2
Holly
A faint metallic tang of ice and sweat filled the tunnel. Reporters packed the narrow space, phones out, clamoring to get their next headline. I broke into a jog, my heels piercing the low thrum of everyone talking at once. I thought I’d have more time after meeting with Hunter, but clearly I’d underestimated the media’s interest in the team’s stunning season opener loss.
“Back up, please.” I shouldered through the cheap suits. “If you don’t have clearance, you wait in the press room with everyone else.”
The mass barely moved. One of them stuck his phone in my face, but I angled my body and gave him my back instead. “I said, move.”
There were a few muttered protests, but I ignored them and pushed into the locker room. Straight into the inimitable Bob Trent, waltzing out at the same time. He was flanked by a reporter and cameraman, with Hunter trailing close behind.
“What the hell is this?” I had a palm on Bob’s chest and one covering the camera lens.
He smiled through his confusion. “What does it look like? This is Abel, from Hot Seat. A close partner of the Surge.”
Also the rattiest rag this side of the equator, but I didn’t have thetime or the wherewithal to explain that to him now.
“I thought we talked about prepping players before interviews,” I said with an incredulous glare. We had this conversation less than two hours ago.
A sly smile spread on his face. “Well, then you’ll be pleased to know this isn’t an interview. Isn’t that right, Callahan?”
“Hot Seat always gets the scoop after the game,” Abel replied, and it became clear what I was dealing with.
Hunter was nothing more than a pawn in their little partnership. Stroking each other’s cocks for a payday.
My first day on the job, and the only woman in a sea of tacky neckties and New Balance sneakers. If I didn’t set a precedent for my standard of work early on, I was doomed.
“Let’s hold off on locker room scoops until we’ve established protocol for the new season,” I said, standing my ground.
“Don’t get your panties in a knot, sweetheart.” Condescension dripped from his words as Bob started down the tunnel toward the press room, Abel sticking close. Hunter trailed behind, following but by no means amped.
I hurried to catch up, falling in step beside him. “Listen to me. This is a bad idea. After the game you just had–”
“Bob says I have to,” he said with a shrug.
“It’s not his call to make. You’re my client.”
Right then Bob called back over his shoulder, “It’s showtime, buddy.”
Hunter slowed. “I told them I don’t wanna do this.”
A lifeline. Weak, but there. I grabbed it with both hands.
“You shouldn’t be doing it.” I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Good old Bob. “This all happened really quickly and you want to start the season off on the right foot, don’t you?”
He seemed unsure. “Kinda late for that now, after thatembarrassing loss.”
I knew I was close to getting him out of there, but my time was up.
Bob came over and draped an arm around Hunter’s shoulders. He had to stretch to reach, and Hunter’s face said exactly what he thought of the inauthentic show of support.
“Just say the team’s in a bit of crisis after Trey left,” Bob said, physically steering him to the press room. “Tell them you’re here to steady the ship. Fans love a savior story.”
“You never say ‘crisis’ to the press.” I slipped by them to block the doorway. Behind me, I could already hear the shutters of cameras and reporters talking. “And you never throw another player under the bus. That’s just basic PR.”
“Settle down,” Bob said with a laugh. Slick as ever. “It’s just a spin.”
“It’s a bad spin. With all due respect,” I added, remembering my place in the food chain. “I’m just trying to avoid a media backlash we might not be able to control.”
