Harper
I’m teeming with excitement, my blood bubbling through my veins, body buzzing from the inside out over having just participated in my first professional sports press conference.
Sure, I’d done a few minor league and farm team interviews, but it was nothing like this. I felt like a kid in the candy store. It was awesome.
As soon as I was invited, I’d notified my producer back at the studio and he arranged for a freelance cameraman to be here to capture the conference so we could run it on tonight’s sports segment. Next up, I’ll need to record my short video opening segment, including a recap of my questions to Marek.
I check off all of my to-do list as I begin packing up, ready to head out of the row of seats to talk with Doug, the cameraman. As I turn to leave, Glen Roberts, who ran the show today, steps into the row with a smile, blocking my exit with his hand extended to shake.
“Hello. Miss Conrad, is it? I’m Glen Roberts, VP of Media Relations.”
We shake hands and I look to Doug in question over Glen’s shoulder. Doug just shrugs, seemingly unconcerned over this introduction.
“Hello. Nice to meet you, Glen. Thank you for inviting me today.”
He nods and flaps a hand in the air over his shoulder. “That was Marek’s request. In fact, he’s asked me to invite you to meet with us in his office, if you have a moment.”
I’m sure the look on my face expresses exactly what I’m thinking. Confusion, mixed with doubt, and curiosity.
“Um…” I glance over my shoulder at the other departing members of the press, feeling oddly trapped and called out. “Is that unusual?”
Glen chuckles, his gaze dropping to the floor and his mouth twisting in a crooked grin. Then his eyes meet mine again. “Highly unusual. Marek generally does not go out of his way to invite the press into his inner sanctum. So if I were you, I’d consider it an offer you shouldn’t refuse.”
“Do you think I did or said something he didn’t like?”
I quickly replay the interview questions I asked today to see if I can recall any hint that I may have rubbed him the wrong way. Did I cross the line somehow? I thought my questions were fine. He didn’t seem to be upset by any of them.
In fact, I was in awe of how unflappable Marek was up there. Not only that, but he was incredibly handsome. The further along we got into the conference, he began shedding articles of clothing, first removing his jacket and tie and then rolling up his sleeves to reveal his forearms. I kept waiting for a disco ball to drop and theMagic Mikeshow to begin.
Magic Marek. The Big Man. Live and in the nude.
I blink, shaking off my ridiculously farfetched fantasy as Glen responds, assuring me it wasn’t due to any fault of mine.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Miss Conrad, if that’s what you’re thinking. Honestly, I’m as much in the dark as you are. I have no idea what Marek wants to discuss with you, but I do know he’s a busy man and he asked us to meet with him in fifteen minutes.”
Glen looks down at the time on his phone and nods his chin toward the side door into the arena’s offices.
“If you’re ready, please follow me.”
I’ve never felt so discombobulated and tongue-tied over what to say or do. I’ve never found myself in a situation like this. It’s unexpected and kind of like being called into the principal’s office with no provocation.
I snatch up my bag and swing it over my shoulder, stepping out of the row where Doug now awaits my direction.
“Um…I guess, would you mind waiting around for thirty minutes? Or maybe I can meet you later at the station office?”
He nods, running a thick hand through his lumberjack bushy beard. “Yeah, no problem. I’ll grab some coffee and pastries back there. Come find me when you’re done.”
I give him a hint of a smile to show my gratitude and fall in step behind Glen, who holds the door open to allow me to pass through first.
“His office is up on the third floor. Elevator is down at the end to the right,” Glen instructs, as I work to keep up with him. My heels click against the marble floor, and I have to catch myself from falling a few times. Heels are not my typical choice of footwear. I prefer flats, Dr. Martens, or Converse. But none of those would have completed the “ensemble,” as Jade put it. It was, after all, her outfit she lent me for today’s conference. I couldn’t very well ruin it with an unacceptable pair of shoes.
Glen looks at his phone the entire time up to the third floor. As we exit, we pass several offices down the long, brightly lit hallway. It’s very contemporary and decorated with modern artwork. The walls are white but feature a history of the sport of basketball in photos and news stories through the years. The closer we get to the executive suite, the pictures become bigger, the lighting a little warmer, and then we hit plush carpeting.
I nearly biff it when I take the first step onto the carpet, my heel driving into the thick wool pile, snagging my stride. Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake? Thankfully, I catch myself with only a slight wobble.
In front of us is a reception desk surrounded by a horseshoe ring of offices, Marek’s straight ahead. I know this only because the door is closed and his name plaque hangs prominently on the exterior of the door.
“Good morning, Vivian. Would you mind bringing in some coffee, tea, and pastries?”