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spine-buster · 4 years

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The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 11

A/N: I know this chapter doesn’t have a lot of William/Aberdeen interaction, but we learn a lot about Aberdeen here. Plus, the next chapters definitely make up for it. Enjoy!

November 29th, 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was ready to go home and watch the game.

They were facing Buffalo tonight, the first game in a back to back that would see the boys finally come home tomorrow after their long road trip. Like most nights, all she wanted to do was go home, snuggle with Minerva, and finish the bag of Doritos. Maybe she’d even be able to cook a well-balanced dinner before eating those Doritos she craved.

Except Peter had other plans for her.

“You need to wait tonight for the mock-ups,” he told her before she could even pack up her bag and put on her jacket.

“The…the mock-ups,” she nodded her head, pretending to know what he was talking about.

“The mock-ups, Aberdeen. Of the St. Pat’s jersey the team is going to wear,” Peter said. “You have to deliver it to Brendan’s house tonight when the designer is finally done with it.”

“I thought he got those last week.”

“He did, but every night since then he’s returned it with his notes,” Peter explained. “I’m supposed to do it, because Brendan is very private and doesn’t like strangers in his house, but I’m at an alumni event with Kyle tonight. So…you get the lovely task of waiting around for the mock-ups.”

“That’s fine,” Aberdeen said. She figured she wasn’t a stranger anymore to him, anyway – she’d been working for the team for about three months now. Plus, it wasn’t like she could refuse to do it. It was, in its own way, part of her job – sit around and do nothing but wait for something she needed to deliver.

“Now, it’s very important that you do exactly what I’m about to tell you,” Peter said, his tone suddenly getting very serious. “Write this down.” Aberdeen scrambled to get a pad of paper and a pen. “The mock-ups will be delivered to you in a black portfolio and you must wait around for it until then. You’re going to have to deliver Brendan’s dry cleaning with the mock-ups.”

“Okay…” she scribbled everything down so quickly she could barely read her own writing.

“Lou will take you straight to Brendan’s house, as he does every morning. Lou will have a spare key. You let yourself in. Now, Aberdeen…” Peter loomed over her sitting at her desk at this point. He was looking her straight in the eye, staring into her soul. “You do not talk to anyone. Do not look at anyone. This is of the utmost importance. You must be invisible. Do you understand?”

“Y—Yes.”

“You open the door and walk across the foyer. You hang the dry cleaning in the closet across from the staircase that leads to the basement. And you leave the mock-ups on the table with the flowers. You then leave like you weren’t even there – like the mock-ups were delivered by a stork or something.”

“O—Okay,” he had officially made her nervous. “W—What if—”

“Invisible, Aberdeen.”

She nodded her head.

***

“Here’s his key,” Lou said as they sat in the car for a few moments after he parked on the street. “Peter told you what to do, yes?”

“Mhm,” Aberdeen nodded, gulping nervously. She grabbed the key from Lou’s hand and clutched it in her hands. “Wish me luck, Lou.”

She exited the car and walked up the driveway slowly, clutching the portfolio in one hand and his dry cleaning in the other, swung over her shoulder. Shoving the key into the door, she opened it as quietly as she could, walking into his foyer. Fuck, he had a beautiful house. So this was the benefit of being the president of the Toronto Maple Leafs, huh? And a three-time Stanley Cup Champion. And one of the top 100 hockey players of all time…

Okay. The dry cleaning.

She looked at the stairs that led to the basement and noticed the closet right across from it, so she opened the door as quietly as she could and hung the three suits. She closed it and looked around for a table with flowers.

There was one right beside the closet.

There was one right at the entrance.

There was one further down the hall, with bigger flowers.

Aberdeen panicked. “Shit!” she squealed to herself. She stood in the hallway awkwardly, not knowing what to do. The distant sound of a TV on somewhere in the house could be heard. Somebody was walking upstairs. Brendan was obviously somewhere in the house, but she had to be invisible. Invisible. But which table was it?! What if she left the portfolio on the wrong one and he didn’t see it? What if – what if – it had to be the table with the big flowers on it, right? It was the biggest table. The portfolio would at least fit on it and wouldn’t fall off. The other tables were smaller. Okay, big table with big flowers it was.

So she began walking into his house. As quiet as a mouse.

