Page 128 of Wild Card 13

Dottie’s tail swept across the floor. Lucy tried not to smile. It was small and tired and gone too fast, but it was real enough to shake something loose inside me.

I had not earned much. Maybe nothing yet. But I had earned that one second.

So I did the only smart thing I had done all morning. I didn’t push. I didn’t tease her into giving me more. I didn’t make it a thing.

I just eased my foot out from under Dottie, patted her head one final time, and stepped into the hallway. “Two-thirty, Ms. Thomas.”

Lucy’s eyes stayed on mine.

Then, softer than before, she said, “Don’t be late.”

I looked at her for one second longer than I should have. “I won’t.”

CHAPTER 16

LUCY

NOW

By two twenty-three, I had reorganized the same stack of briefing packets four times.

The first time had been necessary. The attendance forms had been placed behind the transportation schedule instead of the accessibility profiles.

The second time had been preventative. If Ty needed to reference the volunteer assignments during tomorrow’s event, there was no logical reason to make him search for them.

The third time had been because the corners were not aligned.

The fourth time had been because Charlotte’s voice would not leave my head.They’ll turn on you too eventually.I pressed my palm across the cover of the top packet, smoothing paper that was already perfectly flat.

Beneath my desk, Dottie shifted closer until the length of her body rested against both of my calves. Her chin settled heavily across the toe of my shoe, warm and solid and entirely unconcerned with professional boundaries.

“I’m fine,” I told her.

One ear lifted.

I looked down over the edge of my glasses. “That was unnecessarily judgmental.”

Her ear dropped again, but she did not move.

The office had gone quiet in the strange way Talon Arenaoccasionally did between scheduled demands. Somewhere beneath the operations level, machinery hummed steadily through the walls. A puck struck the boards on the secondary rink below, the sound sharp but distant. Beyond the glass wall of my office, staff moved through the corridor carrying tablets and folders, everyone walking with the purposeful speed of people who knew tomorrow morning had become significantly more complicated than expected.

Nobody looked toward my door.

Charlotte’s termination had taken less than fifteen minutes.

The Human Resources representative had occupied the chair on Charlotte’s right. I had sat across from her with a prepared statement, a list of access points requiring immediate deactivation, and every sentence I needed printed in twelve-point font before me.

My voice had not shaken. Not when I told her the organization had completed its internal review. Not when I outlined the communications she had withheld and the obligations she had knowingly left incomplete. Not when I informed her that her employment with the Minnesota Frosthawks was terminated effective immediately.

Charlotte had listened without interrupting. Her face had remained composed, her hands folded neatly in her lap, as if we were discussing a disappointing quarterly report instead of the end of her career with the organization.

Only after the Human Resources representative began explaining the process for collecting her belongings had Charlotte finally looked directly at me. “You think this place is yours now,” she had said quietly.

I had kept my expression still. “This conversation is not about me.”

“It will be.” Her smile had been small and almost sympathetic. “Give it time. They’ll turn on you too eventually.”

The Human Resources representative had shifted beside her.