Preseason Love

by Ahyiana Angel

  “You. Are. A. Mess!”

  “Please, I had to make sure to use what I learned while it was fresh on the brain.”

  “I’m not mad at that, chick.” Dev initiated a high-five, then her face turned serious. “Do you trust Kari?”

  “Where did that come from? Do you know something that I don’t?”

  “No, no, no,” Dev insisted. “It’s just a question.”

  “He’s a good guy, but I’ll probably never trust any man completely.”

  “Is it because of your past? Namely Ivan?”

  “Likely. I mean, I trust him only as far as I can see him. Kari hasn’t given me any reason to treat him like I don’t trust him. But at the same time, I’m not going to be stupid and give him an opportunity to screw me over either.”

  “But he seems like such a stand-up guy. You two have been rocking with each other basically since you got here.”

  “True. Don’t misunderstand, I do care about him, and I enjoy our time together. I’m going to keep rocking with him. But a person will always have that room for error and for that reason, I situate him like the others—at a distance. But I’ll have fun with him while it lasts.”

  Dev looked at me like I was a cold bitch.

  “Hey, I’m not trying to set myself up to be disappointed again.”

  “Do you still think about Ivan?”

  “Yeah. I guess, sometimes I feel like we have unfinished business. But really, if I’m being honest, he probably has a lot to do with why it’s hard for me to trust. His deceptive ass fucked ya girl up.”

  “You’ll be fine, chick,” Dev said. “You’re tough, you always bounce back.”

  Dev and I sat in the room chatting for a few hours. We drank Riesling while we gossiped and reminisced. I told her all about the encounters that I’d had at the Athlete’s Annual and the more recent incident at the draft.

  “Did you mention to Kari that the ballers were showing you love?” She chuckled. “I wonder what would have happened if you didn’t have a man?”

  “Well, honestly, it wasn’t even about Kari. I know that sounds bad to say, but it was more so a knee-jerk reaction—how bad would that look if I got caught up in some shit with one of our players.”

  “Okay, okay,” Dev said with a laugh.

  “And no, I didn’t say anything to Kari,” I quickly added.

  “You know that you’re potentially playing with fire by not telling Kari, right? Never mind, don’t answer. I know that you know.”

  • • •

  The following Wednesday at work, a select group of people were summoned into a last-minute, mandatory meeting. Having no idea what it was about, each person within the small group looked clueless as we walked into the coldest conference room on the ninth floor. The only communication that we received about the meeting was an email from Gail Dean, our department head, saying that she needed everyone to meet in five minutes.

  Finally, after leaving us fidgeting and fumbling with anticipation, Dean walked in with what seemed like the news of death. She had on her signature, oversized slacks with her hair pulled back in a slick ponytail and a permanent scowl on her face. I noticed that she was pretty good at presenting a no-nonsense face at all times, but in the last eight months of working at The League, she had never called this kind of meeting. If it would have been me alone, I would have been positive that I was getting fired.

  “I called all of you to this conference room because I just came out of a meeting where I found out that players from the St. Louis Legends, Miami Storm, and Chicago Crows will be in New York two days from now for a special media presentation at our offices. They’ll be unveiling the new and improved uniforms. The catch is that the uniform manufacturer hired an agency to manage the media and we were supposed to provide the venue, but their PR agency fell short on delivering. Now we have been tasked with coming in to pick up the slack. We’ll have to get on a call with the agency in about an hour to discuss our strategy moving forward, and we’ll work with them to execute the best media unveiling possible. This needs to be excellent. All eyes are on us to knock this one out of the park.”

  You could see that most of us wanted to ask why the hell we were just being brought in on the project, but no one would dare ask Dean a question like that.

  “Any questions?”

  The room was silent. We all knew what we needed to do.

  “I’ll forward you the PR agency contact shortly,” Dean rattled off as she walked out of the room.

  Everyone traded looks with each other. We were filled with the anticipation of exhaustion. We quickly moved on from the shock and started going through our next steps and deciding what needed to be done and by whom.

  • • •

  The following two days leading up to the big media presentation were equivalent to a stressful spot in hell. There would be moments where I would look up from the piles of papers that were strewn all over my golden, oak desk and I would sit there to take in the sounds. Even above the low volume of the communal television, you could hear that everyone was working feverishly.

  We essentially had to do the job that someone else was supposed to do but in a fraction of the time and with no explanation. Our abruptly modified schedules meant working late nights, taking conference calls, crafting talking points, pitching media, and solidifying a minute-by-minute schedule for the presentation.

  I was specifically in charge of coordinating the media interviews for Byron Stalling of the Chicago Crows. I needed to confirm all of the media that had interest in speaking with him as well as escort him through the interviews on the day of the event.

  I knew of Byron Stalling, but I had never met him and didn’t know much about him other than that he had just signed a $12 million contract with the Crows. My colleague had worked with him in the past and she said that he was sweet and very respectful. Being from Houston, Texas, I could only assume that he had the southern charm working in his favor. He had been in The League for nine years and to my knowledge never had any brushes with the law. From what I read he also did occasional charity work and was well liked by fans. All of the media that I spoke to prior to the event seemed eager to speak with Byron.