But then she heard voices. A long “Daaaaad!” and Brendan’s voice mumbling something. Aberdeen froze in fear.

“Sweetpea, I was on a conference call with the NHL offices in New York City,” she heard Brendan loud and clear now as he followed his youngest daughter, Cate, right into Aberdeen’s view.

Cate whipped around and stopped right in the doorframe Aberdeen was looking into. “But dad, I rushed out of class to try and call you, and I was trying to get a hold of you for almost an hour—”

“I was busy, sweetpea. My cell phone line was all tied up and the notifications were silenced for the meeting—”

“You were the only dad who didn’t know within the hour. Everyone else’s dad called to congratulate them on being selected for the team. And I knew what all my friends were thinking – there’s Cate, waiting for her dad again.” Cate stopped, noticing Aberdeen in the hallway. Aberdeen couldn’t move as Cate saw her – she was too terrified. When Brendan noticed his daughter looking away, he looked as well, seeing Aberdeen.

If one look could murder someone, Brendan had it on his face.

Cate walked away from her dad, leaving him staring at Aberdeen, who was practically trembling from fear. Her body felt like it was full of cement as she stood in place, not knowing what to do. She couldn’t just hand in him the portfolio; she could just outright leave his house with the portfolio still in her hands. As he continued to stare at her, she felt her body getting hotter under the pressure to do something. Without thinking, she turned to her side, put the portfolio on the third or fourth step of the stairs beside her, and rushed out of the house, not looking back.

***

November 30th, 2019

The next morning, Lou informed her that Brendan had gone into the office early, so they didn’t need to drive out to Etobicoke. Aberdeen thought that weird, but didn’t put too much thought into it. When she walked into the office alone, she barely had the opportunity to put her coffee or bag down before Peter swooped in. “Nooooo no no no, you get over here,” Peter grabbed her arm.

“Okay okay okay okay—” she knew exactly what this was about.

“What in the world happened last night, Aberdeen?” he asked.

“It really wasn’t that big a deal. I promise. There were multiple tables with flowers, so I went into the hallway, you know near the stairs where the big table is—”

“You went into the hallway? Oh my God, why didn’t you just climb into bed with him and Catherine and ask for a bedtime story?!” Peter was indignant.

“Okay, I made a mistake. I know—”

“Aberdeen, you don’t understand. I was the one supposed to teach you the ins and outs of this. I can get in shit too, and if that happens, I will search every bank in the city of Toronto you’ll be telling in until I track you down.”

Aberdeen’s eyes widened at what Peter was implying. “He’s gonna fire me?!”

Peter shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. But he’s not happy.”

“Aberdeen?” her name was called from deep within Brendan’s office.

Both she and Peter looked towards the office. Aberdeen could swear her heart was beating out of her chest. She put her bag down on her desk and took off her jacket before she walked in, standing a few feet away from his desk. “Mr. Shanahan…about last night—”

“I need you to get a jersey signed by Nick,” he said, furiously scribbling something down on his notepad, not looking at her.

She exhaled quietly. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t as mad as Peter made him out to be. Maybe he took it in stride and realized she was still learning and all he wanted her to do right now was get a jersey signed by Nik Antropov. “Okay. Okay. I’ll go down to player development right now.”

“Did you fall down and smack your head on the pavement?”

She froze. He finally looked up at her through his glasses, waiting for an answer. Okay, maybe he was angry. “Not that I can recall.”

“We need a Tre Kronor jersey from 2006 signed by Nicklas Lidstrom for a veteran who will be in attendance at the game tonight against Buffalo,” he said before focusing back on whatever he was scribbling down. “We’re surprising him off-camera since Nick is his favourite defensemen.”

Aberdeen’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. “You want a signed jersey I can only find in Sweden?”

“We know everybody in hockey. It shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” he asked, peering at her though he was still scribbling. “And you can do anything, right?”

She smiled meekly at him before exiting his office. She scurried behind her desk and noticed that Peter was still there, waiting for her to get out. “He doesn’t get it,” she mumbled frantically to herself, scrambling and picking up things she didn’t even need, only to put them back on her desk. “I could call fucking Nicklas Lidstrom himself. I’m not gonna get that jersey.”

“What?” Peter furrowed his brows.

