by Nana Malone
Why would Bryce ask him to be best man? Fox managed to keep all his altercations and hijinks limited to the ice as he worked his way up from a minor league hockey team to the majors. But he'd never been one to get too involved in family anything. He usually only attended functions if he was dragged to them. And even then, he always kept to himself.
And Gage, well he was the baby of the family. He and Dax hadn't spent as much time together growing up. They rarely played or even hung out with each other.
To be honest, Dax was a little surprised Bryce hadn't asked Echo to be his best man. The two of them were so close. Then Dax realized that Echo was probably going to be one of Tami's bridesmaids. So, process of elimination, of course. He automatically stuffed down the slash of hurt.
A bright-red, breaking-news ticker at the bottom of the screen caught his attention. The game had ended, and the commentators were back in studio. They were running through the highlights of the day's completed games, along with fantasy football statistics. Dax turned up the volume as the suited men switched their attention to the news that had just come in.
"We have word that ownership over at the Thrashers is drastically shaking things up," said one of the talking heads.
"I'm surprised they're making an announcement like this today," one of his co-anchors admitted, shock clear in his tone. "Usually, they save this kind of thing until Monday morning."
"I guess they want to send a clear message that they're moving on from not just the last two games, but the last several disappointing seasons."
"Still, to let almost the entire coaching staff go only hours after that kind of loss… While it does send a message, I'm just not sure that it's the message they should be sending."
"I have to agree with you there." A third man jumped into the conversation. "There is a right way of making this kind of announcement, and there's a wrong way. By announcing it before the day's games are over, it just feels like they’re trying to cause the greatest stir possible."
"I think you're absolutely right about that, but I don't know that I agree that's a bad thing."
Dax muted the television again. Coach Moore was out. Dax wondered who else on the coaching staff would be gone. He pulled up his email and news feeds on his phone, but so far there was nothing. It would take a few minutes longer for already-busy sports writers to ferret out the details and write them up. He did locate the press release, but it made no mention of player trades. In fact, the owners seemed to go out of their way to inform everyone that the changes were being made to staffing; the coaching staff and staff in the Thrashers' main offices. Whatever that meant.
His phone rang in his hand. Damon. "Hey, man!"
"Dax? Hey, it's Damon." There was a levity in Damon's voice that Dax recognized. It came from playing a good game and knowing it.
"Hey, I was waiting for a good time to call, but wasn't sure when you'd be done. Great game today."
"Thanks. And yeah, I'm guessing there wouldn't be a good time to call from your end. Just saw the news, man. It's gonna be rough out your way for a while. I do not envy you."
"Tell me about it. I just saw the news myself. But hey, so long as I'm staying put, I'll just roll with things the way I always do," he assured his friend.
"Actually, I guess this shakeup thing is kind of why I called you in the first place. D'you remember me talkin' about my little sister, Asha?"
Asha. He remembered her name, but her face eluded him. His recall buttons were searching for someone that looked like Damon. Huge eyes, dark features, and olive skin, thanks to their Persian mother.
"Didn't I meet her at the draft?"
"What? No, that was my cousin. No, Asha couldn't make it 'cause she was busy studying for finals and working at her internship," Damon clarified.
That was right. Asha was the bookish one. Skipped some grades or something. They'd never met. "Okay, yeah, now that you mention it, I do think I remember you talkin' about her. Why? What's up?"
"Well, she just got a job out your way. Thrashers marketing department or something. I was gonna give you guys each other's numbers so you could get together or something. It'd be nice to know she's got someone there who's looking out for her, you know? Plus, she might need someone there who she can trust, who she sort-of knows."
"But…I don't know her," Dax pointed out.
"Naw, but I trust you, and if I trust you, she will. I've told you about her, I've told her about you, so it's like you know each other. And you can make sure the other guys stay in line, you know what I mean?" Damon rambled. "Look, I've already told her she should look you up. Just wanted to let you know."
What the hell was he going to talk to female Damon about? Football, probably. "Yeah, okay. I'll let her know that if she needs anything, all she has to do is ask."
"That's all I'm looking for. Thank you." Dax could hear the relieved smile in his friend's voice. "I'll hit you up when we're in Miami. I got a bye week after that, so we can chill."
"You're on." Dax agreed before hanging up. It would be good to bring a piece of his old life to Jacksonville. Even if it was only by association.
He turned the volume back up on the TV, and left the channel on one of the local sportscasts.
How had Damon's little sister managed to land a job like that so soon after graduating? For that matter, how old could she be? Damon was about the same age as himself, and they'd both only just graduated. How little could his little sister possibly be? Not your concern. Because no matter what, the girl was off limits. He pictured Damon disemboweling him for even looking at his sister sideways. Oh yeah, that threw a cold shower on any wayward thoughts. Besides, he had too much shit to deal with to navigate that kind of minefield.
Five
Asha self-consciously brushed the hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear, as she pulled her shoulders back and with as much confidence as she could muster, strode through the doors at Thrashers headquarters.
