Chapter Text
If Georgie could see him now, she would laugh. The man in front of Jon wore a suit that probably cost more than Jon had earned in his entire life. The gold watch alone could feed a family of four for years. Jon loathed men like this. Georgie had always scoffed whenever a young economics major strolled past them on the Oxford campus, decked out in family wealth and a future brighter than his perfectly whitened teeth. Jon didn’t harbour as much contempt for them as Georgie did, but he certainly never imagined he’d be working with one.
And yet, here he was.
“Mr. Sims, I assume you've read the job description?”
“That’s correct,” Jon replied, inhaling as he prepared to launch into his carefully rehearsed spiel about his newfound enthusiasm for winter sports. “I know my resume might not seem directly related to the position, but I can assure you—”
“No need,” Bouchard interrupted with a casual flick of his wrist, the gold on his watch catching the light. “I actually think you’re quite suited for the job.”
Jon tried to mask his surprise.
“You clearly have an analytical mind, and that’s exactly what we need here. Your references speak highly of your observation skills as well. We need someone who will watch closely and analyse thoroughly. Am I right in thinking you’re that kind of person?”
“Yes,” Jon said, perhaps too quickly, “I can do that.”
“Marvelous! Now,” Bouchard leaned forward, “tell me one last thing, Mr. Sims... are you here to make friends?”
“Sorry? I... I believe strong workplace relationships are essential for achieving good results,” Jon replied, calculating his words. He was applying for a position with an ice hockey team, not as a player, but still, sportsmanship and camaraderie might extend to those working behind the scenes. Georgie would definitely laugh if she knew where he was now—because while his former employers praised his skills, they had always tactfully glossed over Jon's lack of warmth.
Bouchard’s cold, pale eyes stayed fixed on him, and Jon decided to meet that gaze steadily. “To be honest, I don’t cause conflict or disputes, but I don’t usually form friendships with colleagues either. My priority is doing my job well. Everything else is secondary.”
Bouchard said nothing for a moment, his arctic-blue eyes unblinking. Then, suddenly, “Marvelous!” he exclaimed. “You’ll be an excellent fit for the role. And you’ve indicated you can start immediately, yes? Perfect. We’re headed to a training camp in a few weeks, so we’ll get you familiar with the team before then. Now, just a moment—my assistant will handle the paperwork, and you can consider yourself part of the Redridge Revenants!”
“Shouldn’t there be... more questions?” Jon asked, feeling off balance.
“More? Do you want the job or not, Mr. Sims?”
“I do, but—”
“Then it’s settled.” Bouchard rose from his chair. “Go to Rosie—she’ll take care of everything.”
Jon staggered to his feet as Bouchard extended a hand. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Mr. Sims. I have a feeling our collaboration will be most fruitful.”
“I... Yes. Thank you, Mr. Bouchard. This is—” Jon still wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. “This is a great honour.”
“Nonsense, Jonathan!” Bouchard nudged him toward the door. “The honour is all mine.”
Jon was left with a stack of papers in his hands and a sinking sense that he’d missed something crucial. Shuffling the documents under his arm, he dialled the only person he could call a friend. Georgie laughed, as expected. But once she grasped the full implications of his new job, she said, “Jon, you’re joining a culture of toxic masculinity—full of protein shakes and jock bros in cravats. How do you think you’re going to survive?”
Jon didn’t know, but still, he said, “I’ll be fine. Surviving unemployment without a social security number in this country would be way worse.”
She had no answer for that. Instead, she stayed on the line, her presence a quiet, steadying force as Jon made his way back to the hotel. Despite the distance between them, her silence felt like a lifeline, a reminder that he wasn’t completely alone in this strange new world. He was grateful, more than he could ever express, that she had forgiven him. Not enough to offer him a place to stay, but enough to be his one remaining tether to something familiar, something real.
God knew he would need that. Whatever this new job had in store for him, Jon had a growing sense that he’d need every bit of strength and support he could find.
As he reached the hotel doors, a chill ran down his spine—not from the cold, but from the unsettling feeling that he was stepping into something far bigger and far darker than he could have imagined.