Getting Hammered Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

@ToddCowan Hearing rumblings of an incoming trade between Hamilton and Winnipeg. Watch this space.

Hamilton Steelhawks head office, early September

From her first day on the job, Chloé Taylor-Wallingford learned she couldn’t put so much as her pinkie toe out of line. In fact, if side-eyes could kill, her boss possessed a death ray.

Chloé got it, though. She really did. When your dad owned a hockey team and you landed a job in the front office, a lot of people were going to look at you funny and think your qualifications began and ended with your last name. Narrowed eyes, whispers behind your back—Chloé could deal with that.

Because in the end, she would show them she was competent, that her four years of university majoring in communications, extracurricular achievements, and extensive résumé weren’t fluff. Even if it meant doing twice the work because no one would quite believe in her otherwise.

With her mouse, she scrolled down the computer screen, double checking a series of scheduled posts for the team’s social media. A reminder for fans to buy ticket packages, a feel-good video about Max Ducharme’s off-ice work with local kids, players taking part in a charity softball tournament, others working out in the gym…

Everything looked good. No misspellings or typos. Upbeat copy, sharp graphics. All of it designed to increase fan engagement and stoke their excitement for the upcoming season.

She added a final post with the countdown to opening night. Just about six weeks from now.

Perfect. Ms. Alexander, her boss, couldn’t possibly find fault with any of this, though she’d surely try. And the moment she discovered a nit, she’d pick it raw and bloody.

The rapid click of sensible heels on the tile floor presaged said boss’s entrance. “I need to see you in my office. Now.”

No good morning. No how are you doing? Strict business, but that was okay. Shawntelle Alexander had two decades of work experience and battled more than most to make it as a Black woman in sports journalism. She could teach Chloé a lot.

So Chloé would deal, and if her dad asked her how things were going at work, the answer would always be fine.

“Yes, Ms. Alexander.” She pushed back her chair, and straightened, smoothing down her pencil skirt and straightening her jacket. She grabbed a pen and notepad off her desk before following her boss down the corridor past team photos of years past. Year after year of Steelhawks, sitting stiffly in their gear, captains and alternates in the front, goalies on either end, game faces and piercing glares to a man. Winning was serious business around here.

She marched into Ms. Alexander’s office and took a seat facing a broad, spare workspace. A computer monitor in one corner, wireless keyboard, a phone, a holder with pens and pencils, but mostly a bare expanse of oak. Ms. Alexander rested her elbows on the desk and contemplated Chloé over a pair of severe, dark-rimmed glasses.

Professionalism. That was the cardinal rule around here. Ms. Alexander had made that point clear when she was interviewing Chloé. “You’re here to do a job as my assistant,” she’d said. “Not to slack off and not to snag yourself a player. You will dress and act the part.”

Not that Chloé had any intention in taking this position beyond proving herself and gaining experience. She didn’t need to work in the front office if she wanted to meet players—which she didn’t. Still, she’d made a point of showing up in the morning in a sober-shaded businesslike suit, crisp blouse buttoned to the neck, her blonde hair knotted in a bun. Subtle makeup, understated jewelry. Perfectly polished and tasteful. Definitely not the kind of get-up that would get a second glance from any of the guys on the team.

Because she knew what hockey players were like. They were her coworkers in a sense, but they might as well be from a completely different planet.

She laid her pen and paper on the desk before folding her hands in her lap. “I’ve reviewed all the posts for the week. It’s all ready to go.” Might as well dive in before Ms. Alexander could ask. “I’ve done a write-up for the website for the charity softball game in Stockwood featuring Jayden Kelly and some of the others. Oh, and I’ve updated the media guide.”

“Good, good.” Ms. Alexander’s hands moved to her keyboard, fingers clicking on the keys. The monitor flashed to life, the colors on the screen reflected in the lenses of her glasses. “Though you may have to redo the media guide.”

Oh, here it came. Some idiotic mistake or other. “I’m sorry. Did I do something—”

“It’s nothing on you. The GM is finalizing a trade. As soon as it goes through, you’ll need to be ready with an announcement and an update to the team website. But that’s not what I called you in to discuss.”

“Oh?”

“I need your help with some brainstorming.”

Chloé sat back in her seat. This was new. So far, nothing about Ms. Alexander hinted she was the least bit impressed with Chloé’s mind. “Whatever you need.”

Because if Chloé had learned anything about getting along in the world, it was the need to please. Every time.

