Catching Cameron: A Love and Football Novel

by Julie Brannagh

  Zach Anderson’s agent had called. Her agent had called. Cameron’s assistant texted one line: “Do I still have a job?”

  She couldn’t believe she’d lost it like she had. It was the smirk. He smirked at her, and she couldn’t control what came out of her mouth. She should have ended the interview, gotten herself under control, and tried again. He was the only man she’d ever met that could get under her skin like he had.

  Ralph heaved a long sigh. “Well, Cam, when you screw up, you really screw up. What was all that?”

  She shook her head. Her phone rang again. It was one of the guys she regularly talked with at NFL Network. News traveled fast.

  “Ralph, I wish I had a better explanation than the fact I let him get to me.” She did. She was keeping the information to herself as long as she possibly could.

  “What happened to the interview questions we discussed earlier in the week?”

  “They didn’t work.” She took another breath. “He stole my cab yesterday. Did I mention that?”

  Ralph raised an eyebrow and recrossed his arms. “So, you two have met before.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a meeting.”

  He moved to the chair next to hers, sat down, and stared into her eyes. “Listen, Cameron. You’re a professional. We need to fix this. What do you suggest?”

  “Maybe Mark should interview him.”

  “Mark’s on paternity leave.”

  She might have remembered that on her own, if she’d thought about it. Mostly, she wished she were anywhere else in the world but right here, right now. Today’s festivities exhibited the most unprofessional behavior in her ten-year career. She’d love to blame it on the stress of Paige’s wedding, PMS, the fact that Chanel was discontinuing her favorite shade of lip gloss . . . No. Truthfully, she’d love to blame it on his behavior in the cab, or the way he showed up at a restaurant with four women in tow and taunted her as a result.

  To say she disliked Zach Anderson would be an understatement. She loathed him. But she still desired him, and that fact horrified her. There wasn’t a woman on the planet who would blame her, either. She guarded the secret of why she detested Zach like her own personal Fort Knox, a fortress she would protect with all weapons at her disposal. A breach would be catastrophic.

  She rubbed her forehead to banish the beginnings of what she imagined would be a major-league headache.

  “Fine. I’ll handle it.” Her phone rang once more. It was her agent. She’d better pick up. “Laurie.”

  “Cameron, we have a huge problem. Are you in your office? I’ll be over there in ten minutes.”

  She felt an icy fist grip her stomach. “I understand I lost my temper, but we can fix—”

  “The video of your interview with Zach Anderson is already up on YouTube,” Laurie interrupted.

  “It can’t be.”

  “Oh, it is. You’re nationwide. It’s on YouTube, it’s on TMZ.com, and it’s trending on Twitter. There’s a banner headline on Deadspin.com. ESPN just called to verify the story. I’m in a cab. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” Laurie disconnected.

  Cameron closed her eyes and tried to breathe. She was going to have a full-scale panic attack, right here, right now.

  She took a chunk out of the man—she’d been dying to for the past ten years—but it was at a horrific personal price. If things weren’t bad enough already, her career was over.

  THE STORY OF Cameron Ondine’s going after a NFL player during an interview spread faster than anyone involved could have imagined, especially Zach. He was a bit dumbfounded by it all, too. Twenty-four hours and one million YouTube views later, it was all anyone could talk to him about. After all, men (and more than a few women) spent their spare time online looking for photos of Cameron. She was nicknamed “Cameron Online” for a reason. This was something else they couldn’t stop looking at.

  Public reaction was fueled by the fact that Zach was known to be a bit full of himself at times, and probably needed to be taken down a peg or two. Who the hell knew, he mused. The sports world was split between admiring Cameron’s guts, and wondering if she should be allowed within a city block of a football broadcasting facility. He’d talked with more than a few guys over the past few days who asked him what he did to piss her off so much. Cameron brought to mind the icily perfect, blonde movie stars of days gone by, and obviously he’d failed to score.

