Page 9 of Julian

“Never a doubt in my mind,” I reply with a grin, stepping into the brisk Manhattan air. “I can always count on you, my friend.”

Percy doesn’t acknowledge the endearment. He’s far too proper and British for that.

The townhouse settles behind me in dignified silence.

“I trust today will prove manageable,” Percy says.

“I hope so,” I reply, pausing at the top of the steps for half a second, already cataloguing the problems waiting for me at the rink. “Given the current complaint aimed at the Vipers, manageable may be ambitious.”

He raises his head slightly, reading between the lines as he always does. “Then I wish you a productive day, sir.”

Percy closes the door behind me and I trot down the steps to the sidewalk. The black Town Car idles at the curb, a driver standing at the open rear door waiting for me. I’m half distracted by the impending call I have to make, but I’m slightly surprised that my driver is a female. At least that’s the impression I have in the two-second glance I give her as I approach—slight build, petite, blond hair in a long ponytail at the base of her neck.

“Good morning, sir,” she says, and I offer a smile and nod in return before sliding into the back seat.

When the woman settles into the driver’s seat, she consults her phone and says, “I understand I’m taking you to the practice facility?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” I say distractedly, pulling out my phone from my inside jacket pocket.

We slide into traffic, the city already buzzing. Newsstands stacked with magazines. Delivery trucks clogging side streets. A digital billboard flashing the Vipers’ logo alongside an article headline I would prefer not to read.

I place the call and put it on speaker. “Julian,” my head of operations, Jimmy Ballantine answers.

“Tell me the damage.”

“We’re trending again,” he says grimly. “Not in a good way. Social media’s flooded with complaints about the ticketing fiasco. The presale link crashed. Apparently, fans waited for hours and some were double charged. Customer service lines are overwhelmed.”

I close my eyes briefly. “How many double charges?”

“Too many. And it’s spreading. People are tagging sponsors. Saying we don’t care about fans.”

Just fucking great. “We care very much,” I say flatly.

“Perception says otherwise.”

I stare out the window as we inch through Midtown. “Issue refunds immediately.”

Jimmy sighs heavily, and I can imagine him rubbing his temple to stave off a headache. “We are, but the backlog is huge and the statement we posted isn’t calming anyone down.”

“This is what I pay you for, Jimmy,” I say, my frustration growing. “What do you suggest?”

Silence crackles through the speaker as I patiently await his solution. That’s part of managing and leading… having the right people in place to handle such things, and I’m expecting Jimmy to have the right answer. “I don’t know,” he admits. “We can’t answer everyone individually. That would be inefficient.”

From the front seat, I hear the driver make a sound—sharp and involuntary, a scoff that slips out before manners can catch it.

I glance up and her eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, wide and shocked. I tilt my head. “I’m sorry… did you want to add to the conversation?”

Her eyes grow rounder, and from the back seat, I can see her profile as her cheeks turn bright red. “I am so sorry,” she says, looking over her shoulder at me with apology written all over her face. “I’m just… I didn’t mean to do that.”

Christ… now that I’m getting a good look at her, even under what is a ridiculously large driver’s cap on her head, she’s beautiful. Bright blue eyes framed by dark lashes, a dusting of freckles over a delicate nose and sculpted cheekbones. Her lips are full, tinted with a hint of pink gloss.

And why am I so charmed by her clear, albeit muted, disgust over my conversation with Jimmy? “No, I insist. You clearly have an opinion on the matter. I’d like to hear it.”

“Sir… I’m—”

“I really do insist you tell me your thoughts,” I say, very aware that Jimmy is still listening on speakerphone. “It sounds like you have a solution?”

Her eyes flick back and forth between the road and the mirror, but it’s when I see her spine straighten that I know she’s going to give it up.