“I’d like to go over the way we’ve been marketing the team, noting what works and what doesn’t.”

“And you want my input?” She had, after all, only been on the job a couple of weeks. Not even a season’s worth of experience.

“I’d like the perspective of someone in your demographic.”

Right. White, female, mid-twenties, only… “I’m not what you’d call a hockey fan.”

“That doesn’t matter. You’ve had time to view the analytics on our various platforms, and you can certainly tell me what works for you, personally, and what doesn’t. In fact…” Ms. Alexander lowered her glasses. “As someone who doesn’t follow hockey, you’re just who we’d like to target. How do we get someone like you interested?”

You can’t. She held that reply in. She’d never paid attention to sports, and most especially not hockey. It was nothing but a bunch of sweaty guys with foul mouths and fouler manners ramming into each other. Not her thing at all, even if her dad did own the team. If she couldn’t get out of attending a game, she was happy to remain at the bar at the back of the family box and chat with one VIPs or another.

Chloé picked up her pad and pen. “Okay, then. Let’s grow the game.”

“First off, let’s list what works and what doesn’t. It may sound simplistic, but believe me, some people in this building think But we’ve been doing it forever constitutes a sound argument. In this day and age, if we get roasted online for whatever we’re posting, we’re not doing our job right.”

Though Ms. Alexander had warned Chloé about reading comments in detail, she still had to peek at them to assess the general reaction. For that matter, her boss must have, as well.

Chloé drew a line down the center of her pad. In and out. Old-school of her, perhaps, but scribbling notes longhand sometimes went faster than typing on a phone. “So, what are we putting in these two columns?”

“I’m tempted to get rid of those videos where the players ask each other silly questions, or guess-the-object type content. First of all, they look awkward as hell doing them. Secondly, I’ve never been able to tell who they were aimed at. Kids? Parents? Stat nerds? No one will miss them.”

Chloé had to agree. She’d gone through the promotional videos since her hire, and some of them fell on the definite cringe side of the line. “Got it. What else?”

“As much as I hate to bring it up, I have to consider post-game interviews.”

“Wow, really?” Ms. Alexander, after all, had come to her position as VP Communications via a career in sports journalism.

“I don’t mean to axe the interviews altogether, because the reporters demand them,” her boss explained. “Do you think broadcasting them live on our social media really adds anything for the fans? The players mostly spit out cliches about playing the full sixty minutes and giving a hundred and ten percent. Most fans could probably answer the interview questions themselves.”

“From what I’ve seen, certain accounts like to post quotes, and they seem to get engagement. It keeps the fans talking.”

“True, true.” Ms. Alexander’s nails clicked on her desktop. “All right. You’ve convinced me. We’ll continue streaming the media availabilities.”

Chloé added post-game interviews to the in column. “Still, we need to come up with some fresher content. What should we add?”

“You tell me. What generates the most engagement?”

“More things like you did last year. Stuff that makes the fans feel like they’re getting to know the players. Those videos you made of Jamie Edwards and Jayden Kelly balancing their off seasons with family commitments. Those were good and generated positive feedback.”

Ms. Alexander nodded. “Anything else?”

“Stories that play up the human-interest side. We got good engagement through Max Ducharme’s work with the kids at the community center.” Chloé made a note before going on. “We still do. I’ve got an update scheduled to go up on our accounts and website. With the new season about to start, I imagine he’ll put in an appearance or two?”

Her boss tapped her nails on the desk. “From what I’ve heard, his wife is planning on continuing her involvement in the program. And Max is still mentoring one of the kids from his first season there. I think he’s in U13 this year.”

Chloé tapped her pen on her pad. “What if we looked into sending a bunch of the players to help the team practice? It would be a boost for the kids and a boost for our public engagement.”

“Right. Make a note to contact Max asking which team Riley’s on this year. That’s Riley Maddox.”

Chloé scribbled down the information. “That’s more human-interest content.”

Ms. Alexander studied a point over Chloé’s shoulder. “This is all good for the parents among our fans, but I want to reach younger demographics. Teens and young adults. It’s not enough to have our admins post funny TikTok videos. We could wipe the dust off of Hamish, make him more present on social media with tongue-in-cheek posts.”

Hamish, the team mascot, was a giant silvery-feathered hawk in a hockey jersey. “Wouldn’t it look like we were copying the Philadelphia mascot too much? Besides, Hamish is nowhere near weird and scary enough to pull that off. He’s too lovable.”