“Colonel Richard Brant will be backstage with us before the game. 6:30 is when I hope to give him the jersey so it better be here no later than six,” Brendan said as he walked out of the office, looking down at his watch for extra effect.

“Of course!” Aberdeen exaggerated her smile.

“And I’d like a hot coffee here in fifteen minutes when I get back,” he walked off.

“No problem!” she called out, starting to pant. “Okay. I have nine hours to get the impossible jersey. Starbucks is just downstairs. How am I going to do this?”

“Aberdeen, what are you talking about? What impossible jersey?”

Aberdeen ignored Peter’s question, closing up her iPad and shoving it into her purse. She sprung up from her desk chair. “Okay. I will be back in ten minutes. Wish me luck!”

“Aberdeen!” Peter called after her as she ran down the hallway. “ABERDEEN!”

***

Aberdeen’s heart had never beat so hard as it did as she was waiting for Brendan’s coffee. She tried to think of ways she could get this impossible jersey. Nicklas Lidstrom lived all the way in fucking Sweden. Sweden. A ten hour flight away – probably more. And it’s not like the Leafs had his personal number or anything. She had no way of contacting him and no way of even knowing anybody who would be remotely close to—

“We know everybody in hockey,” Brendan’s words echoed in her ear.

Her eyes went wide. She took out her phone and began furiously typing ‘Nicklas Lindstrom agent’ – three different agencies popped up with three different phone numbers – one for hockey, one for professional appearances, and another one for signings. This was her start.

“Coffee for Brendan!” the barista called out, and Aberdeen reached to grab it before the barista could even put it down. She rushed back up to the office, scurrying through the hallways and into his office to place it on his desk.

She watched as he walked in, looking at his watch. “What’s that?” he asked, grabbing some files from his desk. “I don’t want that. I’m having lunch with Larry. I’ll be back at three.”

Brendan left just as quickly as he arrived. Aberdeen stood awkwardly in his office, trying not to cry as she picked up the Starbucks cup and practically whipped it into the garbage can. She made herself calm down so her voice wouldn’t crack as she grabbed her iPad and her phone and began calling the numbers available for Nick. When the two first ones didn’t even answer the phone, she prayed to God the last number worked in her favour.

She was put on hold for over ten minutes. She wanted to scream. Just as she was about to hang up and try the other numbers again, or at least call back because maybe she got stuck in an alternate “on hold” universe where she had been floating in the abyss for the last ten minutes, the stupid elevator music that was playing stopped. “Alright, who’s Aberdeen Bloom and what do you need?” a man’s loud voice suddenly filled the line.

“Yes yes yes yes. I’ve been on hold. It’s for Brendan Shanahan – my name is Aberdeen Bloom and I’m his personal assistant. It’s very important. I need access to Nicklas Lidstrom and a Tre Kronor jersey—”

“Impossible,” the man barked.

“Well, I was wondering if you could make the impossible possible…if that’s at all possible,” she was practically begging. She knew she sounded completely desperate but at this point, she didn’t care. Her job was on the line, and she would do anything to save it.

“Impossible,” he barked again. “What do you think this is, some sort of convention?”

“Have I mentioned it’s for Brendan Shanahan? President of the Toronto Maple Leafs? Cause I think that makes a difference,” Aberdeen pressed.

“I know you’re desperate but it can’t be done,” he continued. “You’ll just have to come up with a plan B.”

“This is Brendan Shanahan we’re talking about,” Aberdeen wanted to scream into the phone. “There is no plan B – there is only plan A.”

“Listen. Nick’s in Toronto but he’s booked solid. He’s not taking any new meetings or engagements.”

Aberdeen couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wished this fucking dude could have led their abysmal conversation with that tidbit of information instead of giving her the go-around. “He’s – He’s in Toronto?!”

“Yes, he’s been staying at the Four Seasons for the past two weeks because of the alumni game he had with Mats Sundin and other engagements. But he’s leaving for Sweden tomorrow. Today is his last and possibly his busiest day. He just can’t get it done.”

The Four Seasons was up in Yorkville. She could get there in maybe ten minutes if she flagged down a taxi. “Have a good day,” she said as she hung up her phone, grabbing her bag and iPad before rushing out of the office

If Nick’s agent wasn’t going to help her, she was going to have to get to Nicklas her damn self.

