by Mignon Mykel
When my grandparents died, they left me a considerable portion of their estate. And left their only daughter, my mother, not a single red cent. At twenty years old, I lost the only two people who cared about me and the cherry on top—it led my parents to further hate my existence.
I know . . . boohoo. Poor me.
But when my parents tried to have me declared incompetent and too young and irresponsible to maintain that much money, it was the last straw. They had a fortune of their own. Why try to take more? It was about control.
I realized that no matter what I did, they would never love me. They might have loved me, but I don’t think they ever liked me.
After the semester was over, I sat down with my coach, seeking advice. I didn’t want to go home for the summer.
Coach Williams listened as I poured my heart out. She handed me a box of tissues and told me that sometimes people are just bad.
“Sometimes, people are just bad. You need to decide if they’re worth it.”
They weren’t worth it. And it was as easy as that. I cut my parents out of my life and told them I’d call them if I wanted to talk. I haven’t spoken to them since.
I deserved better.
After my breakfast with Brenner, I marched my happy ass back to Alec’s place and told him and his superstitions to take a long walk off a short pier.
He protested, of course, but it was all about him and his damn game. He yelled at me from his front steps, and I never looked back.
I went back to my place and called Jessa. I told her I wanted to make a run for the Olympics. To my surprise, she was totally cool with me getting a new partner and wished me well.
Then I thought about who I admired. Who in the sport was the best?
There was only one answer—Holly Landers.
I drove to her house in Newport that afternoon. Somehow, I convinced her to be my partner, and instead of competing on the AVP tour, we spent our time on the FIVB tour.
“Miss Saddler,” a rich feminine voice drifts over my ears. “They’re ready for you now.”
I rise to my feet and out of the corner of my eye I see him. Live and in person. He’s still handsome. As if I didn’t know. When I walked through the lobby downstairs, I stared at the framed picture of him hanging on the wall for the better part of five minutes.
I didn’t want to be here when Brenner arrived. I wanted to be halfway back to California. No such luck. But here I stand admiring the way his navy-blue pants stretch across his solid thighs and taper nicely at his trim waist.
Look away from him.
He steps into the reception area, two Starbucks cups in each hand and a leather bag strapped across his body. His slim-fitting, white dress shirt looks like a second skin on him. His biceps have lost none of their bulge since he’s retired. Apparently, he’s been hitting the gym as often as possible.
He sees me and smiles. I’m sure my panties go wet.
“Lark, congratulations,” he says. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Uh, thanks. Good to see you, Brenner.”
“Hey, what are your lunch plans?”
I’ve got to be on a flight back to Los Angeles. I try to form the sentence, but all I do is stutter some inaudible version of umm and I. Because the scent of clean soap and spice have me tongue-tied.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Miss Saddler, we’ve got to get you mic’d up and ready to go,” the production assistant says.
“I’ll walk with you.” He nods and directs me down the hall.
We trek down the hallway toward the studios, and I can feel him behind me. I know those brown eyes are staring at the back of my head.
We get into the studio where they fuss with my microphone and do a few tests. Brenner stands off to the right of the camera, sipping his coffee.
A young woman with blond hair and black-rimmed glasses cozies up beside him.
“Here’s your coffee,” he tells her.
She giggles and takes the paper cup from his hand. “I think it’s my job to fetch you coffee.” Her bubbly voice takes on a teasing tone and he bumps her shoulder with his.
I avert my eyes, finding it a little painful watching the two of them flirt. A woman wearing a red blouse and black pants walks up to me. “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Anna.”
“Program director Anna?”
“Yep, that’s me. Okay, just look at the screen, and you’ll see Mark Mahoney’s face—”
“Wait, I’m not being interviewed in person?” I interrupt.
“I’m sorry,” Anna says. “No one here really knows beach volleyball. Mark has been prepped, and he watched your match.” Anna smiles then steps off to the side. “Here comes Mark. Three, two, . . .”
“What’s up everybody, you’re watching The Sit Down. I’m Mark Mahoney and today I’m hanging out with Lark Sandler.”
Did he just fuck up my name?
“Hey there, Lark. How’s it going?”
“Hi, Mark, it’s going well, but my last name is Saddler.”
He scoffs and stares blankly into the camera. His face changes from a scowl to an easy grimace.
“Welcome to the program. What’s it like to be the AVP champ?”
My brows scrunch together. Is he kidding?
“Well, Mark, I wouldn’t know.”
It’s all I give him, testing the waters to see how he recovers.
Off set, I hear Brenner’s voice. He’s mumbling something to Anna. She shakes her head. I refocus on Mark, who shuffles his paperwork, looking disoriented.
“Right, well then, Lark, what’s next for you?”
A quiet breath leaves my lungs, grateful that I have a question I can answer. Mark shifts in his chair and looks down at the floor.
“I’m looking forward to getting right back to work. Holly and I have the Olympics to think about. That’s our focus right now.”
“Speaking of focus and practice, how much would you say that you practice for these types of games?”
