“Coach Marco!” Jakowski snaps from across the rink. “Thanks for finally joining us.”
I press my lips together, trying to ignore the sarcasm.
“Now will you stop gossiping with the players and get over here?” he says.
“Sorry, guys,” I tell the team. “Party’s over.”
I join Jakowski and Jenkins on the other side of the rink. Neither of them looks happy.
“What’s up?” I ask, settling into a seat across from them.
“Jakowski tells me you haven’t submitted the report on San Diego yet,” the head coach says.
I turn to Jakowski. “I asked if you’d finish it since I had to take time off for my sister’s wedding week. Remember?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think you did. You must have forgotten to ask.” It’s impressive how smoothly he lies.
I clench my teeth, anger rising in my chest. I have no proof that I asked him other than my word. And he knows it.
I rub the back of my neck. “I’ll work on it this afternoon.”
“Good. Just get it to my inbox by tonight.” The head coach stands. “For what it’s worth, Marco, I know you didn’t drop the ball on this one.” He doesn’t wait for a response. “But I need the report, regardless.”
Jenkins walks away, and I whirl around toward Jakowski. “You know, lying to make me look bad isn’t the way to build a team. It’s sad you can’t be a better example for the players.” Then I leave him sitting there, too stunned to respond.
I head to my office, pulling up the half-finished report and queuing up game footage. The tux shop closes at three, which means I’ll need to leave by two thirty to make it in time.
Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at my door. “Come in.”
Rafael stands in the doorway, his expression serious. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
I motion toward a seat. “Be my guest.”
He doesn’t take it. Just stands on the other side of my desk, studying me. “Jenkins mentioned the San Diego report,” he says finally. “Everything under control?”
“I’m working on it now. I’ll have it to him by tonight.”
“Good.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to talk to you about something else, actually.”
“What’s that?”
“Scarlett Rossi.”
I glance up, unsure if this is a professional conversation or a personal one.
“You two seem serious,” he says, keeping his face guarded. He’s like all the Marco men that way.
Okay, so this is a personal conversation. I lean back in my chair. “We are.”
“For someone who never dates, that happened pretty quickly.” His tone is flat, but it doesn’t hide the questions underneath. “The last time we spoke, you were just bringing her as a plus-one to the wedding. Now it’s serious.”
“It’s always been for me.” I keep my voice even so he’ll drop the subject. “I’ve known Scarlett for over a decade. This isn’t some whirlwind romance.”
“I see.” He pauses, his face still giving nothing away. “And the timing doesn’t concern you?”
“What timing?”
“Her vendor application was submitted right around the time you started bringing her around.” He holds up a hand before I can respond. “I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I’m just asking questions.”