***

Aberdeen tried to walk calmly into the Four Seasons – not at all looking like she was in a rush because her job was on the line and she was going to be fired at six that night – but the attempt proved futile. One of the women behind the check-in desk was looking right at her the entire time she made her way towards them.

“Hi,” Aberdeen said, slightly out of breath. “My name is Aberdeen Bloom,” she said, grabbing her credentials and flashing them at the woman.

“Can I help check you in?” the woman smiled.

“No no. I’m Brendan Shanahan’s personal assistant.” The woman looked confused. “Brendan Shanahan, the president of the Toronto Maple Leafs,” she said, pushing the credentials forward so the woman could look at them herself. “I need you to call Nicklas Lidstrom’s room for me so I can speak to him.”

The woman looked between Aberdeen and her credentials and furrowed her brows. “Miss, I’m sorry, but a Mr. Nicklas Lidstrom is not staying at this hotel.”

Aberdeen’s body felt like it was on fire. She knew this woman was lying, and Aberdeen didn’t have time for it at all. There was no time for anything to go wrong right now. “Listen, I know this is all very weird, but I know he’s staying here. His agent just told me he’s been here for the last two weeks. I need you to get a hold of him for me.”

“Miss – a Mr. Lidstrom is not staying at this hotel,” the woman repeated, moving towards the computer. “I can even type his name in for you – no-one by that name is staying here.”

“Please, please, I’m begging you,” Aberdeen shook her head. This couldn’t be happening to her right now. “I know he must be under an alias or something because he’s a hockey player and this is Toronto. I get it. But I really need you to—”

“Miss, I’m sorry but it can’t be done,” the woman pushed Aberdeen’s credentials back towards her so she could take them. “Nobody by that name is staying here. And that’s that.”

“But his agent told me—”

“Miss, if you’re going to keep pressing this, I’m going to have to call my manager.”

That’s the last thing Aberdeen needed. Aberdeen grabbed her credentials before giving one last dirty look to the woman as a ‘thanks for nothing’ – it was probably immature, but Aberdeen really didn’t like her right now.

Now what was she going to do? If the hotel wouldn’t even let her have access to him, despite her showing them her credentials, how in the hell was she going to get to talk to him? Would she have to sneak into the elevator and knock on every door until she found him? Would she have to call back his agent and demand the access to him? Would she have to learn Swedish and scream his name into the streets of Toronto and hope he’d hear? Would she – Swedish – Swedish –

Swedish.

No.

She couldn’t.

She shouldn’t.

She had to.

She whipped out her phone and called a number she knew off by heart. “Real Sports Bar and Grill, how may I help you?” a perky voice answered on the other end.

“This is Aberdeen Bloom, Brendan Shanahan’s personal assistant,” she began as she usually did when she called them. “I need you to get me the contact information for Michael Nylander immediately.”

“A-ber-deeeeeen Bloooom?” the girl on the other end asked. Clearly she was new. All the other hostesses already knew her name and had done the super-elongated pronunciation of her name before. “I just can’t give that information away—”

“I am Brendan Shanahan’s personal assistant,” she repeated, her tone harsher this time. “Check the employee directory if you need to.”

“I don’t have access to that—”

“Then call your manager!” she screamed, her patience wearing thin. “I need his telephone number now.”

***

“Hello Mr. Nylander, this is Aberdeen Bloom calling. You, uh, you probably don’t remember me – we met very briefly after a game in Toronto when you came to say hi to William and I opened the door for you. I’m Brendan Shanahan’s personal assistant. Um, anyways, listen – I have a massive favour to ask you because I’m desperate. Like, desperate. I noticed that you played on the same World Championship team as Nicklas Lidstrom, and I was wondering if you can please give me his personal phone number. Like, a number he’d use when he’s in North America. I need to contact him about something urgent, very urgent. So, um, please, if you could give me a call back, that would be amazing. Thank you, Mr. Nylander. Have um, a good night? I know it’s like almost night time there. Okay bye.”

***

Every jersey on eBay was a fake or already had a name on it. Aberdeen was getting desperate. She’d been to Real Sports Apparel – no Tre Kronor jerseys. She’d called every SportsChek, Sportling Life, Champs Sports, and just about every independent sports store in Toronto – no Tre Kronor jerseys. Even the last store that she’d visited – gone by foot, even – didn’t have anything Swedish.

