“I don’t mistreat my employees because I disagree with them,” Gunnar said, his tone teetering on the edge of annoyed.
Jay narrowed his eyes, perhaps readying himself for a verbal assault.
I might not have liked Lydia, but I did like Jay. Well, I had. Now, I wasn’t so sure. But I knew I wasn’t ready to take on his position, and I didn’t want him to hate me.
“I’ll agree to that,” I said, “as long as you do, too. Should I be right and you wrong, you take on mascot duties.”
Gunnar looked ready to argue, but I caught his eye and shook my head. This was my battle, not his. I needed to earn Jay’s respect. More than that, I wanted our department to be harmonious, so I’d take the knock on the chin for the team.
“I reserve the right to end this ridiculousness at my discretion,” Gunnar said. “But as long as you both understand the terms and agree to them, I’ll abide by them as well. For now.” He turned the full force of his glower on Jay, who shrank back. “And for the record, this is not how I want any department run. I’ve found that working with my colleagues improves situations and morale. Pranks are one thing, but I think this might be another.”
But Jay couldn’t opt out now. He’d forced the issue, perhaps without thinking it through. I could see the concern in his eyes. He’d gotten himself on the wrong side of Gunnar Evaldson, and there was no easy way to repair that damage.
With that, Gunnar rose from the table and took his leave. Tim and I shared a long look that spoke volumes—and put us firmly on the same page. We both seemed to understand what was at stake here, Jay’s ego. Tim’s quirked eyebrow reinforced what my gut was saying: this wasn’t going to end well for me.
Chapter 8
Gunnar
Friday evening, after I left the office late, I got a front-and-center schooling on Jeff Cross, the rookie player Cormac had come to talk to me about. I’d wondered if Cormac’s frustration was magnified, based on his need to secure his legacy.
But that wasn’t the case.
Even after the offensive coach’s interviews with Jeff’s college coach and Jeff himself, he continued to sidestep our typical protocols and showcase himself as a toxic element set to bring down everything I’d worked so hard to build. This evening, the dimwit had posted videos of himself and two teammates at a college party full of underage students. If their red plastic cups didn’t scream alcohol, the keg and bottles directly behind him, centered in the shot, did.
So, instead of having a quiet night at home, I’d rushed back to the office to join Noelle, Jay, Zaila, and the rest of the PR team working to mitigate the fallout. Two members of my public relations team scrambled with the head of marketing to get to the phones, offering the pat answer the group had worked out: Our organization was aware of Jeff’s posts, and the team and staff would never endorse underage drinking.
I watched as Zaila scooted to the corner of the chaos, her head bend over her phone. “What are you doing?” I asked as I approached.
I should have been working with the team, but as usual, I was drawn toward Zaila. Her dark hair was pulled up in a haphazard bun, with five or six pens or pencils stuffed into the mass.
“I’m messaging Jeff and telling him to post a photo of himself getting into a rideshare and talking about what a bad idea it is to drink and drive.” She glanced up as she hit send. “I’m trying to find a silver lining in this shitshow.” She rubbed the back of her hand across her brow.
“Not what you expected from the job, eh?” I asked.
A faint smile tipped her lips before she shook her head. “I know young people are impulsive, sometimes foolish, but this is a disappointment from a guy who’s been handed everything…” She shook her head again, her lips pressed together in disapproval.
According to my calculations, Zaila was three years older than our newest addition to the team, yet she had more sense in her pinky finger than Jeff had in his entire body. The feelings Zaila evoked in me grew stronger the more time I spent with her.
“Ah!” She brightened. “He actually answered. Good.”
A few minutes later, a post popped up featuring a video Jeff had posted of himself walking unsteadily down a sidewalk, away from the noise spilling from the house behind him. “Just learned some people here are underage.” He hiccupped. “That’s not cool, man. Not cool. I mean, I prolly shouldn’t be drinking like I did tonight, but those kids back there…” He waved behind him, where the party continued. “That’s not right. I’m calling a ride to get home safely. Got training camp next week. No reason to be reckless when I’ve got so much on the line. For the record, those kids do, too—their whole lives are in front of ‘em.”
I’d seen enough of Zaila’s text to know Jeff was reading her words for the camera. “Gotta sober up and play smart. That’s the best option for me…” He pointed at the screen, blinking owlishly. “And for you. Party smart, everyone! Jeff out.”
The video ended with the collective release of groaned-out breaths from the team.
Jay rubbed his palms down his face, tugging the skin so hard that his eyelids pulled downward, too. “That was a total clusterfu—hi there, Mr. Evaldson.”
“At least he smartened up,” Natalie, the PR director, muttered. “Damn fool could have made everything much, much worse.”
I waited for Zaila to tell them she’d gotten through to Jeff, but she didn’t. In fact, she stayed tucked against the wall, head bent over her phone. Twenty minutes later, after we determined Jeff was home, the team packed up and filtered toward the exits. I kept out of the way but continued to observe, fascinated by their conversations and their insights into the players and what Jeff’s hard-partying attitude would do to the team.
“I hope he doesn’t screw up the chemistry,” Jay said to the PR guys as they walked past. “The Wildcatters are known for being hardworking, focused, and goal-oriented. This one yahoo might undo all that, and then we’ll have to fight tooth and nail for our brand.”
Silas would have Jeff on a short leash after this, and I expected the kid to either rebel harder or get with the program. Only time would tell. I’d have to talk to Silas again tomorrow about how he wanted to handle the rookie. Personally, I was leaning toward Cormac’s method: slap shot the little shit as far from my organization as possible.
Soon, the room had emptied. Though I noted that Zaila was still hunched in the corner with her phone. As I watched, she dropped her head into her hands and heaved a deep, shuddering breath. This hadn’t been a fun night, but it seemed unlikely that she was this distraught because she worried for Jeff’s reputation.
