Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Perfect.” I locate my suitcase beside the untouched bed. “Thank you for bringing this upstairs. I feel like I could sleep for a hundred years.”
“Same. I saw you talking to Aiden, so I didn’t come back to the bar. Looked like he was turning on the charm.”
“He asked me out for drinks,” I admit, flopping onto the bed. “I said no. Not that he isn’t cute.”
“But you can’t date a guy in the organization,” she says. “You’d never get a permanent contract.”
“Right?” I sit up again. “That’s just how it works. You’re either a serious person or you’re a sexual being who’s there to pick up a man. You can’t be both at once. He didn’t believe me.”
“He wouldn’t.” She shrugs. “Men don’t understand, even the nice ones. They’re used to getting the benefit of the doubt.”
“Every damn time.” But it’s depressing to think about, and if I don’t get ready for bed, I’ll probably pass out in my jeans right here on the Ritz’s million-thread-count duvet.
I unzip the suitcase to root around for my nightgown. But my hand finds a folded piece of notebook paper just inside.
Oh shit. A chill climbs up my spine as I unfold it to read a scrawled message: You’re not as cute as you think, bitch.
“Not again,” I whisper, my hands shaking slightly.
Darcy looks up from her phone. “What’s wrong?”
I try to crumple the note and toss it in the trash, but Darcy is too quick. She’s across the room and snatching it out of my hand.
Her eyes widen as she reads it. “Oh my God, Zoe! Who would write this?”
I sink onto the bed, my mind racing. “I don’t know. Some coward. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”
“Not make a big deal?” she squeaks, her face reddening and her eyes fiery. Honestly I’m a little worried that her head is about to blow off. “Someone threatened you.”
“No, they insulted me. It’s different.”
She takes a deep breath and squints at me. “You don’t look angry enough, Zoe. Did this happen before?”
I hesitate.
“Seriously?” she squeaks.
“It’s just bully talk. Not that I wouldn’t want to catch him in the act. Do you know who had access to my bag?”
Darcy’s shoulders droop. “Well, everyone. We got off the bus, and the hotel had two rooms ready for us—one where they served lunch, and the adjacent room was for luggage. Anyone who could show a Legends pass could get in there. I claimed yours and brought it up here.”
“Ah, well.” I take a deep breath and try to unclench. “Then there’s nothing to be done.”
“Like hell! You have to report this,” she insists.
I shake my head vehemently. “No way. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
I shake my head again. “Complaining sends the wrong signal. I’m supposed to be fitting in with the team. This just makes me look unliked and vulnerable.”
“It’s a hostile work environment, though,” Darcy argues. “That’s the definition of sexual harassment.”
“Yeah, I realize that. Except it’s also the definition of a corporate headache. They won’t catch the guy. And you know what happens when authorities tell bullies not to pick on the new kid.”
Darcy winces. “Yeah, I know what it’s like to be the new kid in this scenario.”
“See? It would just make things worse. I can handle bullies. What I can’t handle is sudden unemployment.”
“Sharp can’t fire you for being bullied by a dickwad,” Darcy argues.
“No, but he could fire me for any number of other fuckups I’ve been part of. Like the bar brawl video. And my undisclosed relationship with his player.”
“Your alleged relationship.” She winks. “Which I know nothing about.”
“That’s the one.”
I go to take the note back from her, but she holds it out of my reach. “Not so fast. Even if you’re not going to report it, at least we’re going to document it.” She spreads the note out on the expensive hotel duvet and takes a photo with her phone.
“Please don’t share that?” I beg. “Unless it’s with the police after they find my dead body. And if my jugular was severed by a skate blade, make sure they check the blade radius. Could be a clue.”
“Fine,” she mutters. “I’ll only share with the police. And whichever splashy true crime podcast wants an interview.” She puts her phone away. “This is some bullshit. They can’t scare you away. We still haven’t gotten pedicures.”
“I don’t scare that easy.”
Or do I? When I finally climb into bed, I feel a little shaky. Someone in this hotel hates me enough to unzip my luggage.
Darcy shuts off the light. But she’s thinking about it, too. “Any theories? Who hates you this much?”
“The list of suspects could be long,” I point out. “There are still ten players who haven’t made appointments with me. Steve Sailor isn’t my biggest fan. The GM isn’t a fan, either, but he doesn’t need tricks. He could just fire me.”