The soles of his shoes made a soft shuffling noise against the carpet of the hallway, the sound too loud in the unnatural quiet that hung over the office area. Charles told himself he was only imagining the deathly silence, that the building was supposed to be quiet because it was still early.

The perfect time of day to make his getaway. There would be fewer witnesses to his humiliation when Murphy fired him.

That was why he was here so early, instead of still sleeping with Taylor's warm body curled against his. Guilt crept in at the way he'd left, without even waking her to tell her he was leaving. But she had looked so peaceful, so content, not even stirring when he leaned over to brush a kiss against the soft skin of her sleep-flushed cheek. Maybe he should have left her a note—

No, she'd understand. She knew he had to come here and face the music, clean out the few personal belongings tucked away in his desk. To leave his notes and marketing plan with Murphy. Charles hadn't been able to make it work, but maybe someone else could.

Yeah. Maybe. And maybe he'd develop real talent as a hockey player, too.

He swallowed back a bitter laugh and headed toward the tiny cubicle, eager to just get everything over with and leave. After that, he'd go home, tweak his resume, then call Taylor and see if she wanted to go to lunch or dinner or something.

"I didn't expect you in so early."

Murphy's voice echoed in the surrounding silence, catching Charles by surprise. He whirled around and faced the older man, bracing himself for the firing he knew was coming.

Murphy stepped closer, his gaze raking Charles from the tip of his old shoes to the collar of his stretched-out sweatshirt. He hadn't bothered to go home to change, not when he knew he wasn't going to be here for long.

Murphy's gaze met his, his gray brows shooting up in surprise. "I didn't realize today was Casual Friday."

"I wasn't staying long. I just—" Charles stopped, the older man's words finally registering.

"Were you planning on going somewhere?"

"I thought—"

"Because we've got a lot to go over, especially after the piece that ran last night."

"Yeah, about that." Charles shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced over his shoulder, grateful the office was still empty. "I had no idea it was going to be like that. And I understand that you'll want to bring in someone new. I was just going to clear my things out and leave."

"Why?"

Charles hesitated, wondering what the older man was up to. Did he expect Charles to do a few more things before firing him? Or was he just dragging things out, drawing out the inevitable?

"I figured after last night's piece, you'd be looking for someone else to handle the team's marketing."

Murphy laughed, the sound too loud in the silence. "Hell no, son. Why would I do something like that?"

"Did you happen to see the piece last night?"

Murphy leaned against a cubicle wall and folded his arms in front of him. "I did. Not exactly what I had been hoping for. I doubt it was what you were hoping for, too. Doesn't mean I'm ready to throw you to the wolves. Not yet."

"But—"

"Have you checked the reports this morning?"

"No. I didn't—"

"Maybe you should. We sold 176 tickets after the piece ran. Doesn't sound like a lot, but that pushed us over the halfway mark."

"That's still a long way from what I hoped."

"Maybe. But it's better than I expected."

Charles blinked, wondering if he had heard correctly. "Better?"

"Hell, Chuck. You didn't seriously think we'd sell out the first game, did you?"

"I had hoped—"

Murphy cut him off with a quick wave of his hand. "Yeah, it would be nice. Damn nice. But it's not realistic. I would have been happy with a few hundred tickets sold. It's a new league. A new team. Something completely different. I'm not expecting a miracle overnight. None of us are."

"But I thought that's what you wanted. That you brought me onboard for that."

"I did." Murphy smiled again and leaned forward, a glint in his shrewd eyes. "But not for the first game. No, as nice as that would be, I'm not expecting it. Now, by the final game of the season? Yeah, I want those seats filled. We've got all season to work toward that. If you do your job—and if the girls do theirs—then we can make it happen."

"By the end of the season?"

"That's the idea. Unless you're planning on going somewhere. Are you?"

"What? Oh. No." Charles shook his head, not only in response to the question, but to clear the disbelief that was running through his mind. "No, I'm not going anywhere."

"Good. That piece last night gave us a boost. I expect you to capitalize on it and go from there." Murphy pushed away from the wall then reached into the pocket of his suit. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and held it out toward Charles.

"What's this?"

"The number to the Banners' marketing office. I got a phone call last night from someone over there. Seems the piece caught their attention last night and they want to talk to you."

Charles stared at the familiar number, excitement mingling with frustration. He'd been calling that same number for two weeks, only to be placed on hold or brushed off. So why the sudden change? Was it the news piece from last night? Or did it have more to do with Sonny LeBlanc and JP Larocque? Unlike Taylor, Charles didn't care. He'd use whatever advantage he could to get his job done.

Especially now that it looked like he still had a job.

He curled his fingers around the crumpled slip of paper and glanced back at Murphy. "I'll call them as soon as the office opens."

"Good. Let me know what they say. And Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't have a problem with Casual Fridays but next time, maybe you want to make sure you don't look like you just rolled out of bed."

Heat filled his face as he ran a quick hand through his mussed hair. Murphy just laughed and walked away, leaving him standing there.

Stunned.

Surprised.

Shocked.

He'd walked in fifteen minutes ago, expecting to be out of a job, only to learn that things were picking up. He still had work to do—a lot of work. Maybe Murphy was happy with the way things had gone so far, but Charles certainly wasn't. Not by a long shot.

And now that he knew he still had a job, it was time to put the second phase of his plan into motion. Would it work? Who the hell knew. But it certainly couldn't be any worse than yesterday's fiasco.

He spun on his heel and headed to the small cubicle he called an office, his mind already racing ahead and making plans.