She was going to cry. She’d be fired. This is where it all ended. She’d end up a bank teller for the rest of her life. She’d never be able to write. She’d never be able to do what she loved. All because she couldn’t find a stupid jersey and was denied any access to one of the best defencemen in the history of the league —

Then her phone began to ring, snapping her away from her thoughts. It was an unknown number. Against her better judgement, she answered the call. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Aberdeen Bloom?” a calm voice asked on the other end. She noticed because she was anything calm right now.

“Speaking.”

“Miss Bloom, this is Nicklas Lidstrom.”

Aberdeen stopped dead in her tracks, making various people almost crash into her on the sidewalk. One of them gave her the finger. “Mr. Lidstrom! Hello!”

“My good friend Michael Nylander called me and gave me your number and told me to get in touch with you,” he said. Her eyes went wide; she was going to have to erect a gold statue in Michael’s honour. “Apparently you’re Brendan Shanahan’s personal assistant and there is an urgent matter?”

“Yes Mr. Lidstrom, yes,” she said, spinning around because she didn’t know what to do. “Sir, I understand you’re in Toronto right now.”

“I am.”

“Staying at the Four Seasons?”

“Yes…”

“We have a veteran coming to the game tonight – Colonal Richard Brant – and you are his favourite defenseman,” she explained. “I was wondering if you could sign a Tre Kronor jersey from 2006, when you won the gold medal.”

Nicklas laughed into the phone. “A Tre Kronor jersey? Miss Bloom, I will sign what you need me to sign, but I don’t have a Tre Kronor jersey with me. Not least from 2006.”

“If I find one, will you sign it?”

“Well, I don’t know where you’re going to find an almost fifteen year old mint-condition Swedish jersey in Toronto, but sure. Unless you have it shipped in from Sweden. You’ll have to come to the Four Seasons after 5:30 – that’s when my last commitment ends,” he said.

“I’ll be there at 5:30,” she said definitively. “I’ll call you back on this number.”

Aberdeen’s heart was racing as she hung up the phone. She had exhausted all her sports store leads for Swedish jerseys. What else could she do? Who else could she call? Who in Toronto would have a mint condition Tre Kronor jersey from 2006? Swedish people, obviously, but…

Her eyes went wide. She swiped through her phone to find another phone number.

“Aberdeen?” Robert Nordmark, one of the Swedish scouts for the Leafs, answered on the other end. “Why’re you calling me?

“Robert, where can I find a 2006 Tre Kronor Olympic jersey in Toronto?”

***

It was 5:55pm as Aberdeen made her way throughout the offices, her flats clacking against the floor as she made her way into Brendan Shanahan’s office. He was facing away from her, so he couldn’t see her come in and place the jersey on his desk in one fell swoop. It was the breeze from the jersey that finally made him turn around, immediately eyeing her and looking down at the jersey on his desk.

“One jersey, not signed?” he asked, staring down at the Tre Kronor jersey. “What is the colonel going to do with that? He probably already has five.”

“Oh no, here’s the signature,” she said, flipping the jersey over to reveal the perfect inscription and signature. “I had Mr. Lidstrom customize it and sign it, right here on his number,” she said, watching Brendan’s eyebrows raise higher and higher until he took off his glasses. “And one more thing.”

Brendan’s eyes whipped up to meet hers. “What’s that?”

On cue, Nicklas walked into Brendan’s office. “Hey Shanny – or do I have to call you Mr. Shanahan now?”

“Nicklas,” he smiled, though he was still looking at Aberdeen. His body was perfectly still despite one of his old friends walking into the room. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Aberdeen smiled.

He eyed her one more time. He was clearly in shock that she was able to get it done. “That’s all.”

***

Aberdeen’s body was aching with fatigue as she gathered the last of her belongings from her desk after the game. The Leafs had won in overtime, Colonel Richard Brant got his jersey and got to meet Nicklas, which made him cry, and everything was alright in the world. She’d finally be able to go home after the shit-show of the day she had. Cuddle with Minerva. Eat Doritos. Eat in general, since she hadn’t all day, too busy going on wild goose chases all over Toronto for Nicklas Lidstrom and a Tre Kronor jersey from random Swedish people living in The Beaches who just happened to have five Nicklas Lidstrom jerseys from 2006 in their house because that’s how much they loved him.