The frantic energy in the building was palpable as she headed for the elevators. Even the janitorial staff was watching everything and everyone as they went about changing the bags in the trash bins, looking over their shoulders for someone who might be watching them. A haggard-looking security guard was gulping coffee.
Asha and the other new hires had been advised to arrive at eleven o'clock. Supposedly, to give those employees who were being let go a chance to clear their old workspaces before their replacements arrived.
She hadn't run into anyone leaving as she came in, but looking at her watch, she was a bit early. It was only ten forty-five. Asha had never felt that showing up exactly on time was good enough. It was better to show up a few minutes early, to show her enthusiasm and commitment to the task at hand. Way to dork it up on your first day. Good way to make friends.
Pushing the button on the elevator, Asha forced the thought out of her head. She refused to psych herself out about it. She was used to having people…well, not hate her exactly. But somehow, she'd always managed to step on a few toes as she pushed ahead in school, taking over at the top of the class and holding firm once she got there.
Today was looking like it was going to be very interesting.
Raised voices caught her attention when she stepped off the elevator. She did her best to ignore them, and made her way down the hall. The conversation she'd had with her new boss during her interview trickled back into her head.
"We've made trades over the years. Signed fresh blood and shifted players around for our salary cap—even when we haven't had major injuries, we've had abysmal records the last few seasons. It's not a simple matter of changing up the players. Bigger changes are needed—radical and unexpected and thorough changes are needed," he had warned her.
She assured him she was game for anything; that she had not only the necessary knowledge of the sport, but the industry, and of being the odd woman out, as well.
"I'm used to difficult situations," she'd said. "I thrive on them."
But, she admitted to herself,
thriving on them and enjoying them were two different things. She continued down the corridor to the right, where she’d been told the staff offices and cubicles were located. Before she wandered too far on her own, a short, plump woman in a turquoise pantsuit appeared with a tablet computer and a grin.
"I'm Linda, and you must be Ms. Wix," the woman greeted her with a handshake. "I'm the receptionist around here. Though, today I feel more like a referee. I'll show you to your new workspace and to the break room. There's a meeting in forty-five minutes where you'll hear the plan for your department moving forward, and will get your assignment."
"Pleased to meet you, Linda. And please, call me Asha, or Ash, either works," she babbled, falling a few steps behind. A flash of pity filled her, as she spotted a stony-faced, middle-aged man leaving the offices, carrying a cardboard box of his belongings with as much dignity as he could muster.
"It'll probably wind up being Wix," Linda said with a smile, bringing Asha's attention back. "That okay?"
"Sure. I might look over my shoulder for my brother the first few times, but I'll adjust," Asha said with a laugh.
"Hold on to that attitude," Linda advised. "It's gonna be a rough week all around. This is your cubicle. Conference room is over there," she pointed. "And there's coffee in the break room through here. I'll leave you to get settled in. Oh, here," she handed Asha a sticky note with several words scrawled across it. "Your logins and passwords. They're all temporary, so once you get yourself squared away, be sure to change them. And welcome aboard."
Linda gave Asha a nod and a grin before heading back toward the elevator, chatting sympathetically with her departing colleagues on her way to greet the new recruits.
Asha flopped into the chair, then promptly spent the next ten minutes on her knees, her heels conveniently tossed into a corner by an empty filing cabinet, while she adjusted the height and support.
Behind her somewhere, someone whistled, followed by a couple of more descriptive comments made in appreciation of her assets. Asshats. Just what she wanted in the first half hour of her new job. She was less than surprised, though. She was used to the attention. And unfortunately, she'd had to become an expert at deflection.
After a few minutes, her phone alerted her to the meeting. She plastered on a smile and introduced herself repeatedly as she moved through the quickly-filling room. A quick scan confirmed what she'd already suspected. Most of her colleagues were men. And many of them were also a decade or two older than she was.
There were a few who looked to be about her age. But the only three women she spotted had already found each other and glued themselves together. They looked at her like they wanted to include her, but something seemed to change their minds. Several of her male colleagues were slyly checking her out, and Asha barely refrained from rolling her eyes. She could handle them. She met one man's eyes as she caught him staring and unblinkingly held his gaze. Eventually, he coughed and looked away, his face turning red. Over the years, she'd perfected a series of resting-bitch faces. This was her RBF #3. She refused to be intimidated by anyone.
"Okay everyone, welcome," a middle-aged man said loudly, as everyone found seats. "I believe all of you met with me during the interview process over the last few weeks, but in case somehow you've forgotten, I'm Mr. Adams. Now I want to get right down to business. Moving forward, we're reevaluating how our department interacts with the players so that we can get a better sense of their personalities, and how we can use them to best promote themselves and the team as a whole. We want to get the angles on them that will appeal to our fan base and bring them back into the stadium on Sundays."
He looked around the room and was met with nods of agreement before continuing.