These types of games? Irritation claws at my throat, and my hands grip the armrest.
“Actually, I don’t practice at all. I just kind of get out there on the sand and wing it.”
He laughs. “Well, I guess you gotta do what you gotta do. My favorite part of beach volleyball is the uniforms. Do you get to pick out the style and cut of those costumes?”
Snickers of laughter invade my ears. My heart thumps at an erratic beat.
Misogynistic bastard.
Another voice jumps into my earpiece. “Hey, I must say that I’m a huge fan of Holly Landers, your partner. But what happened between you and Jessa McNeil?”
What’s with this line of questioning? A guy in a grey suit pops onto the screen.
“You and Jessa played on the beach volleyball circuit for a long time.”
“Yeah, we had, but Jessa and I have different goals. It’s not uncommon for players to change partners. There’s a respect in the game that way.”
Their laughs come out in tandem. Heat flames the back of my neck and rolls like lava down my spine.
There’s inaudible talking, then the screen goes black.
“What just happened?” Brenner shouts. “What the hell kind of interview was that?”
Anna’s hands fly to her hips. “I have no idea.”
“Was Mark fucking drunk? And what was up with Josiah crashing the interview?”
I push off the chair and settle on my feet. “It’s fine,” I tell Brenner.
He turns to face me. “No, it’s not fine. Don’t settle for that kind of shit, Lark.”
Brenner continues to argue, and Anna continues to bob and weave with the occasional apology. Glancing at my phone screen, I have two hours before my flight leaves. Unless Brenner wants to have lunch at the airport, I have to go.
“Brenner. I have to go.”
“Wait, let me fix this for you. I can get you a decent interview,” he pleads.
I shake my head. “No, please don’t go to any trouble. I need to get to my nex
t meeting.” Not a total lie. It’s just on the other side of the country.
His brown eyes fill with sadness. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m leaving or because he’s trying to be my white knight.
I stare up at him for a beat too long. “This has been nice. I’ll see ya, Brenner.” I walk toward the exit and I don’t look back.
4
Brenner
Unacceptable.
Lark’s interview was a disaster. Not on her part, she gave as good as they had given her. I don’t blame her for hightailing it out of the studio.
Shock courses through me as I march down the hall to Anna’s office. I’m pissed that a world-class athlete was subjected to a line of juvenile questions by sloppy sports analysts.
“Seriously, Anna? You need to fire those two jokers.”
Anna glances up from her phone and pins me with a sharp look. “Network won’t let me. And that was ratings gold.”
My hands fist at my sides. Is she serious? I refuse to believe that we’re accepting this kind of treatment with female athletes.
For ratings. Ratings.
My blood boils and my fingers dig into my palms.
“The interview is already being shared on social media,” Anna quips, quite pleased with herself.
“How can you be happy about two of your employees botching that interview?”
She lifts a shoulder. “It wasn’t that bad. Plus, it’s giving Lark and the network some buzz. Look what happened to the interview with Cara Delevingne, the one she did when she promoted that Paper Towns movie.”
“I don’t know who that is, and I definitely don’t remember that movie.”
“Look, beach volleyball hasn’t been exactly hot the last few years. Mark did the best he could. Besides, I think Lark may have been jet-lagged or something.”
Lark wasn’t tired. They caught her off guard by the lack of prep for her interview. And Mark didn’t take the conversation seriously because he thinks it’s beneath him. This kind of “blow-off culture” with female sports figures will only drive women off the courts and fields.
“You can’t be serious. She’s going to the Olympics for fuck’s sake.”
She swipes at her phone screen. “Will there be anything else, Brenner?”
I’m so done.
“Yeah, one more thing, I quit.”
Anna stares at me. “You what?”
“You heard me. I quit. If this is how GSN treats female athletes, I’ve got no use for this kind of corporate culture.”
I think of my sister and my mother, both hard-working women, and I can’t stomach someone treating them this way. Even though I had teased Lark back in the day about being Alec’s pre-game ritual, I knew it was the kind of shit she wouldn’t take.
She pushed back when the bartenders at the Stingers parties assumed she’d want a white wine or a cosmopolitan. And if she had, that’s her choice. But at least give her the choice. At those Stingers parties, Lark owned the damn room. She didn’t have to dumb herself down to talk shop with people . . . not the players, not management and not the executives. Even though some wives and girlfriends would’ve preferred Lark not appear to be too intelligent.
Anna steps behind her desk and takes a seat. “But you’re under contract.”
“Then fire me.”
“And give you unemployment? I don’t think so.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want your unemployment benefits.”
Anna leans back in her chair. “All right, cancel your contract and pay the fine.”
“Done.”
“There’s also the matter of the non-compete you signed.”
“Yeah, yeah, how can I forget.” My jaw ticks.
Anna stands and extends her hand across her desk. “Go ahead and clear out your office. It was truly a pleasure to work with you.”
Despite my anger, I shake her hand. Before I make it back to my office, everyone on the floor has received the interoffice email that I’m leaving.