  Zach’s representation sent flowers and an apology to Cameron. He couldn’t figure out why he was apologizing—he hadn’t gone after her like a starving dog would pursue a big, juicy steak, had he?—but a large delivery was dispatched to the PSN studios the next morning. The text of the card was composed by a public relations consultant Jason commissioned to do so. The same PR consultant authored an apologetic statement from Zach that was released to the media. The phone was still ringing. At least Zach could sit on the couch in his house while he did the fifteenth interview this afternoon on whatever sports radio station wanted to talk to him now.

  He was so tired of talking about this. He was angry. He was embarrassed. He couldn’t stop remembering what it was like to be so close to her again, and he still remembered her perfume. He wanted it all to go away, but it wasn’t going away until someone else in the league had a catastrophic screw-up. He didn’t like to wish ill on others, but hopefully he’d get wiped off the front page sooner than later.

  “Hey, now, Miami. We’re here with Zach Anderson of the Seattle Sharks, otherwise known as the guy that won’t be having dinner anytime soon with the lovely and talented Cameron Ondine of PSN. Zach, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Damned if I know.” Zach smiled into the phone receiver. “I’m just looking forward to training camp.”

  “Sure, you are,” the interviewer laughed.

  “Zach, we got some news this morning we’d like to ask you about. Is it true that the night before your ill-fated adventure with Ms. Ondine, you two fought over a cab in New York City?”

  Nice to know the cabbie must have sold his story to a tabloid or something. “I don’t know where you got that from, but it’s not true,” Zach said.

  “The cabbie had a video camera in his dash, guy.”

  “I’ll comment after I’ve seen his tape.”

  “Gotcha. Let’s talk about something else. Cameron Online—oops, Ms. Ondine—accused you of being ‘old, slow and overpaid.’” How about setting the record straight? You’re still in the Sharks’ plans this season, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I’m in their plans. We’re looking forward to retaking the division crown on the way to the Super Bowl. If Ms. Ondine thinks I’m ‘old and slow,’ she’s welcome to strap some pads on and meet me on the practice field.”

  This brought a cacophony of laughter from the other end of the phone, and one of the guys said, “Got it. Well, Zach, best of luck, and we’ll look forward to seeing you during our ‘Thirty-two Days at Training Camp’ programming.” There was a moment of silence, and then the main program host came back on the line. “So, Zach, how many hundreds of dollars of flowers went to the PSN studio this morning?”

  “Hey, Mike, I’m laughing my ass off over here.”

  “She’s on the show tomorrow. Want us to patch you in? You could apologize in person.”

  Zach rubbed his face with one hand. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. I’ll see you next week at training camp.”

  “Yeah, you will. Bye, guy.”

  Zach heard the call disconnect, and he shut off his cell phone. Everyone wanted to get into the act. His grandma had scolded him a bit over the breakfast table this morning, too.

  “Zachary Anderson, you’re a better person than that. Why did you take her bait, honey?”

  “She pissed me off, Grandma. I don’t have a better reason.”

  She shook her head. “You know you’re going to have to apologize in person for your behavior. Flowers and a note from your agent aren’t good enough.”

  He rose from the table. “I have to go
.” Ten minutes later he was in his SUV, speeding away from his house and the disappointed look in his grandmother’s pale blue eyes.

  He let out a long sigh. He hated training camp, but he was going to have to make an extra-special effort to kick ass this year. He’d make Cameron eat her words, too.

  WHILE ZACH PUZZLED over his current problems, Cameron was in Hell: population one. She was at her parents’ house in the Hamptons, getting ready for Paige’s wedding. The wedding coordinator was nowhere to be found. Now that she was finished listening to Paige’s hysterics and her mom’s nagging about when Cameron was going to give up her career and settle down, she’d found a pin-prick sized ink spot on the front of her matron of honor gown.