As she escaped down the stairs, taking the route that would lead her right out the door to the street, she heard another person’s shoes clacking up the concrete steps. When she looked up, she saw William rushing up the stairs.

Of course. Because the day couldn’t just end.

“Aberdeen,” he said, approaching her and grasping onto her elbow gently, sending shockwaves throughout her body. It didn’t even matter that she had her wool coat on. He pulled her over to the side on one of the landings, a worried look on his face. “Why’d you call my dad today?”

She shook her head. She should have known Michael would also call William about it. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, tell me now,” he said. “I’ve been worried fucking sick since he called me to tell me and I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“I just…I had to get a hold of Nicklas Lidstrom, and your dad helped,” she explained briefly, not really wanting to get into it. She didn’t want William knowing how much of a fucking idiot she was and the reason why she had to do this seemingly impossible task in the first place. “It’s all – it’s all fine.”

“So you’re okay?” William pressed.

“Yeah. Fucking tired though. Niklas is one busy guy,” she tried to make a joke. William didn’t laugh. She sighed. “Can I just go home?”

“Why’d you have to get hold of Nick?” he asked, not able to let it go.

She sighed, bringing her hand up to rub her forehead. “I made Brendan angry, okay? I fucked up and I like, went into his house when I wasn’t supposed to and overheard a fight he was having with his daughter and then he saw me and—”

“Holy shit, Aberdeen.”

“Yeah, I know. Believe me,” she said. “I had to live through how much he didn’t like that today, alright? You don’t have to tell me too.”

William could tell by the tone of her voice she didn’t want to talk about it. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, wanting, needing to make sure. He even went so far as to reach out to grab her hand, though she pulled away before he could really get a good grip and lace his fingers with hers.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m just tired, Will. Can you please just let me go home?”

“Can I walk you home?”

With whatever backbone she had left in her after the day she’d just had, she shook her head. “No, Will. You should be going home to sleep.”

“But Aberdeen—”

“Goodnight, Will,” she said as she sidestepped away from him. “Nice goal tonight, by the way,” she said as she looked back at him, descending down the stairs.

***

December 4th, 2019

Lou and Aberdeen had been waiting in Brendan’s driveway for almost ten minutes. He had never taken this long in the mornings ever since she began her job, and she was starting to get worried. Was he already in the office and forgot to tell them? Did he sleep in? Brendan wasn’t one to sleep in.

“This ever happen before?” Aberdeen asked Lou.

“He’s probably looking for a sock or tie pin,” he joked.

Her phone began to ring, and she saw his name flash across her screen. “Good morning Mr. Shana—”

“Can you come in here quickly please? Aaaargh!” he gruntled into the phone. He sounded like he was moving something.

“Um…I’ll be right in,” she said, taking off her seatbelt and getting out of the car. This had to be some sort of joke. Just a few days ago he murdered her with his eyes for being in his house – now he wanted her inside? She didn’t get it.

When she shut the front door behind her, he must have heard her. “Can you come downstairs, please?” he called out from the basement.

“Is this some sort of sick joke?!” she called back, standing nervously in his foyer.

“No – no, but I get why you’d ask that. I can be an asshole, I know,” he kept calling out. At least he admitted it out loud. “I just need your help finding something!”

Against her better judgement, Aberdeen took off her winter boots and made her way into Brendan’s house, going down the stairs into the basement. She saw Brendan kneeling on the floor in his suit, a bunch of boxes surrounding him. “I need your help finding some of my old yearbooks.”

“Yearbooks?”

“Yes. Can you check these boxes while I work on these?” he said, rummaging through the one in front of him.

Aberdeen did as she was told, looking around the boxes for the apparent yearbooks he was so desperate to see this morning. On her third box, she hit the jackpot. “These?” she asked, lifting one up.

“Yes!” Brendan exclaimed excitedly. She handed it to him. “God, this is from St. Leo.”

Aberdeen perked up at that name. “You went to St. Leo?”

“Yeah, why?”

