Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
♦
My legs are wobbly following our on- and off-ice tests. After the team meeting ended, we all headed to the locker room where our cubbies were like welcome beacons. They’re set in an arcing half circle rather than rows, resting on thick gray carpeting with the Titans’ logo in the center. I’d toured the facilities when I first came in February (before the infamous meeting with Brienne that pissed me off so much I turned down their offer), and I’m as impressed now as I was then. Norcross Holdings owns the arena, and they spared no expense.
We traded our street clothes for workout gear, followed by the first in a series of tests, including timed sprints, push-ups to a metronome until failure, pull-ups until failure, and bike sprints. Our results were recorded, and we were ranked against other team members, although those results aren’t made available to us.
Next, we geared up for the ice and completed another series of tests. I’m a goalie and as such, my speed and stamina are judged differently, but I still had to do the drills, including goal line to far blue line timed sprints, sprints to failure, and finally a sixteen-lap endurance test for time. I kept watch on the digital clock they set up, and I was right up there with the best of them.
I got into distance running this past year off the ice, and while it’s not necessarily apples to apples—running to skating—my endurance is the best it’s ever been.
Dressed back in jeans and a T-shirt, I head toward player parking where my bike waits for me. It’s a gorgeous seventy-five degrees here in the third week of September, and I intend to take a ride northeast of the city. It’s one of my favorite pastimes, developed during my hiatus from the game, but my obligations with the boys never seem to allow travel too far away. I plan on spending the rest of the afternoon riding wherever the road takes me.
Bypassing the elevator that services all levels of the arena, I beeline for the fire escape stairwell as the player parking lot is up just two floors and even my Jell-O legs can handle that.
“McGinn,” a voice calls out, and I look back to see Maurice Dupont, one of the associate coaches. “You’re wanted in Ms. Norcross’s office.”
“Now?” I ask in irritation, and it’s not lost on me that he addresses her formally as Ms. Norcross. Many of the people here do, but not all.
“I assume so,” he says with a pointed look. “She’s the boss, after all.”
“Goddamn it,” I mutter as I turn away from the stairwell door and move to the elevators. She’s on the top level, and no way I’m climbing that far.
Stepping out into the executive offices, I’m greeted by a receptionist. I don’t even have to give my name before she says, “Ms. Norcross is expecting you, Mr. McGinn. Her office is through those doors, left at the end of the hallway, and go all the way down. It’s the corner office.”
“Thanks,” I say and follow her directions. I find Brienne’s office easy enough, and the only reason I know it’s hers is that I can see her through the open door. She’s sitting behind a large, masculine desk with the Pittsburgh skyline behind her, framed in the floor-to-ceiling windows. To the right is a stunning view of the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers where they form the Ohio.
Brienne’s on the phone, but her eyes lock with mine and she waves me in. The plaque outside her door still bears her brother’s name, and I wonder if she’s left that in homage or if she’s been too busy to have it changed.
As I take a seat in a burgundy leather club chair, I take in the ornate, traditional furniture and dark colors of the artwork. I’m guessing all this was Adam’s, as it doesn’t seem to suit her taste.
Then again, her house—or rather, mansion—was filled with similar furnishings and décor. But that didn’t jibe for me either. I peg her as a progressive, modern woman who would appreciate sleek lines and airy spaces. She doesn’t seem to favor frills either. While I have no doubt her clothing is designer, she doesn’t wear a lot of jewelry, and once again, her makeup is simple and tasteful outside of that red lipstick, which I think might be her trademark.
I settle back into the chair, prop a booted ankle on my knee, and listen to her conversation. It has something to do with the Federal Reserve Board, and I’m lost in the first few seconds of my eavesdropping. I might not understand what she’s saying, but I do understand a woman who’s brilliant and knows her shit. I’d read that she has an MBA, but I have a feeling most of her smarts stem from firsthand experience. She was raised to run this empire when her father would no longer be able to do so.