Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(21)

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Empathy is a beautiful thing in moments like this.

“It was always my goal to stay within the world of sports, but somehow, I deviated from that and ended up in print and now online journalism.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job in providing a safe place for people to visit for information and fun articles,” I say, feeling my head start to slip right up his ass.

He must notice it as well because his brows turn down as if he disapproves of my compliments. Maybe tone it down a bit, Ollie.

“Either way, I’m not a huge fan of the owner of the Agitators. We’ve had our quarrels in the past, and I’ve always wondered how he’s operated and managed the team. How he’s been able to keep the media at bay when it comes to his players. There is never a scandal. He also has a winning record, more championships than any team in history. The refs seem to always call penalties in their favor, and I believe he’s doing something to maintain relationships so his team is always in favor of the winning side of the ice.”

But aren’t you a freaking Agitators fan? Who cares? Praise the man if he’s paying off the refs.

“Oh, really?” I ask. “Yeah, I truly know nothing about hockey. I didn’t even know the Agitators were that good. I don’t think I’ve ever watched a game, so I don’t have much input on what you’re talking about.”

“Well, you will,” he says while moving his mouse around. “I want you to focus your assignment on the inner workings of the Agitators. I want you to immerse yourself into the team and dig up any information you can.”

“Oh,” I say. “Well, I don’t really feel comfortable doing that, given I’m dating one of the players. It might be a conflict of interest. Best you give this assignment to someone else.”

His eyes flash to mine. “You’re dating Silas Taters. You’re not dating the organization or the owner. There’s a difference.”

Is there? Because it seems to all fall under the same umbrella if you ask me.

“I don’t know,” I say. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Are you saying you’re not going to complete the assignment?”

“What? No,” I say quickly. “I just . . .” I chew on the corner of my lip, feeling all my hard work slip from my fingers. “Maybe I could take a different angle. You know, one that doesn’t impose on my relationship with Silas.”

“Then don’t involve him. Simple as that. The less he knows, the better. We can even change the byline so it’s not reflecting you as the writer.”

“That doesn’t sound ideal,” I say, feeling my stomach churn at the thought. “What if there’s nothing to find?” I barely know Silas, yet for some reason, I feel this sense of loyalty toward him.

“Well, it’s up to you, Miss Owens,” Roberts says as he directs his attention back to his computer. “But I would tread carefully because your journalism career and graduation depend on this internship. So I would make the decision that’s best for you.” Threaten much? Jesus. He clicks his mouse a few times and then says, “You’re excused.”

Oh . . . well, okay. I guess that’s that.

Awkwardly, I thank him, not sure why, and head out of his office. I offer a wave to his assistant, then take the elevator back to my floor, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders.

When I signed up for this internship, it was for the fluff. I wanted to write about the best aftercare for a hangover. Or what books can get your motor running when experiencing a drought. Or even how to balance the pH on your scalp for better hair growth.

I didn’t come in here thinking I would break the code on the underbelly of a national hockey team. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I’m not an investigative journalist when it comes to real-world problems—if you consider refs falsifying games real-world problems. I came here to talk about the things that interest me, and I don’t know, spread a little joy. Not overturn the sports mafia—if that’s a thing. Who knows, I sure as hell don’t because I know nothing about this!

“How did it go?” Ross asks, coming up to me in the break room, where I took a quick detour. I grab a bag of Skittles from the snack drawer and hold it close to my chest.

“He wants me to write a ‘gotcha’ article about the Agitators and how they’re cheating the system.”

“Stop. What did he really want?” Ross asks, clearly assuming I’m joking. If only.

“That’s what he wanted. He said I could get the inside scoop.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“Uh, yeah. And it also breaks all trust I have with Silas. Which sure,” I lean in and whisper, “I’ve known him for a weekend, but still, I’m not that person. I don’t step on people to get ahead.”

“So what did you say?”

“That I wasn’t comfortable doing that, and then he of course reiterated that this was for my school credit.”

“That’s some shady shit.”

“Tell me about it.” I open my Skittles and pop a lime and grape one in my mouth.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m not about to overturn the Agitators organization. I just need to think of a different angle that will appeal to Roberts and one that doesn’t lose me all credibility with my fake boyfriend.”