to diminish the quality of their team.’”
He looked at me.
“You want me to say that?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds like a hostage statement.”
“That’s because you’re being held hostage by your own mouth.”
A laugh escaped him.
I tried not to smile.
Failed.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“That.”
I frowned. “What?”
“You smiled.”
“I smile.”
“Not at me.”
“I’ve known you for twelve days. Why the hell would I smile at you?”
“Maybe I’m charming.”
“Maybe you’re delusional.”
He leaned back against the locker.
“Could be both.”
I shook my head and opened the folder.
“Let’s practice.”
He groaned.
“You’re twenty seven, not twelve.”
“You’re bossier than my coach.”
“Your coach doesn’t have to explain your stupidity to reporters.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
“It becomes a personal problem when your stupidity affects my job.”
Something changed in his expression.
He sat forward.
“I don’t want your job to be harder because of me.”
The sincerity caught me off guard.
I looked at him.
He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“I know you don’t,” I said.
“Then stop looking at me like I’m your worst nightmare.”
“You are currently my worst nightmare.”
His mouth curved slightly.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I cleared my throat.
“Question one.”
He nodded.
I started.
“What changed for you this season?”
He answered.
We moved through another six questions.
Then I reached the one I knew would cause trouble.
“Do you think the Pilots can beat us?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
He shrugged.
“What? You told me to be honest.”
“I told you to be smart.”
“Those aren’t always the same thing.”
“Try again.”
He sighed.
“I think they’re a strong team, but we’re focused on our own performance.”
I nodded.
“Better.”
He leaned closer.
“Was that good enough?”
“Almost.”
“What would make it perfect?”
I looked down at my notes.
“Less arrogance.”
“Can’t promise that.”
“You really are an asshole.”
“And yet you’re still here.”
My eyes lifted.
His gaze was already on me.
The room suddenly felt different.
Not uncomfortable.
Just charged.
His knee was almost touching mine.
I could smell his cologne beneath the faint scent of ice and sweat from practice.
It was unfair that he smelled that good after spending the morning sweating through hockey gear.
I moved my chair back.
His eyes followed the movement.
“You nervous?”
“No.”
“You moved.”
“Because you’re sitting too close.”
He looked down at the space between us.
“There are three feet between us.”
“Then stay on your side.”
A slow smile spread across his face.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I hated how much I liked his voice when he said it.
Before I could answer, someone knocked.
Tessa opened the door.
“Interview in ten.”
“Perfect,” I said.
Nolan stood.
He was too close again.
For one ridiculous second, I had to tilt my head back to look at him.
His gaze dropped to my lips.
Again.
This time, neither of us pretended not to notice.
His voice lowered.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Looking at me like you want to say something.”
“I usually do.”
“What?”
“That you’re annoying.”
He smiled.
“That’s not what I thought.”
“Your imagination isn’t my responsibility.”
“Shame.”
He walked past me.
His shoulder brushed mine.
Barely.
Still, heat rushed through me.
I closed my eyes for half a second.
This was getting ridiculous.
The interview went better than expected.
Nolan followed the statement, answered questions without insulting anyone, and even managed to sound almost charming.
When it ended, the reporter thanked him.
Nolan stood and looked directly at me.
“Well?”
I crossed my arms.
“You survived.”
“High praise.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He followed me into the hallway.
“So, I was good.”
“You were acceptable.”
“That’s basically a love letter coming from you.”
I stopped walking.
“Don’t flirt with me.”
He stopped too.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
Then he said quietly, “Maybe I am.”
My heart stumbled.
I stared at him.
He didn’t look away.
Neither did I.
Then a voice called his name from down the hall, breaking the moment.
Nolan stepped back.
“See you later, Hart.”
“Unfortunately.”
He smiled and walked away.
I watched him disappear around the corner before my phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
I pulled it out.
There was only one message.
You were warned.
My smile disappeared.
I stared at the screen, suddenly aware that whatever was happening between Nolan and me might not stay between Nolan and me for long.
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