  Paige’s wedding was in less than two hours. The church was only ten minutes from the family’s summer home, but Cameron knew the family was in an uproar. Even her normally unruffled father was in the section of the backyard that wasn’t taken over by the massive reception tent with a driver, a bucket of golf balls, and the portable net he used when he couldn’t get to the driving range. The high-pitched feminine cries Cameron could still hear in the hallway outside her bedroom were punctuated by the rhythmic thwack of a golf club hitting a ball at full speed.

  Cameron’s mother flew into her room in a swirl of pale gold taffeta.

  “Why aren’t you dressed?” she demanded.

  “The zipper’s stuck. I’m afraid I’ll break it. Dad’s trying to put a hole through some golf balls out there,” Cameron said.

  Olivia Ondine studied the zipper for a moment, hesitantly tried to move the pull and attempted to frown at it. Her forehead did not move.

  “The wedding planner will know what to do. I’m not breaking a nail on this.” She glanced out of the bedroom window. “Your father will be fine. I’ll get him a scotch.” She walked toward the door, only to turn back to Cameron. “Pictures are in less than an hour, and you’ll need to fix this.” The door shut with a click behind her, and Cameron resisted the impulse to scream.

  The zipper and the spot on the dress were the tip of the iceberg as far as she was concerned. It wasn’t even the wedding. It was dealing with her family. Her mother and sister made a career out of being helpless. Her father catered to them. She was the weirdo here, the one who insisted on making a living, especially while doing something that horrified her parents and their old-money, country-clubbing friends.

  There wasn’t as much old money anymore, she mused. The financial crash of 2008 had left a few of her parents’ friends “rich” instead of “wealthy.” There was less conspicuous consumption, and more “evenings in,” at least among those who weren’t willing to gamble again on the quirks of the stock market. Her parents were affected by the initial destruction of her father’s portfolio, too, but their fortune had rebounded. They spent lavishly on Paige’s wedding. After all, standards must be upheld. Today was an embarrassment of riches.

  Paige’s wedding was nothing like Cameron’s wedding. Cameron was twenty-two and less than a month from getting her degree. She was facing a lifetime of correct social behavior and scheduling her life around designer trunk shows and opening nights at museum exhibits. She loved her parents, but she wasn’t interested in living their lives. She’d wanted something more.

  So she had walked out of her Upper West Side apartment one afternoon during spring break with an overnight bag, hopped a jet to Vegas, and danced till the wee hours of the next morning in the hotel’s night club. Shortly afterward, she found herself walking up the aisle of a seedy Las Vegas chapel. She was blissfully buzzed. The groom she’d met six hours ago and danced and drank all night with was drunk too.

  She wore a limp bridal veil that must have been worn by a thousand other brides before and carried a bouquet of silk flowers, also previously used. The groom put a simple gold band on her finger and gave her a kiss that tasted like whiskey and lust. An Elvis impersonator pronounced them husband and wife, and launched into an off-key rendition of Can’t Help Falling In Love With You, a song that still made her flinch.

  She and Zach Anderson were married for seventy-two hours ten years ago, and she still wasn’t over it.

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  CAMERON’S SMART PHONE vibrated as she hurried toward Pro Sports Network’s studios in Manhattan three days after her sister’s wedding. She asked the cab driver to drop her a few blocks away so she could walk. The weekend had been full of rich food and too much alcohol, she would be hitting the gym later as a result. She pulled the phone out of her pocket, took a look, and groaned aloud.

  It was never good news when Kacee called before eight AM. Cameron hit the “talk” button.

  “Hi, Kacee. What’s up?”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “About a block away.”

  “Ben wants to see you the minute you arrive in his office.”

  Cameron’s heart rate picked up. Ben was the executive program director of PSN. “Did he say anything about what he wants to discuss?”

  “He just told me to tell you to see him immediately when you get here.” Kacee’s voice dropped. “There’s several people in the meeting. They ordered food and coffee, so they’ve already been there a while.”

  Cameron swallowed hard with whatever moisture was still left in her mouth. “I’ll get there as fast as I can. Thanks, Kacee.”

