Page 40 of Traded

“Fluff and filler, you mean.” My voice is dry. “Ten-minute breakdowns of our five-year strategy that nobody watches but the suits think is incredible?”

Amusement fills her voice. “Not quite. But there’s a middle ground. I’d like to talk to you and Ness about how you plan content—horizon scanning, your current target groups, organic and paid spends. I have some thoughts from looking at the budget.”

Fun. Sighing, I take the next stairs that leads to the player levels. “Sure. I’ll put a meeting in the calendar.”

“I already did.” She holds up her tablet when I side-eye her. “It should be in your inbox.”

“How organized of you.” Annoyance leaks through my words. When she touches my arm, I jerk away.

“Sorry.” She holds up her hands in supplication, sleek brows lifting. “Look, I came to Blackwater to do a job. I want to do it and do itwell. This… between us, it makes it harder. I know that, but you need to know I’m not going to hold back here. Outside of work is different.”

I look up the hall, searching for any listening ears before turning to her. “I can understand that. But the two are not separate for me.”

She frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“The Furnace is my home. The people in these offices?” I gesture ahead of us. “They’re my family. This is my life, and it’s not ajobto me. I’m not used to separating the two, so can you give me some freaking grace before you sweep in and ripeverythingI care about apart on the first damn day?”

Shit. My voice has risen, and Lauren flinches back.

“Ro!”

Double fuck. I force a smile before turning. Gabe jogs toward us, an armful of resistance bands looped around his neck like a weird snake display. His eyes are curious as he looks between us. “You still owe me the video from Friday. I need leverage over Ryker. Little shit is arguing about his knee.”

“I sent it to you.” It’s hard to put my brain back into work mode. “Yesterday.”

“Ah.” Gabe grins. “My bad. Who’s this?”

“Lauren Delacorte.” She offers her hand, and he takes it.

“Lauren is taking over content strategy,” I say before he can ask. “This is Gabe Holloway. He’s the Titans lead athletic trainer.”

Gabe looks surprised. “Did I miss a memo? You’re not leaving us, are you, Rosie?”

“She’s not going anywhere.” Lauren straightens, and I glance at her in surprise. “Her content is what made me interested in the job.”

My cheeks color at her small nod. Gabe whistles. “Well, that’s great news. We probably ask too much of her.”

“I don’t mind,” I defend. Lauren is watching me. “I enjoy it.”

“Thankfully.” Gabe wrangles an errant band, grabbing it before it hits the ground. “I need to get these set up. Welcome to the madhouse, Lauren.”

“Thanks.” Lauren watches him disappear around the corner. “Do they ask too much of you?”

“No,” I say shortly. “I’m happy to do it.”

She nods. “So this is the player center.”

I lead her past a series of doors, ticking them off. “Martin’s office—he’s the head coach. Viktor is assistant on defense, but don’t get on his bad side. He shares an office with Dean who works on offense.”

The notebook is back out. It’s mildly impressive how she can take notes while walking. Very coordinated. I keep going. “Remy is video coach. Don’t panic if you find him sitting in the dark, he hates his office light. More bat than man, to be honest.”

“Little weird, but okay.” She points at a nameplate. “These are the recovery rooms?”

“Yeah.” I hesitate outside Elena’s door. “Mina is the team doctor. There’s also Avery, who focuses on immediate recovery, and Elena who does longer-term rehab and mobility work.”

Leo’s door is open, and I stick my head inside. He’s lying half underneath the Zamboni, the roller doors on the other side half-open. The sound of sticks hitting pucks and shouts from the team echo in the air from the rink. “Morning, Leo.”

A muffled grunt answers before he rolls out. Oil streaks one weathered cheek. “What do you need, Ro?”