Pep talk two was in the parking structure, after I flashed my temporary credential at the security guard and pulled into the spot markedDesign / Brand. Which, honestly, should’ve been enough proof that I belonged here. That my work mattered. That this wasn’t some cute little hobby I’d give up when Igot seriouslike my dad always implied.
Pep talk three was in the elevator up to the third floor, where the offices and meeting rooms lived. I stared at my reflection in the stainless-steel doors—sharp blazer, good hair, neutrallipstick that saidI have my life together, thanks—and practiced my smile.
Friendly. Professional. Totally over my little moment with Noah last night. I could face him and be chill. Nonchalant.
The doors slid open, and the familiar hum of the Rampage offices wrapped around me. TVs on the walls replayed clips from last week’s win on a loop. A framed photo of Noah hugging Miles at Kids Day tugged at something low in my chest. I looked away before my brain could go full montage.
“Em!” Marla waved me over from the glass-walled conference room. “You’re right on time.”
I slipped inside and set my bag on a chair halfway down the table. The brand team was already assembling: Marla with her color-coded tablet, Jax from social in a hoodie and beanie, a retail guy named Colin in business casual, and Bea with a notebook and an energy drink, representing player relations.
“Morning,” I said, turning the friendliness up to eleven. “Everyone ready to talk about clothes and make questionable financial decisions?”
Jax snorted. “That’s my love language.”
“Did you email the new CADs?” Marla asked.
I tapped my tablet awake. “Yep, but I’ve got them loaded here too if we want to go through them together.”
“Perfect.” She turned to the wall screen and cast my tablet so the line sheets popped up. “Let’s start with the family jacket.”
My heart did its little anxious tap dance, but the work pulled me in the way it always did. Lines and fabric and function; the familiar language that made sense when everything else felt like static.
“The biggest feedback last time,” I said, swiping to the technical drawing, “was making sure guys could layer without feeling like marshmallows. So I reduced bulk in the sleeves,added gussets under the arm for range of motion, and widened the cuff slightly for big watches.”
“Bless you,” Bea muttered, scribbling a note. “You saved me twelve complaints from the tight ends.”
A laugh rolled around the table. I liked Bea. She was head of PR and wore thick black glasses and had part of her head shaved. She looked cool and badass at the same time.
I zoomed in on the side view. “We kept the charcoal as the base, but I added a tonal black-on-black version to test online. Still on brand, but more wearable. And the kids’ bomber matches with simpler seam work, so it’s comfortable but looks like the grown-up version.”
Colin leaned forward. “These are good. Clean. I love the hidden zip pocket callout. Moms are going to lose their minds over that.”
I tried not to glow too visibly. “I’ve ruined enough lip gloss in my time to know where women actually need pockets.”
We worked through the rest: joggers with reinforced knees for the players’ kids, a cotton-modal jersey for the pajama-style top, a tiny snap on the neckline so toddlers couldn’t rip it off easily. I flagged where I needed color approvals and where the licensee might push back on costs.
The rhythm soothed me. Here, no one cared that I’d asked a dumb, vulnerable question in a kitchen. Here, I was an expert.
“Timeline-wise,” Marla said as we wrapped, “we can get you vendor notes by Friday. Does that give you enough time to adjust tech packs before we lock them?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m basically living in Illustrator this week anyway, so send whatever you’ve got.”
“Love that dedication.” Colin closed his notebook. “We’ll also want to schedule a content capture day once samples come in. Locker room, guys in the line, maybe some family stuff. You good being on site to tweak fit?”
“Of course.” My stomach did a tiny flip. Locker room meant Noah. Quinn. The whole roster. “I’ll bring my kit.”
“Great. Let’s tentatively pencil next Tuesday morning. Practice is light then and the guys will be around.”
Bea checked her phone. “I’ll confirm with Coach, but that should work. Some of the guys are already asking when they can see the new pieces.”
“Especially Quinn,” Jax said, smirking. “He’s been in my DMs about those joggers.”
Of course he was.
“Speaking of,” Bea added, eyes flicking to me, “they’ve got film and lift now, but Noah and Quinn are supposed to swing by after your meeting to try on the altered samples. We can get early feedback before we commit everything to production.”
My heart stuttered.