“Brenner,” Kandace wails. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Quit.” Her dark heel taps against the hardwood floor.
I spear a hand through my hair and blow out a harsh breath. “Because that interview was bullshit. I can’t stand seeing people treat her like that. And I’ve got some moral integrity—”
“Oh my god,” she cuts me off. “You like her.”
Ignoring Kandace’s comment, I busy myself with gathering up my personal items.
“Lark. You like Lark Saddler. This makes perfect sense.” She paces around my office and stops in front of my bookcase. “Here, I thought you were just ogling the female beach volleyball players this whole time. But really, it was just her.”
I toss a glare at her. “I actually like the sport, ya know.”
She waves me off and scoops up my books. “Sure, sure. I believe you. When’s the last time you went on a date?”
This is fresh territory. Kandace has never tried to set me up before, but Nolan and Sebastian have on multiple occasions. I’ve been able to politely decline.
“I’ve been on dates,” I shoot back, and she rolls her eyes.
“The only dinner reservations I make for you is with the guys or your mother. Never a lady friend.”
“Kandace, don’t you have work to do?”
Her lips twist into a frown and she plops the books onto my desk. “Hmm. Maybe, but what are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She leans against the front of my desk. “You want me to get Lark’s number for you? I can find out where’s she’s staying. Should I make a dinner reservation for two at that Italian place you like?”
I stare at her for a beat. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks.”
Kandace smiles and dances out of my office. After I finish packing up my stuff, I power up my computer and start clearing out my emails.
“Here’s Lark’s number.” Kandace hands me a yellow sticky note. “I have bad news though.”
“What’s that?”
“Her other meeting is in Los Angeles and her flight boards in forty-five minutes.”
“Damn, that sucks.” I slap my palms to the desktop.
When I look up, Kandace is smiling a big toothy grin at me.
I lift a shoulder. “What?”
“Go after her, Brenner.”
“I’ll never make it to the airport in time.”
“No, but you can make it to Los Angeles.”
“She’ll think I’m nuts. That I’m stalking her.”
“You’re nuts if you don’t go get on a plane and tell that woman how you feel. That you want to take her out on a date. How long have you been crushing on her?”
I blow out a breath. “It’s been a while.”
She shakes her head. “What’s a while?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, a teammate of mine saw her first and . . .”
“Wow, okay,” she drawls out. “I’m getting you on the next flight to Los Angeles.”
“Let me at least go home and pack. I want to be there first thing tomorrow morning.”
“You have to take the red-eye.”
“Worth it.”
She laughs. “Fine, I’ll email you your flight information. And if you need someone to babysit your apartment while you’re gone, I’m up for the job.”
“If you need to stay at my place to get away from your roommate, you can.”
She claps her hands. “Yes. Thank you. You’re the best.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, that’s all my stuff. I’m outta here.”
“Yeah, you are,” she squeals. “Go get her Brenner, and post a pic on Insta.”
“Not at a chance,” I tease.
“I’ll miss not working with you on the daily.”
“Me too, Kandace. Once I figure stuff out, maybe you’ll come work with me again?”
“Deal.”
When I land in Los Angeles, I dial Lark’s number. It goes straight to voic
email and I don’t leave a message.
While I wait for my luggage, I pull up the Uber app on my phone. I schedule my ride, and by luck, there’s a car waiting outside.
After I check the license plate and verify his name, I hop in the backseat. I’m not going to Lark’s place yet. First, I need to see my mom.
I dial Lark’s number again, no answer. It’s Saturday morning. She could be working out. There’s hardly any traffic on the roads, which is a miracle.
Soon the car pulls up to my mom’s place and I’m crossing the sidewalk with my luggage in tow.
“Brenner, oh my goodness,” my mom chirps out. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Last minute trip, I wanted to surprise you.”
She rubs her hands over my shoulders and then presses them to the sides of my face. “I’m so happy to see you.”
The bells of the diner chime out and over my shoulder, I see Lark. She’s wearing frayed denim shorts and a striped tank top that shows off her toned arms and flat stomach.
Lark is breathtaking. Her glossy light brown hair falls in waves over her shoulder. Her brows arch over rich hazel eyes when she spots me.
“Brenner, hi.” She takes a step toward me.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, Lark is one of my regulars,” Mom singsongs.
“Ever since you brought me here, I’ve come at least once a week.” Lark brushes past me and then gives my mom a hug.
“Hi, Lark,” Mom says. “You two want to sit together?”
My gaze flicks to Lark. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to call you. Do you mind having breakfast with me?”
“That was your number? Sorry, I’ve had my phone on do not disturb. Ever since that interview yesterday . . . it’s been nonstop calls.”
Guilt hits me in the chest. “I’m so sorry about that.”
Mom wheels my luggage behind the counter. “Go on and grab menus and sit wherever you like.”
I snatch up the menus and some silverware while Lark takes a seat at the same booth we sat in years ago.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“I quit my job,” I tell her sliding my ass against the green pleather.
She cocks a brow in my direction. “Why? Over the interview?”
