Clusterpuck (Vegas Crush #9)

1. A Gap Year

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a gap year

Lila

Max Terry’s office is spacious, with a full line of floor-to-ceiling windows that look out on the desert metropolis of Las Vegas. It’s well-appointed, with a glass desk and a long, white, leather sectional—features that add to the bright and airy feel of the space.

As a first-day intern, I should not be sitting here. If I were anyone else, I’d never see the inside of this room—which is reserved for dealmaking—but Max Terry is my grandfather, so sitting here I am. One of the benefits of nepotism.

“So, where do you have me assigned?” I swirl the ice cubes around in an etched-crystal glass surely not meant for ice and water solo without some top-shelf alcohol in the mix. “Ticketing? Public relations?”

My grandfather, looking sharp with his snow-white hair, manicured fingernails, and crisp blue oxford, just chuckles. “No, you’re with Grant and Laura for the season.”

“I’m sorry?” I feel my brows arch up into my forehead.

“If you’re truly going to learn how to run a shop, I’m not having you making cold calls for season ticket sales or whatever no-brainer work they have those kids do. You’ll work with management so you can actually see the full scope of the work.”

“Are there other interns working with management?”

“No,” he says with an edge. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s just—” Sighing loudly, I try to gather my thoughts so I can express them coherently to my grandfather in a way that won’t hurt his feelings. “I do not want people to think I’m some pampered princess who got the best job in the house just because her grandfather owns the team. They’ll be thinking I’m some spoon-fed rich girl in a position I didn’t earn.”

“Lila.” He levels an intense, blue gaze my way. “It’s an internship, not some cushy salary job. You make the same pittance wages as every other intern here. I’m sure you’ll have to fill your fair share of coffee cups at times, just like everyone else.”

“You’re right, of course.” I know that I’m just another intern here to do a job, but then again, I’m not just another intern by any stretch of the imagination. As my beloved grandfather, Maximus Jonathan Terry, billionaire owner of an NHL championship team, is very well aware. “I appreciate this opportunity, Grandpa. I really do.”

“I know what your goals are,” he answers smoothly. “I have an opportunity to help you achieve them, that’s all. You’ll learn so much more working with Grant and Laura than you would anywhere else.”

“Thank you.”

“And grad school is still the plan after this year?”

“It is. I got into the number one sports management graduate program in the world. I’m not letting that opportunity go.”

“I get that, but why wait? Why not go straight there if you know it’s what you want?”

“I just want to make sure. Doing this, following you and Dad into the business, is what I’ve always wanted. But I want to experience it, work in it, just to be sure. I don’t want to spend the money on an advanced degree if I get into things and decide it’s not my path after all.”

“Always such a planner,” he says. “Though I would argue the advanced degree will be useful anywhere and is probably money well spent. You have plenty of it in your trust fund, and education is always worth the investment, in my opinion. But nonetheless, I’m glad you’re here for the season, and I know the GMs will both be happy to have you.”

“Laura is new, right?”

“Right. She came to us from a college team out east. Grant handpicked her, wooed her out here. I think she’ll be great. Did you know she played hockey all through high school? She was the only girl on her team.”

Laura Gallant just might be my new she-ro. I’m no hardcore feminist, but I do appreciate a good girl-power story.

“So, should I head on down there? They know I’m coming, right?” A little flutter of nerves suddenly makes its presence known in my stomach.

Grandpa must recognize my trepidation because he steps out from behind his desk and closes the space between us. Then he puts his hands on my shoulders. “Lila Jayne, this work is in your blood. You’re going to do just fine here.”

He pulls me into a hug that I hadn’t realized I needed. It puts me at ease in a way my grandfather’s presence always does. “Thank you for this opportunity,” I whisper against his cheek before pressing a kiss to it.

A throat-clearing noise at the door interrupts our moment. We step apart, both of us turning to look to see the source. The flutter of nerves returns, but not for the same reason.