  The unveiling wasn’t until noon, but Byron and the other players were instructed to arrive at our offices by 10:15 a.m. They needed to be properly prepped before the presentation. I received a call from Byron’s agent letting me know that he was nearby so I headed to our main lobby entrance with The League security to intercept Byron before fans could have an opportunity to approach him. Our timing was impeccable, as his car service pulled up two minutes after we made it downstairs. I emailed the schedule keeper to inform her that Byron had arrived.

  When the driver opened the door of the black-on-black Cadillac Escalade, all I saw was a pair of black Gucci loafers hit the sidewalk. A large, six-four frame followed and my eyes connected with a pleasant gaze that was from none other than Byron. I walked closer to where he exited the vehicle to extend a hand and introduce myself.

  I looked up at him. “How are you? I’m Scottie Malveaux. I work in the Public Relations department at The League.”

  “Hey, nice to meet you.”

  “Follow me, please.” I motioned. “I’ll take you inside.”

  As we walked through the main lobby, a few people recognized him as a star athlete and said hello from a distance. The security personnel at the front desk were all smiles as they buzzed us in and said hello to Byron, too. While we waited for the elevator, I checked my BlackBerry. I read an email from our schedule keeper informing the PR team that all of the guys were in the building. It was just after their call time, which was fantastic and totally unexpected. Since I was assigned to Byron, my first order of business was to take him to his makeshift green room—a conference room—and go over the run of the day with him.

  We arranged for the new uniform as well as socks and size fourteen shoes to be laid out in the green room for Byron. In addition, catering set out a nice spread of fruit, e
ggs, bacon, turkey sausage, oatmeal, muffins, water, and juice. When we walked into the green room, Byron’s attention went straight to the food.

  “Well, since it looks like you’re hungry, I’ll go over the details once you’re situated.”

  “You got jokes, Miss,” Byron said. “You should probably grab some food too. Then we’ll be on the same page.”

  I gave him the side eye but decided to go ahead and grab a little fruit. Only to make him feel comfortable of course. He sat down at the small, circular table and I sat down opposite him and crossed my legs.

  “What’s that computer screen for?” Byron asked with intrigue.

  “It’s the company’s internal website, but it’s mainly used as an employee directory. If we’re in a meeting and need to contact someone internally, it makes things easier.”

  “So if I needed to find you, I could?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  Byron looked down, then looked back up at me. “Those shoes are hot.”

  “Thank you,” I said plainly. I was ready to go over the logistics of the day.

  “So Scottie Malveaux, how long have you been at The League?”

  This is getting way off track, but I can’t be rude. He is trying to make small talk while he finishes his food. But wait, he called me “Miss” earlier and now all of a sudden remembers my full name. Game.

  “I’m coming up on a year,” I said with an implied period in my tone and facial expression. “So I’ll go over the flow of the presentation,” I continued, “and you stop me if you have any questions. Start time is noon. All of the media will gather in our press conference room. The League’s head of Merchandise, alongside the manufacturing company’s President of Innovative Design, will kick off the presentation with a tandem welcome address. During their remarks, which will last exactly four minutes, I’ll walk you up to the press conference room where you will be introduced to the audience. This will serve as the official unveiling of the new uniforms. You and the other two players will deliver brief remarks while wearing the new uniforms—think fit, functionality, and maybe even feel. Lastly, we will close out the presentation and move on to the individual media interviews.”

  “Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

  “I do, as long as you don’t throw any last-minute issues my way,” I said with a smile.

  “All right, Miss. You won’t have any trouble out of me.”

  “Perfect, that’s what I like to hear.”

  Things were actually going pretty well with prepping Byron. He was surprisingly easygoing. I tried my hardest not to size him up, but those long, gorgeous eyelashes did catch my attention for a brief moment.

  While my head was buried deep in my BlackBerry catching up on emails, I realized that it was too quiet. During my first hour spent with Byron, I noticed one thing that he didn’t know how to do and that was be quiet. I looked up from my emails and scanned the room to see what had Mr. Stalling so occupied in silence.

  “Excuse me? Hello!” I think I’m a bit confused by what’s happening right now. I got up from the round table raising my voice at least an octave and waving my hand in the air.

  “Why are you taking your clothes off?” I was sure that my voice was squeaking like Whitley Gilbert from A Different World. A normal person probably would have been embarrassed. Given the circumstances, I was completely thrown off.

  “Calm down, Miss. I’m changing into the uniform,” Byron said, in his innocent southern accent. “That’s why it’s here, right?”

  I knew that he wasn’t actually expecting an answer and I also knew that he wasn’t that naive. That deep southern drawl could fool some into thinking him a saint, but the look in his eyes read as though he took slight pleasure in the entire awkward exchange. Luckily, I interrupted him before he had a chance to unbuckle his pants. It was bad enough that his glistening chocolate chest was staring right at me.

  Maybe it was normal for athletes to strut around semi-naked, but I felt slightly uneasy, mainly because I liked what I saw. His body was a work of art sculpted to perfection, and he had a flawless complexion.