Aberdeen couldn’t help but smile. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Of all the schools in Etobicoke – of all the Catholic schools in Etobicoke. “My mom teaches grade one at St. Leo,” she revealed.

“What!” he exclaimed excitedly, his eyes lighting up at the information. “Oh man…I guess I never really did ask you about your family, huh?”

“You haven’t,” Aberdeen shook her head. “But that’s okay. I don’t…I like to keep them separate. I don’t like bringing my work home. Family stays family and work stays work. That’s the way I like it. No overlapping, because then things get complicated.”

“I get it,” Brendan nodded. “That’s why I got so upset when I saw you in the house…I mean, I—"

“You don’t need to – I was being an idiot,” Aberdeen shook her head, trying to wave it off.

“No no – you deserve an explanation,” he said. “This job is all encompassing. Sometimes I forget that I should be on the beck and call of my children rather than the NHL head office,” he explained. “Catherine did a lot of the parenting while I was playing, as you can imagine. But when I retired, I made a promise to myself that I’d always be there for my kids. That they would always know they were the priority instead of hockey. Sometimes I break that promise. And it breaks my heart when I do, because I don’t want my kids thinking that they’re not my first priority. So that night, when Cate told me she had made the rowing team, and that she was trying to call me to tell me the good news, and I didn’t answer the phone – she got upset. I got upset. It was a horrible thing for me to do. And then I saw you and you reminded me of work in that moment fighting with my daughter and it just – it all spiralled out of control. Work didn’t become separate from family in that moment. But I want to apologize, Aberdeen.”

“You don’t have to do that—”

“Yes, I do, Aberdeen. I was being an asshole. And I shouldn’t have punished you when all you were doing was your job. So really – I’m sorry.”

Aberdeen didn’t know what to say. It was so clear to her that Brendan loved his family and children more than anything, but she could understand how being president of the Toronto Maple Leafs could be all-encompassing. She could understand how it took a lot out of a person – and how that person would want some quality time with family when they got home. “Thank you,” she began awkwardly. “But I must say, that wasn’t the first time I’ve done something stupid since moving downtown and getting this job. And as my boss you know better than anyone – besides my mother – that it won’t be my last time.”

Brendan chuckled slightly at her words. “I promise I’ll be nicer next time,” he quipped. “So your mom wasn’t nervous or scared about you moving out and living downtown?” he asked.

Aberdeen snorted. The notion to her was completely ridiculous. “My mom grew up in Belfast and Derry during The Troubles – she’s not scared of shit.”

Brendan laughed out loud. “A Belfast lass? She’s like my mom, then.”

“Seriously?”

“Mhm,” Brendan nodded his head. “Rosaleen. Dad’s from Dunmanus in the Republic.”

“My mom’s family is originally from Aberdeen in Scotland. Hence my name. But my grandparents moved to Belfast before my mom was born because my grandpa got a job there. Then to Derry,” she explained.

“So does your mom have an accent?”

“Oooooooh yeah,” Aberdeen nodded. “She’s straight out of that show Derry Girls. She moved to Canada when she was eighteen so the accent never left her. There’s no way she could lose it. I mean, she lived in Bogside in Derry. Staunch Catholic. Still goes to church every Sunday.”

“Do you?”

Aberdeen shook her head. “My sister and I used to. She’d drag us along, but we stopped in high school after our confirmation. Still have the guilt though,” she joked.

“Ahhh, that good old Catholic guilt. And your dad?”

“Dad’s Persian.”

Brendan looked at her skeptically. Everybody always did when she told them her dad was Persian. “Bloom isn’t a very Persian name.”

Aberdeen nodded. “Yeah…it’s a long story,” she said. Brendan’s look urged her to go on. “My dad fled Tehran during the revolution. His parents were university professors and after the political revolution came the cultural revolution. They taught English literature and promoted a lot of Western texts so they knew they would be targeted. They made him leave because they were scared the new government would target him, too. He was only fourteen.”

“Fourteen?”

“Yeah.”

“H—How did he get out?”

Aberdeen shrugged. “He walked. Took buses and stuff. His parents gave him money to pay traffickers to get him across borders. They made him change his last name so he wouldn’t get caught. Forged documents and everything. He chose Bloom because of Leopold Bloom from Ulysses.”