“Tripp,” my grandfather says jovially, walking over to shake hands with the man I’ve had a crush on since I was a teenager.

Tripp Blackburn.

He’s thirteen years older than me, ruggedly handsome with sandy blond hair, now graying slightly at the temples. He’s got a well-trimmed beard and turquoise eyes. Turquoise. Seriously, like the Caribbean. It’s enough to make my knees go weak. Broad-shouldered, with some of his ink peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and below the short sleeves, he is all man. I’m embarrassed to say my nipples go hard just seeing him, so I cross my arms and try to look uninterested.

“When did you get in?” Max asks. He holds out a hand in my direction and says, “You remember Lila, of course.”

He nods, those insanely beautiful eyes pinning me in place. “Lila Marchmont-Terry. Not a little girl anymore.”

“She’s interning with Grant and Laura for the year, then off to grad school,” Max says proudly. “Soon to join the family business.”

Well, one of the family businesses. My mother has a fashion line. Marchmont Exclusive. She’s very careful about preserving her legacy among all the hockey in the family, hence my hyphenated name. My desire to work in sports management is much to her dismay, but that’s a whole other family drama.

“Let’s see…I last saw you at a Blackburn-Terry summer cookout on Lake Muskoka? I was just about to start my sophomore year at Blackstone U…I think?” I’m trying to sound like I’m not sure, but I’m absolutely sure. Because I remember every interaction I’ve ever had with Tripp Blackburn. Our families have been close friends since I was born. The sad reality is that I’ve crushed on him since I was, like, thirteen. Physically only. Otherwise, he’s not really my type.

He nods in agreement. “I suppose that is the last time I saw you. Was that like four years ago?”

“Yep. I’m on a gap year between undergrad and grad school.”

“A gap year.” He tilts his head at me. “Working here?”

“Interning.”

He grunts in response. “Where will you go to graduate school? And for what?”

“I’m headed to Ohio. Middle of pretty much nowhere in the hills outside of Columbus but the sports management program is top in the world. Gaudreau University. Ever heard of it?”

“Oh yeah. The guy who founded it was a legend. Only the best for our little Lila Jayne.” He’s not sneering, but it kinda vibes that way, like he’ll be the first to line up and point out what a joke it is that I got a primo internship with the general manager of a championship team. Of course I did. I’m Max Terry’s beloved granddaughter.

And what was his Only the best for our little Lila Jayne comment about? He’s hot but his tone sets me a little on edge.

“What are you doing here?” I fold my arms over my breasts. “I thought you went out to pasture.”

Tripp chuckles, eyes narrowing like, challenge accepted . “Well, this old bull still has a bit of rodeo left in him, I guess.”

My grandfather adds, “We’ve put Tripp on a one-year contract. Maybe we can get him engraved on the cup before he hangs up his skates for good. Only a playoff contender can make that even a possibility.”

Huh. Not the only one using family connections to wrangle opportunities, I see. Tripp Blackburn just finished up a huge seven-year contract with Anaheim at the end of last season. He’s been in the league for a long time. Solid player, but he’s thirty-six years old. Not the oldest in the league, by any means, but certainly old enough that retirement is starting to make a lot of sense. He’s probably sitting on millions and could go off and do whatever he wanted at this point. Coming to add a year with a team full of superstars doesn’t seem like the most logical choice. I mean, he’s a strong player, but his star status days are well behind him at the twilight of his hockey career.

I decide to reserve my questions for later, when I’m alone with my grandfather again. “I should get down to see Grant.”

“Start with Laura,” he says. “She’s expecting you.”

“Who’s Laura?” Tripp asks as I gather my bag and jacket and head for the door.

“Our newly acquired Assistant GM,” Max answers.

“So, you hired a woman for the job.”

I stop at the doorway, ready to turn right back and ask Tripp just exactly what he means by that comment. The Marchmont independence in me wants to tell him what year it is and just how many women work in sports management roles these days, but I convince myself to just keep on walking. It’s probably not the best idea to get into a verbal altercation with a player on my first day here, even if that player happens to be someone I’ve known all my life.