  “You’re welcome.” Kacee took a breath. “Good luck, Cameron.”

  “Is everything still in my office?”

  “Yeah. Hurry.”

  Cameron disconnected and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other as a sick feeling of dread skittered over her skin.

  Ten minutes later Cameron knocked at Ben Levine’s office door. “Come on in,” she heard him call out.

  She glanced around the room. The ten upper-level executives in the organization she’d met when she was hired were sitting at the conference table in Ben’s office, and the HR director was there, too. People appeared to be taking notes on paper or via electronic tablet. This could not be good.

  “Good to see you, Cameron,” Ben said. “How about some coffee? Bagels and schmears are over there.” He inclined his head toward the breakfast spread on the credenza behind the head of the table.

  “Thanks. Maybe in a few minutes. Good morning, everyone,” Cameron called out. She heard various responses. More importantly, though, everyone looked her in the eye. Maybe she wasn’t fired. She sat down in the only empty chair in the room, which was next to Ben’s.

  “So, Ms. Ondine, you’re probably wondering why we’ve invited you here.” Ben got up from the table, and crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over Manhattan behind them.

  Cameron took a breath and resisted the impulse to either cry or throw up.

  “It’s a good chance to clear the air. I’d also like to apologize for the incident with Zach Anderson the other day. It was unprofessional, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” she said.

  “Your apology is nice, but it isn’t necessary.” Ben turned his back on the view. “Part of the reason why we asked you here this morning is to talk a little about what we expect of PSN’s on-air personalities.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip. “One of the objectives we had when the network was started was to offer professional athletes a forum that they’d look forward to visiting. We compete with many other entities for interviews and in-depth stories, and part of the reason we keep getting those stories is because players know they’re not getting sandbagged when they give us their time.” He put his coffee cup down on the table.

  “Yes, Ben, and again, I’m so—”

  He cut her off. “We sank significant resources into acquiring you from ESPN. We made that decision because of the demographics of your viewers, a high degree of professionalism and the fact that you brought value to our organization. Having said all that, we’re thrilled with the ratings spike in your on-air appearances over the past few days. They’re through the roof. NFL Confidential is
now must-see TV! We’re wondering how we can make that magic happen every time you step in front of the camera for PSN.”

  There was scattered applause around the room. “Congratulations, Cameron. It was spectacular,” he said.

  Was she hearing things? He wasn’t mad at her, and they thought what she’d done was a good thing? She’d walked into his office convinced she was about to be fired, and now they were congratulating her.

  Cameron clenched her hands in her lap. She took the deepest breath she could, tightening the invisible steel bands around her chest. “I’m a little confused,” she said. “The ratings are up? I . . . I don’t understand.”

  Ben smiled a bit. “You will in a moment.” He crossed the room to the table where the breakfast items were spread out, poured another cup of coffee, and returned to press it into her hand. “We’ve been talking about this for a couple of hours now. Obviously, the network is pretty invested in turning your, shall we say, ‘disagreement’ with Zach Anderson into positive publicity for us.” He leaned against his desk. “We think we have a solution, but we’d like your buy-in.”

  “Of—of course, Ben,” she stammered. “I’m happy to help.”

  “You may not be so happy when you learn what we’d like you to do.”

  An on-air apology to Zach Anderson would be humiliating, but it was the least of what she expected Ben to tell her.

  “We’d like you to go home and pack your bags. We’re sending you to the Sharks’ training camp for the next four weeks. You’ll be leaving tomorrow morning.”

  Cameron’s mouth dropped open in amazement. “But . . . isn’t Kevin going to training camp?”

  The network was rolling out their version of HBO’s popular Hard Knocks program. This year, they’d focus on the Sharks. The Sharks were rumored to have fireworks in their locker room as aging vets retired and new guys took their jobs. It was considered one of the better assignments at the network. Kevin Adkins, a former NFL player and one of Cameron’s colleagues, had appeared in teaser ads for over a month now.