It took me a moment to process what she’d said. It had been buried in the compliment, and Joe was already grinning at me in his paternal way. “Yes, yes,” he was saying. “We love Gia. She’s always on the go for us.”
But my mind was still reeling about what Sophia had said—that the ideas werehers. “Thank you, Joe. And of course I value Ms. Hart’s input, but the ideas—”
“It doesn’t matter whose ideas they were, darling.” She tsked at me and patted Joe’s arm. “The young are always so hungry, aren’t they? Desperate for recognition. Well, Gia, as I said, you have done an amazing job following through on the things we discussed.”
“But we didn’t discuss…” My voice trailed away. Well, of course we had discussed them. Or, at least, I’d kept her apprised of what I was doing for Connor because she was his publicist. That was professional courtesy. “I mean, these were my ideas. And I wrote the article—”
“Goodness, dear, such pettiness is not becoming. Joe, I hear that you had my favorite dessert ordered into the box for me. You are so sweet.”
I knew for a fact that Joe didn’t handle the catering in the owner’s box, but that didn’t stop him from patting her hand. “Those mini pecan pies are my favorite.”
“Mine, too. Let’s go check them out before they’re gone. And on the way, we can talk about how I can boost your social media numbers. Really get the younger generation talking about the Bobcats like never before. I’m plugged in like you can’t imagine…”
Off they went, with Sophia being charming, and Joe chuckling as if he was her fond uncle. And all the while, I stood there, shocked that I’d just let her get away with claiming all my publicity ideas as her own. I mean, I’d stood up for myself. But she’d just rolled right over me, and Joe had been looking at her chest, so who knew if he’d been listening to either one of us.
But what the hell? Damn it, I wanted to stomp after them and scream that she was taking credit for my ideas. But that would be inappropriate. The last thing I needed was to suddenly become shrewish over every little thing.
Except this wasn’t little. Not to me. And clearly not to Sophia… Because she’d just freaking stolen my grand success.
I stepped after them, trailing behind like a lost puppy. I was close enough to hear her pitch her own publicity company, then add that everyone had a copy of Connor’s calendar—even me. That told me she’d been poking through my desk drawers, the bitch, but I couldn’t interrupt to say it. Then they were through the doors and into the stadium, moving toward the owner’s box where I wasn’t invited.
It didn’t matter. I had plenty of work to handle, anyway. Reporters always tried to get extra information from me before a game, any secret insight into the team’s mood. I used the conversations to make sure we got in our talking points. It was the dance of publicity, and I wasn’t doing it standing here and fuming.
Except I was.
That was how Connor found me. I heard his voice say my name a split second before he touched my arm. My name, “Gia,” spoken in that deep rumble of his, made all my emotions surge to the fore.
Hunger for him, need for comfort, and fury at his bitch of a sister, not to mention the injustice of having Joe listen to her…it all crashed over me so that when he touched my arm, I started to crumple. Tears welled in my eyes, and my fists pulled tight to my mouth so I wouldn’t start sobbing. I turned away from him, toward the wall, but he slipped around me to look at my face.
“Gia! What happened?” The alarm in his voice was both gratifying and soothing. At least he cared enough to be upset.
But then I had a problem. I couldn’t tell him how much I despised his sister. The man was stupidly protective of his family. So I swallowed my tears and tried to smooth my makeup. It didn’t work. My fingers came away dark with mascara—the cheap stuff didn’t work for shit. I probably looked like a raccoon.
And there was Connor, his eyes growing more alarmed by the second.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “Something stupid.” I took a breath and started walking back to my office. He came with me, his hand cupping my elbow, and I was too weak to push him away. I liked his steady presence, even though this was absolutely not something he should do before a game.
We made it my office, and I grabbed a tissue from my desk while he shut the door. I made quick work of cleaning up my face. It wasn’t perfect, but I wasn’t doing any on-camera work today. Then I steeled my spine and turned to face Connor.
I had a tiny speech in my brain—about how this wasn’t important, that he had to focus on his job and I’d do mine, etc., etc. But then I saw him standing there, his back to the door. His arms were folded across his chest and his muscular biceps were bulging beneath his uniform. Hot, hot, hot. But even better was the firm jut of his chin and the flat, determined expression on his face.
He wanted to know what had happened, and his entire stance told me he wasn’t leaving until he knew every detail. That concern touched me deeply. He hadn’t even said a word, but Connor rarely did. He just let his entire body speak for him. And what his body said was that he cared that I’d been hurt.
So I smiled. “I’m okay, Connor. It’s just work shit. I’ll figure it out.”
Connor stiffened. “Did a reporter hurt you? Did someone touch you?” His jaw was tightening as he spoke, and I could feel his anger vibrate in the air. “Tell me who did it. I can fix it.” Lord, he sounded like he was ready to beat up anyone who gave me a cross word.
And again, I felt a rush of warmth for him. Only a few people in my life had ever protected me, even after I was adopted. My cousins would happily tell me when I stepped out of line, but I doubted they’d beat up anyone who made me cry.
“It wasn’t like that,” I said, rushing to tell him before he could storm the press corps. “Someone took credit for my work to Joe. I tried to clear it up, but…” I shrugged. “I don’t know that Joe heard me. It’s just frustrating, but I can handle it.”
“Someone here did that? That’s ridiculous! You’ve been working your ass off—”
Well, it was nice that he noticed. “It was credit for the ideas themselves. Half of publicity is figuring out what to do. It’s—”
“Who did it, Gia?”
I bit my lip and shook my head. “I can handle it, Connor. You don’t need to be my white knight.” Though, God, I wanted him to be. I desperately wanted someone like him in my corner.