As I walk, I think about all the times the teenage me wrote Tripp Blackburn’s name in my notebook or googled him just to see pictures of him in his hockey uniform. Raging, white-hot crush, I tell you. But now? After seeing him through the eyes of an adult, maybe the crush has dissipated some. Still, just the thought of those eyes of his on me? Slays me every single time, sending heat straight to my core, making me forget all my good sense. How annoyingly frustrating considering he’ll be seeing me a lot more than he usually does this season. I’m surprised I missed the announcement. I wonder if knowing in advance about Tripp playing for Vegas would’ve influenced my decision on taking a gap year interning at the Vegas Crush…

I snap myself back to the task at hand as I hit the corridor where the GM’s offices are located. Knocking lightly on Laura Gallant’s door, her head pops up, attention pulled from whatever thing had her focus.

“You must be Lila Marchmont-Terry.” Standing up from her desk, she walks over and extends her hand.

My instant impression of Laura is “imposing.” She’s got to be six feet tall with caramel skin and dark natural curls. Her athletic build is accentuated by the ice-blue wrap dress she’s wearing. She looks very pulled together with her big earrings, a bigger necklace, legs for days, and sky-high heels.

“That’s me.” As we shake hands, I suddenly feel kind of dowdy in my jacket and pencil skirt. I imagine Laura Gallant likely turns heads in every room she enters. My mother would approve. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Ms. Gallant.”

“Oh, girl, no. Call me Laura. And Grant is Grant. We are not that formal up in here.”

I breathe a little easier. “Okay.”

“Come sit down,” she says, gesturing to a dark leather couch.

I sit as she takes a seat in the adjacent chair. “Thanks for taking me on this season. I thought I was going to sales or PR or something. I was pleasantly surprised to hear this was my assignment.”

“Granddaughter of the owner gets pick of the litter,” she quips. “That’s how it works.”

I cringe a little inside. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“Look, I didn’t ask to be a Black female who loves hockey, right?” She smiles widely at me and lifts both palms up. “But here we are.”

“You grew up playing.”

“I did. There were exactly seven Black people in my hometown in Maine. I was related to four of them, and the other three were decades older than me. None of the girls would talk to me, so I made friends with the boys, and most of my friends played hockey. I started going out to skate with them on weekends when I was in, like, fifth grade. Fell on my ass a few times. Got knocked down a few times. But eventually, I got the hang of it. And eventually, I fell in love with it.”

“That’s awesome. And you played in high school, Max said?”

“Yep. I lettered in my junior and senior years. Went on to play club in college, and while I was at it, got to serve as a student administrator for the men’s team. Fell in love with team management.”

“I get it. My dad’s the GM in Toronto right now, so I grew up around it.”

“Your mom around? What’s she do?”

“She’s a fashion designer.”

“Oh, shit.” She smacks her hands on her knees. “Marchmont Exclusive. Duh! I’ve worn her stuff to formal events. My body is damn hard to dress, and she makes good stuff for curvy women.”

“She’d be pleased to hear that. She’s a little bit curvy. I’m a lot curvy. She purposely set out to make high fashion attainable for more natural body types.”

“And you weren’t interested in that side of the family business?”

“No, not really.” I shake my head. “I’m not that into fashion. Which annoys her, of course, because it means I’m never dressed the way she’d like me to be. I just always gravitated more to the hockey side of things. I love the game. I know the game.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I just…I really want you to know that I want to learn, Laura. I know people will think I’m only here because my grandfather owns the team, but I will work hard.”

“Look, you probably are here because your grandfather owns the team. Let’s just get that out of the way. It’s okay, right? Sometimes it is who you know. It’s what you do with the opportunity that matters. Show people what you can do. Add value. Then everyone will forget that the owner is your grandfather.”

I can’t help but smile. I’m going to learn so much from this woman.