Chasing the puck

Chapter One

Sarah Small wood leaned back in her chair, the hum of the newsroom fading into the background as she stared at the email on her screen. Her editor’s words seemed to mock her: “Exclusive interview with Tyler Kane. Big opportunity.” The words burned in her mind.

Big opportunity, my ass, she thought bitterly. She wasn’t some celebrity gossip columnist—she was a sports reporter. A damn good one. But now here she was, being pushed into a soft interview with a hockey star. Tyler Kane. The name alone made her grit her teeth. A player who lived under the spotlight, adored by fans and reporters alike, showered with attention that had nothing to do with his skill on the ice.

She could already picture his smug face, leaning back in some luxurious leather chair, flashing that practiced smile. Sarah closed the email, frustrated. She had been expecting something more substantive, something that would let her show her talent. But instead, she was stuck doing a puff piece.

Her phone buzzed on her desk, pulling her from her thoughts. It was Summer, her best friend and one of the only people who’d understand her frustration.

“Hey,” Sarah said, picking up the call.

“So, the big interview, huh? Tyler Kane? That’s pretty hot,” Summer teased, though Sarah could hear the underlying excitement.

“Don’t remind me,” Sarah muttered, leaning forward in her chair and resting her forehead in her hand. “I’m still trying to figure out why I got stuck with this. I don’t do fluff pieces.”

“You know why,” Summer replied. “They need someone who won’t go in there batting her eyelashes. Besides, you’ve seen the guy. I mean, come on. There are worse assignments.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “He’s just another cocky athlete. I’d rather cover actual sports news.”

“Yeah, well, if he’s so boring, maybe you should shake him up a bit.”

Sarah huffed a laugh. “Right. Because that’s what I need—more drama.”

“Just get through it,” Summer said, her tone lighter. “Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

Doubtful, Sarah thought as she hung up, staring at the city skyline through the newsroom’s large windows.

The next day, the cab pulled up in front of one of San Francisco’s most exclusive sports clubs. The building gleamed, all glass and steel, glinting in the afternoon sun. Sarah sighed. She didn’t belong here—not among the marble floors and golden accents. She paid the driver and stepped out, squinting against the harsh sunlight reflecting off the glass. The air was crisp, and the world seemed quieter here, almost too pristine, a far cry from the gritty arenas she was used to.

As she approached the entrance, she couldn’t help but notice the fans lingering nearby, their eyes hopeful for a glimpse of someone famous. Paparazzi stood on the sidelines, cameras at the ready. This wasn’t sports reporting. This was spectacle.

Inside, the lobby was grand, more like a five-star hotel than a sports facility. The floors were polished marble, the walls lined with abstract art. It smelled like expensive cologne and freshly cleaned leather. Sarah walked up to the front desk, flashing her press pass to the receptionist.

“You’re here for Mr. Kane’s interview?” the receptionist asked with a polite smile, as if Sarah had won some kind of prize.

“Yes,” Sarah replied curtly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

The receptionist pressed a button, and moments later, a young man appeared to escort her. He was sharp, dressed in a tailored suit, and led her through a maze of hallways, each one more opulent than the last. This place was ridiculous. It was designed to make people feel like royalty, and from what she’d heard, Tyler Kane certainly acted the part.