Ms. Alexander let out a little snort, and the trace of a smile passed over her lips. “No, you’re right about that. That big, orange whatever-it-is, is one of a kind and no one can do that shtick better than he can. Leave Hamish to cuddle the kids.” She paused for a moment. “How about renewing our merch? Limited editions, original designs, stuff like that. A few weeks ago, Laurent Gill posted a picture on social media with a tee-shirt designed by a friend of his, and that got a lot of positive comments. I asked for the artist’s number, so you should call her and ask if she’d been open to selling us the rights to the design.”

“Right. On it.” Chloé uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “What about female fans?”

Again, that sharp, over-the-glasses stare. “What about them?”

Wasn’t that the entire reason they were having this discussion? Not that Chloé was a fan, per se. Still, she was straight, and she had eyes, and she’d just spent the last two weeks updating head shots and posting videos of the Hawks in the gym. “Well… I mean, we have some good-looking guys on the team. Maybe work that angle a little harder? If you read the comments under Jayden Kelly’s off-season video, it’s pretty clear what some fans liked about it.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Chloé had looked up what some of the other teams were doing. Just in the name of research, of course, but it was impossible to stay completely detached. “Maybe a video where they show off their tattoos and explain the meaning behind them? Other teams have done that with views off the charts.”

“Well, that won’t inflate their egos at all.” Ms. Alexander snorted and leaned back in her chair. “Still, I don’t want complaints that we’re not a family friendly team. I know your father would definitely not like that.”

There it was, the reminder, a sharp jab, like an injection in a painful spot. But that made her all the more determined to defend her idea. “What if we did it for a good cause?”

“What do you mean?”

“We could do a calendar.”

“A calendar?” Even as she raised a brow, Ms. Alexander pulled out her keyboard, her fingers clicking rapidly on the keys. “Like beefcake?”

Chloé shifted in her seat. “Maybe? But all proceeds to charity. It could be the community center, the hospital, whatever looks best. You get twelve sexy but tasteful shots of these guys and package it right, it will sell out for sure.”

Ms. Alexander rolled her lips between her teeth. “Hmmm…. The league does want us to increase our charitable outreach this season. In fact, they’ve created a new award for the team that raises the most this year. But a calendar…. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate the idea, but the time to put this together and get it out was over the summer.”

“Not if we use print-on-demand.”

“But what sort of quality are we talking then? People would expect glossy stock.”

Chloé hesitated. Not the card she wanted to pull right now, but in this case, it would legitimately help. “My dad owns a magazine. We print our own souvenir programs.”

“True. You’ll have to sell him on this. But then you’ll also have to sell the players on the idea of posing for this thing. Before training camp opens.”

“Me?”

“It was your idea. Are you up for the challenge?”

Yes. The chance to prove herself. Chloé raised her chin. “I’m up for any challenge.”

Was that a smirk on Ms. Alexander’s face? Well, that only meant Chloé had her work cut out for her. And she would get this done, no matter what.

A buzz came from under the desk. “Excuse me.” Ms. Alexander pulled out her phone and unlocked it. “The trade is official. You’re going to have to rush to put up the announcement on our socials, as well as update the media guide. Oh, and prepare a thank you post for Jesse Makinen.”

Chloé took rapid notes. “Jesse Makinen? Isn’t he one of our top six?”

All the more surprising that she hadn’t seen any rumors going around on social media, not even from the usual armchair GMs who sounded like they spent their summer simulating trades and speculating on every free agent under the sun.

“He’s going to Winnipeg. We’re acquiring a second-round pick and…” Ms. Alexander double-checked her phone. “Drake Hammersmith.”

Chloé’s stomach plummeted. “Excuse me?”

“Write it down. Jesse Makinen in exchange for Drake Hammersmith and a second.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Oh, God, had she said that out loud? Judging from the glare, she must have. “I’m sorry,” Chloé mumbled. She pushed to her feet, hoping she could make an exit without showing any more inappropriate emotion. “Is that everything, Ms. Alexander?”

“For now.”

Chloé felt the weight of Ms. Alexander’s stare on her back as she made her way out of the office. In the corridor, she slumped against the wall.

Drake Hammersmith. Of all the players in the league, they’d had to trade for Drake Hammersmith. Because if she had good reason to ignore hockey in general and dislike players in particular, it was all down on Drake Hammersmith.

The only league player she knew on a somewhat personal basis. The only asshole she wished she’d never heard of.