Overnight Sensation(88)

“Let me just see if I can track her down, Heidi Jo.”

She even knows my name, and that just upsets me more. It should be me sitting at that desk memorizing everyone’s name! I’m good at it, too!

Then I die a little inside. Because the temp picks up her phone to summon Rebecca. And it’s a Katt phone. Only permanent members of the organization get those. The temp is no longer a temp.

I am filled with grief and rage.

Spinning on my heel, I march away, leaving the temp behind.

“Heidi Jo!” the young woman calls.

I ignore her. I must find Becca. It’s already too late, but I’m going to plead my case. Mama always said not to deliver a sermon in the heat of passion, but I’m going to do it anyway.

Or I’m going to try. But Rebecca is not in the press room at the end of the hall. So I poke my head into every office down the row. She’s not in the travel department. She’s not in marketing.

The last place I look is publicity. I stick my head around Georgia’s partially open door, and there’s a woman standing there by Georgia’s desk. It’s not Becca, but…

I do a double-take. It’s Miranda Wager, the journalist. Her phone is lit up in her hand. And she’s alone.

“What are you doing in here?” I blurt out.

“Looking for Georgia,” she says immediately. “I have a question about the charity event next week.”

The hair stands up on the back of my neck, because I know she’s lying. For one thing, there is no charity event next week. The team is traveling to Minnesota and Ottawa. And Miranda wouldn’t be standing so close to the desk if she weren’t snooping. “You,” I say in a heavy voice, “were reading the papers on her desk!”

The journalist’s lip curls. “Don’t be ridiculous! I walked in here about one second before you. I haven’t read a thing! I was looking for a sticky note to leave her a message.”

The explanation slows me down for a second. It almost makes sense, but my spidey senses are still pinging like crazy. I glance toward the hallway, hoping Georgia appears. No luck.

Miranda’s eyes narrow, and she steps away from the desk, slipping her phone into her pocket. “Whatever you’re thinking about me, just go ahead and think it. I’ve nothing to hide. I’m not the one having a top-secret relationship with Jason Castro.”

“What?” I yelp. But then I cringe. Because Jason and I are absolutely having a thing. Even if our thing is confusing the heck out of me right now. But that’s no reason to stoop to Miranda Wager’s level. I won’t lie. “It’s not top secret,” I admit. “We’re having a thing.”

“A thing? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Her eyes brighten. “So Daddy knows? How is your father holding up, anyway?”

“Yes, he knows.” And here I thought Miranda Wager was a real journalist. “Like I said—I don’t have anything to hide. I don’t need to sneak around like a thief.” Like you are. The unspoken words just sort of hang there in the air between us.

Miranda’s eyes narrow with anger as she realizes she hasn’t fooled me. I’ve never had a cat fight before, but today could be the day. I’ve already fought a six-foot fish, so this should be a piece of cake.

“If you’ve nothing to hide,” Miranda hisses, “maybe you’d like to make a statement?”

“About what? Jason and I? That’s not news. Nobody cares.”

“No?” She gives me an evil grin. “How do you feel about dating the league’s only Hispanic player?”

I blink. “He is?” That can’t possibly be true. And what a ridiculous question! “I…” How to shut her down? “It’s a non-issue! He’s just Jason. We don’t sit around and discuss his father’s heritage. Why would you even ask that?”

“No?” She steps around me, wearing a smug little smile. “What color is his dick?”

I literally gasp with outrage. Jason was right about Miranda. She’s a horrible human being, and a ridiculous one. “It’s rainbow-colored!” I shriek. “And it sings to me in Spanish! Are you kidding me right now?”

She laughs. “I was, actually. Later, Hockey Barbie.”

Miranda slips out the half-open door, leaving me with nothing but outrage and the sound of her heels clicking down the hallway.

I just got played. She got me off the topic! She changed it from snooping in Georgia’s office to... Jason’s penis.

My mind whirls. What was she looking for in here, anyway?

Feeling shaky with outrage, I step closer to the desk, putting myself where I found her three minutes ago. I glance around as quickly as I can, but Georgia’s office is a bit of a disaster. There are shelves over her desk lined with every kind of hockey memorabilia. There’s even a photo of my father and some other retried players at the Brooklyn ribbon-cutting ceremony three years ago.

The photos trigger something in my subconscious. Miranda was gripping her phone when I came in, and the screen was lit. Then she tucked it out of sight. Maybe she took a photo, too? Of what?

When I glance down at Georgia’s desk, I get a shock. Right there on the blotter is a print-out of an old newspaper clipping. Tragedy strikes senior class. Hockey team raises money for victim’s funeral. Jason stares up at me from the accompanying photograph. He has his arm around a beautiful, smiling girl. Melissa Skinner would have turned nineteen years old next month, reads the sad caption.