“James Joyce.”

“Exactly,” she said. “So he left and went Aleppo first. All his documents were processed there – claimed refugee status, all that. Then Canada finally accepted him, and he came over at eighteen as well. Didn’t look back.”

Brendan was silent as he took in all the information. “What happened to your grandparents?”

Aberdeen paused. “When he first left, he would write them every week. The letters back and forth would be sent through intricate channels and to friends of friends so it could get to each other and not be traced, because they were still scared. It lasted for maybe a year, but then they stopped responding. And he knew.”

Brendan stayed silent. The information she’d just revealed to him was clearly hitting him hard. And he knew nothing about it until now. He realized there was a lot more to Aberdeen than he thought; a lot more to her than he led himself to believe. He should have known better. Everyone had a story, a family history within them that defined who they were and how they saw the world. This was Aberdeen’s story; this was her family history that defined so many things about her. “Your parents have been through a lot – the Troubles and a revolution. That’s incredible.”

“Yeah,” she nodded her head. “I think it’s part of what bonded them together. They had similar experiences in that regard. Like, my mom voluntarily left and went to university here because she was sick of all the violence at home. She felt like it would never end, and she never went back to Northern Ireland until it did. And my dad – well, he left kind of involuntarily, but he knew deep with him he had to leave Iran. And when he finally got to Canada, he loved it. He’s always told me and my siblings he never considered returning, and that he thanks his lucky stars every day that Canada accepted him.”

“Siblings?”

“Siena’s older – she’s in law school in Ottawa. Then there’s the baby Camden. He’s eleven. Right now he wants to be an engineer.”

Brendan nodded his head. “So then tell me something, Aberdeen,” he began. “Who is it you want to be like?”

Aberdeen shrugged her shoulders. “I just want to be the best version of me, really.”

“But there needs to be a person you look up to, career-wise,” Brendan pressed.

Aberdeen shrugged sheepishly. She was almost embarrassed to say. “Anna Wintour.”

“Pardon?”

“Anna Wintour,” she said more loudly this time.

“Anna Wintour?” he asked, clearly shocked by her answer. “Why Anna Wintour?”

“Well, for one, she’s incredibly stylish – that’s a given,” Aberdeen shrugged again. “But it’s important. Because regardless of how much people peddle that inner beauty is what counts, your first impression of someone isn’t of their inner beauty. I’m not saying that’s a good thing, I’m just saying that’s the way it is. So she’s stylish, and she presents herself well, but also…she got shit done. She was an editor at magazines. She’s changed the way we see fashion and how fashion influences us our everyday lives. I know not a lot of people like her and I know she has her faults, but we all do. She’s incredibly driven – even now when she’s perhaps one of the most iconic magazine editors in recent memory. She’s never complacent. She always strives for more. She seeks out new designers to support. She finds the best and promotes the best. She never stops.”

“You mean she strives, she seeks, she finds, and doesn’t yield?” he chuckled slightly, referring to her tattoo.

“Exactly.”

“And you enjoy fashion?”

Aberdeen smiled. “I enjoy it as much as an almost-broke-just-graduated-from-university person can,” she joked. “It’s not really about the fashion. I think I’m fashionable and can be fashionable given the opportunity but it’s not about that. It’s about creativity.”

Brendan smiled knowingly. “Creativity,” he repeated before pausing. “You know Aberdeen, I wasn’t sure if you were going to be able to pull off the Nicklas Lidstrom thing,” he admitted.

“I know you didn’t.”

“You know, out of all the personal assistants I’ve had, you’re the only one that was able to pull something like that off,” he revealed. “And not only that – you got Nick to come to the arena.”

Aberdeen shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t know what he wanted her to say. “I was just doing my job, Mr. Shanahan. I was just doing what you told me to do.”

“Nah,” he shook his head, dismissing her words. “You were creative in your approach. You thought outside the box and you got it done. You made the virtually impossible, possible. Which, again, is more than I can say for all my other previous assistants.” He paused again. “You’ve got it in you, Aberdeen – the creativity. You’ll be able to show it one day.”

“I hope so, Mr. Shanahan.”

“Brendan,” he corrected her.

After everything that was revealed between them, she finally felt like they were on the same page. She let loose. “I hope so, Brendan.”

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