  “I’ll wait outside while you finish changing.”

  That was a close call. What if someone would have walked in on us and misread the whole situation? They would have had my walking papers written up before I could have even gotten the word “misunderstanding” past my lips.

  I checked my BlackBerry again for updates. That BlackBerry stayed glued to my right hand during events because we didn’t have the leisure of missing something. Everything was urgent and time sensitive when it came to The League. Events got my adrenaline moving, I liked the thrill and didn’t mind the added pressure.

  An email popped up from the schedule keeper with the words “TEN MINUTES” in the subject line. It was almost go time. I banged on the green room door with slight force and yelled to Byron, “You’ve got five minutes to finish up in there before we have to go!”

  “Come in!” he yelled from the other side of the door.

  I paused for a brief moment as my nerves kicked in. I had no clue what I was about to walk into, and for some reason, this man made me feel nervous like a little schoolgirl on her first day.

  “How do I look?” Byron asked as I entered the dressing room.

  “The new uniform looks great. Fits you well.”

  “Cool,” he said, grinning.

  “Ready?” I quickly added.

  “Whenever you are, Miss.”

  The League offices were rather large spanning many floors. We exited the green room with seven minutes to spare and followed security to the elevators. Upon reaching the door to the press conference room, Byron seemed slightly nervous. I didn’t really expect his nerves to be going crazy. I figured that he did public appearances all of the time.

  When Jay Perry of the Miami Storm and Devon Owen of the St. Louis Legends walked up, he greeted them with excitement and it seemed as though his anxiety subsided a bit. The presentation had already been in full motion and once each guy was introduced and on the stage, it was smooth sailing from there.

  Before I knew it, the time had come for the one-on-one interviews. I walked Byron from the stage to the interview room, which was right next door.

  “After this, I’m done, right?”

  “Yep, after this, you are free to go.”

  “Are you gonna wait for me to finish…and take me back to the dressing room?”

  “Uh—yeah.”

  When we walked into the interview room, all of the reporters were standing around salivating and waiting for their chance at a one-on-one with some of The League’s most coveted athletes. Byron was well-spoken and engaging; he completed the first five interviews like a true pro. While he was on his sixth and final interview, I heard the door swing open and I immediately turned to see who was entering. My team member Duke looked in my direction and motioned for me to step into the hallway.

  He didn’t come and track me down for no reason. I had a feeling that I knew what it was about. An interview with one of our executives was set to run online that morning and I could only suspect that the story hit and there was an error in it. An error in a news story was always a major deal at The League and the expectation was that you would get it fixed, and fast. I had not had a chance to check the story because I had been dealing with Byron and the presentation all morning.

  I quietly excused myself and stepped into the hallway. “Is everything all right, Duke?”

  “No, the Wall Street Journal story from this morning was sent around and Dean noticed a mistake,” Duke continued. “She called around pissed looking for you, totally forgetting that you were up here working.”

  “That’s fucking great. Let me run down to my desk,” I said, not liking the sudden anxiety that was overwhelming my body. “Duke, would you mind monitoring this last interview that Byron is doing? If everything wraps up before I get back, can you escort him back to his dressing room on seventeen?”

  “Sure, I got it. Go,”
he said.

  I decided to take the internal stairs hoping that it would be faster. In my haste thumping down the stairs, I ran into Britney, the bitch. She looked at me as if to say, “What’s wrong with you?” but she knew better than to ask.

  Then I heard her say, “How are things going with Byron?”

  This funny-style bitch has some nerve. Don’t address me as though we’re friends.

  I had already passed her so I ignored her question and kept moving down the stairwell.

  When I got to my floor, I made a beeline for my desk. I didn’t want to go and speak to Dean first. She was a beast and if I went to speak to her without being fully prepared, she would rip my head off and eat it for lunch.

  I logged on to my computer and pulled up the story. When I read it, I spotted the mistake immediately. Our executive’s title was listed incorrectly. I snatched up the phone to call the reporter.

  “Hi, Thomas, this is Scottie from The League. I just finished reading the story and it looks great, but I’d like to see if you would correct a line in the first paragraph for me? I can email you exactly what it says versus what it should say.”

  “Sure, send it over and I’ll take a look at it right away,” he said.

  “Perfect. You’re the best! Thanks, Thomas.”

  When I hung up the phone, I heard shuffling from down the hall and it seemed to be headed in my direction. I had a feeling that it was Dean. I wasn’t in the mood to hear her ranting and foaming-at-the-mouth tirade.

  “You need to call your contact at the Wall Street Journal and have that mix-up fixed ASAP. Have you talked to them yet? Where are we with this?”

  I hate when people fire questions at me. They do it to throw you off and get you frazzled. But it always managed to annoy me. Everyone else in my group was slightly fearful of Dean and it was obvious. She was a corporate bully.

  I shot Dean a stern glance. “I just got off of the phone with the writer, Thomas, and he is going to make the correction immediately. The change should be posted within the hour.”

  “Good. Send me the updated version when it’s done.”

  “Okay.”