"When it comes to settling in and the day-to-day workings, I want all of you who're new hires to ask questions. If you don't know something, don't go trying to look smart and act like you know everything. Ask someone. If you have an idea, I want you to share it. What I don't want, is for this place to get stagnant again. Those of you we've kept, we chose to keep you for many reasons: loyalty, ingenuity, experience, but mostly, the relationships you have with our players. New hires, that's where we're going to start all of you off—getting to know the players as individuals. I'm going to pair each of you with one of our rookies, and after a few weeks, you're going to pitch at least three ways we can formally introduce these guys to our fans. Veteran staff, you're going to cultivate the relationships you have with the veteran players. See if you can think of new angles. Depending on how things go, we may shake it up a bit in a few weeks and swap the players and members of this team around a bit—give you newbies a few more players to handle once you're settled."
Asha shifted in her seat, curious as to whom she might be paired with.
"Now…what do I mean by pairing you up? Well, you're going to meet with your player for at least fifteen minutes, before and after every practice, and every game. You are going to be sitting beside them on the plane, train, or automobile when the team travels. You are going to know their wife's name, their girlfriend, their kids, their mother, father, brother, second cousin once removed. You are going to get them to tell you their deepest, darkest secrets, as well as their hopes and dreams. I want you to know everything about them, so that we know everything about them. It is through knowing our players better that we become a better team, and that we can market that team in the best ways possible."
Mr. Adams moved to a whiteboard, picked up a dry-erase marker, and began writing down pairs of names.
"Mr. Hughes, I want you working with Johnson. Oh, Valazquez, make sure you get them the contact and meeting information. Ms. Wix, you're with Coulter."
What? As in Dax? She raised her hand.
"Excuse me, sir?" she asked, hoping it was just a mistake. She did not want to get paired with her brother's old teammate. It wasn't that she had anything against the guy, having never met him, but she had hoped they'd pair her with someone a little more…serious? From everything she'd seen of Dax, he was a bit of a playboy who had more attention for pretty girls than his coaches' instructions, and little to no respect for anything or anyone other than himself. There was also the fact that Damon had gone and given Dax her number and information without consulting her first.
"I said you're with Coulter. Is that a problem?" The challenge was clear from Mr. Adams' tone. It wasn't impossible that they'd done this on purpose. Either to get rid of Dax, or get rid of her.
"You probably know that my brother and Dax Coulter were on the same team in college," Asha said with an understanding smile. "But I have never actually met him. If you were under the impression that—"
"We wanted to give Coulter to you in part because of his familiarity to your brother, yes," Mr. Adams interrupted. "Coulter is a…tricky rookie to handle. We can only hope your connection to someone he trusts helps him trust and listen to you. Aside from that, I was under the impression that you were up for anything. That you were one of the most promising of our new hires. But if you don't think you can handle this—"
Asha grit her teeth. Challenge accepted. "I assure you, I can handle Dax Coulter. I just wanted to be sure you we’re clear that there is no pre-existing connection between him and me."
"If you haven't met Coulter in person before, you're about to," Mr. Adams said as he handed over the information she would need for her assignment to Dax. "He should have arrived for his pre-practice work-out fifteen minutes ago. He usually runs late, but with Coach Moore gone, he might have gotten curious enough to show up on time. The gym's down near the locker rooms."
Through the rest of the meeting, Asha fidgeted. It seemed the more she tried to get away from it, the more she was stuck with the Wix legacy. But that didn't matter now. If they wanted her to get to know Dax Coulter, then she would get to know Dax Coulter.
At the end of the meeting, she took the information and forced a smile, before turning on her heel and exiting the conference room. She had work to do.
Six
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Asha found Dax in the gym, just where Adams said he would be. He appeared to have just started his workout. He was jogging on a treadmill, wearing headphones connected to an mp3 player that sat in one of the machine's two cup holders.
She stopped to take a long, lingering look. Okay, so she wasn't entirely immune. Well, she wasn't dead, was she? Dax Coulter might look good on the TV screen, but in person he was definitely something to look at. She took her time watching him as he ran, seemingly unaware of her presence.
He was every bit the playboy the media portrayed him as. Tall and muscled, but not as bulky as most football players. Certainly not as big as her brother, at least. She knew part of that was his position. Wide receivers weren't like line backers or defensive tackles, their bodies were not meant to serve as an obstacle to others.
No. Wide receivers needed a degree of maneuverability for evading tackles, jumping higher than the men trying to block them, and above all, the dexterity to catch a difficult throw. She'd seen Dax's numbers from the first two games, and knew his college numbers almost as well as she knew Damon's.
Dax had the potential to post some record-breaking numbers when paired with the right guys, if he was willing to put in the work. But he was a wild card. When he was on, he was really, really on. When he was off… Well, it was a disaster. A drunken train wreck waiting to happen.
She continued to study him. He wore a loose muscle shirt, and shorts made from a similar breathable material. He'd probably been running for ten or fifteen minutes now, but hadn't really started to break a sweat.
Asha took in his dark hair. It was long enough to have a slight wave but not so long it touched his collar. If he were running a little faster, the muscles in his arms and legs would stand out more prominently.
She'd seen enough pictures of him in uniform on the field and on the covers of tabloids to know that he was pretty. So damn pretty.
