“Haveyou told your mom you’re not going back to California yet?” My best friend, Carys, just came home after having spent the past two years going to college in San Diego. Her mom thinks she’s home for the summer. But I know she’s home for good.
“Nope. Not even thinking about it yet.” I’m not used to being able to talk to her on my way to work. Usually, she’d be three hours behind and still sleeping. But today, the skinny bitch is finally starting to sound winded as she jogs around Boathouse Row in Fairmount Park. She tried to convince me to go with her this morning, but that wasn’t happening.
I don’t do the whole get up early to exercise thing. I’d rather sleep in and not sweat. But that’s just me. I stop at the light at the corner of Broad Street between the Philadelphia Kings football stadium and the Philadelphia Revolution hockey arena and wait for it to change from red to green. I swear it’s the longest light in the city.
A fifty-foot-tall LED screen with Carys’s stepbrother Declan Sinclair splashed across it greets me from the wall of the state-of-the-art Kings complex, where he quarterbacks the championship-winning team. It stands in stark contrast to the hockey arena my family owns. I’ve been bugging my dad to do some renovations for a while now. But he typically just nods his head and blows me off.
As I turn into the parking lot of the arena, the drastic difference between the two buildings glares back at me. I’m not sure the Revolution has ever been state-of-the-art. But these days, it looks really rundown in comparison.
Maybe I’ll mention it to Dad again.
The late-July heat engulfs me the second I take an unsteady step out of the car, teetering when the new heels I found yesterday at my favorite vintage shop get caught in a crack in the old parking lot. Okay, so maybe purple satin 1950’s peep toes aren’t the most practical for work. But in my defense, they look perfect with my black lace sundress, especially since I cinched my waist in with a cute belt.
Once I’m stable again, I push my earbud back in before it falls out and continue to listen as Carys tells me all about her crazy weekend at her stepsister’s wedding.
I take two steps toward the Revolution offices before turning back around.
Shit.
Almost left the coffees in the car.
I swear, I am that person. Ask me which Revolution player had the most shots on goal last season—no problem. Van Buren. Three hundred and one shots last year, and two hundred and fifty-eight the year before that. Ask me where I put my keys this morning and it’ll take me for-freaking-ever to remember.
With my laptop bag in one hand and my purse dangerously close to slipping from my shoulder, I reach back into the car to grab both coffees, then hip-check the door shut, barely managing to avoid getting any lace caught in the process.
Okay. Deep breath. I think that’s everything.
My first few weeks spent as my dad’s executive assistant have been intense and not at all what I thought I’d be doing a month out of college. We’d talked non-stop over the past year about me reestablishing the charitable division of the Philadelphia Revolution, the professional hockey team my family has owned for decades. I thought I’d be slipping right into the position when I graduated.
Apparently, my father had other plans. Now I need to get through one year working as his assistant and learning the ins and outs of the team before I can start my charitable foundation.
Still totally worth it.
I figured out early on that Mondays are better for both of us after a quick stop for coffee, and it’s now become part of my regular routine.
“D... Are you even listening to me?”
Oops. “Sorry. I’m scrambling this morning.” Carys and I have been best friends since we first met in our local summer theater program. She was eight, and I was ten, and we both wanted to be Dorothy. Instead, we ended up being the Scarecrow and the Tin Man, and we’ve never looked back.
She knows me better than anyone ever has.
It’s not like she’s surprised when I’m not paying attention.
“Whatever. It’s fine. When am I going to see you?” Carys flew home a week ago, and as far as her family knows, she’s only spending the summer in Kroydon Hills before going back to San Diego. I’m pretty sure only her business partner, Chloe, and I know the truth.
For two years now, she and Chloe have secretly been working on a high-end lingerie line and boutique, and they’ve finally decided now’s the time to make it happen. But family dynamics can be messy, and Chloe’s brother just married Carys’s stepsister in the wedding she flew home for. So they know everyone will have an opinion when they make their big announcement.
I think them having an opinion is going to be the least of her problems when they all lose their minds over her decision to drop out of school. But she refuses to change her mind, so my job will be to hold her hand and pick up the pieces when it’s done.
I push through the front doors of the offices and training facilities for the Philadelphia Revolution, and the cool air chills the bare skin of my arms as I hurry along. “I thought you were coming to the house tonight for Margarita Monday.”
“Sounds good. I’ll drag Chloe with me. Seven work?”
“Yup. That’s perfect. See you then.” I huff as I make my way to the elevator, carrying all my crap. Maybe if I ran like my bestie or took one of the yoga or dance classes taught by my roommate, Maddie, I’d be in better shape. But I’ve never been a fan of breaking a sweat and have no desire to start now. I mean, my ass could be a little smaller or my stomach a little more toned, but if I have to wake up early and go to the gym to do it, it’s not happening.
Curves are sexier anyway.
When I finally make it to my desk outside Dad’s office, the area is eerily quiet, which is kind of strange for a Monday morning. Coach O’Doul’s lights are off, and Dad’s door is closed. Once my computer boots up, I check his schedule for the day and find a meeting with the entry locked, which is odd. I know I didn’t put it there, and Dad isn’t typically organized enough to put anything into his calendar. I grab his coffee, knock on his closed door, and wait.