Marek
Even with my back to the door, I know the moment Harper arrives and steps inside my office. I’d like to call it intuition, but it’s more likely the scent of her lip gloss and the light hint of bourbon vanilla perfume that infiltrates my senses.
I push away the thoughts that creep to the front of my mind about tasting those lips and focus on rebuilding the wall she found a way to scale and leap over in the press conference earlier.
I can’t afford to think of Harper in any other way than what she is to me. This is strictly business and for professional purposes only, I assure myself. A means to an end. An opportunity for both of us.
“I have an offer for you,” I state, as I round the corner of my desk, taking special care to notice her reaction. I sit on the edge of the desk and cross one ankle over the other, folding my arms over my chest, studying her body language.
Probably a bad idea to look at her in such close proximity, especially from this angle. The way her blouse opens into a V, exposing a hint of her pale breasts, I can see her pulse thumping wildly at the side of her neck. It’s a tell.
She’s surprised and eager.
I like that.
She doesn’t appear nervous, as some might in this scenario, and her expression holds only a modicum of interest and curiosity. As if she’s calculating a counterpoint she plans to make in relation to whatever I have to offer.
A strand of her dark hair swishes over her shoulder and the urge to reach over and brush it out of the way nearly brings me to my knees. I grip the edge of the desk in a white-knuckled grasp to keep myself from moving.
“Okay,” she says lightly. “I’m all ears.”
My gaze slides to Glen, who also shows signs of interest because he also has no clue what I’m about to say. How could he know when it was a spur of the moment decision based on…
Fuck, what was it based on again?
Oh yeah, emotion.
I got rattled out there by the question related to Jasmine and her fucking book. I thought I could keep myself composed and avoid getting distracted by the unimportant details of this not-yet-published autobiography of hers. But how quickly my nerves became a tangled mess and I folded, running out of there like a scared rabbit with a fox on his tail.
Something inside me snapped and I’ve made a rash decision. So very unlike me. I’m sure Dr. Rush will have a lot to say about this the next time we meet. Thank God I have a highly-trained sports psychologist on retainer. She’ll lend her ear to my plight and then set the record straight with her insight on why I did what I did.
But I already know the answer to that. I may not be able to control what is said about me in the press or in public—or in a goddamn book. But I control it in here. And with Harper, who is so desperate for this exclusive with me, I can control the narrative with what she produces.
I can get ahead of the curve and in front of that oncoming train that has started rolling along the tracks with whatever Jasmine has cooking in her publication. I won’t fight about it. I’ll let her do her thing.
And I’ll do mine. I’ll keep my head down, work hard, and build a team that is championship ready.
In doing so, I’ll use the media—or, rather, one sports reporter in particular—who will showcase what we’re doing with the team and how we do it. I’ll show ‘em how the candy gets made. By then, everyone will be so hopped up on sugar, the book and its contents will taste like dirt.
I glance behind me and pick up a packet of materials that I asked Vivian to pull together, along with access badges for Harper to come and go as she pleases from the arena. I’m giving her all access. To me. To Leo. To Glen. To the players.
Everything she needs for her exclusive.
I hold out the folder to Harper with the team’s logo emblazoned on the front in gold lettering. She scoots forward in her seat and reaches to grab it. The shift causes her blouse to do a peek-a-boo with her cleavage. My eyes want to remain glued there in hopes of seeing more than just a glimpse, but I avert my eyes out of respect. I’m not a teenage boy, for fuck’s sake.
“Harper, you impressed me today. Honestly, I’ve got to hand it to you. You proved me wrong. You have a strong knowledge of the game and the team. Because of that, I’ve decided to offer you the exclusive you requested. On two conditions.”
I hold up my index finger. “One, you’ll spend the next two weeks with the team, joining us on our trips to the G League Camp, where you’ll get to conduct interviews with the players. Then you’ll attend the Combine in Chicago. You’ll get it all.”
She remains silent, so I continue.
“And the second condition is that you’ll ask me no personal questions. None. One hint of a question going in that direction, and that’s it. I’ll pull the plug. You feel me?”
Instead of immediately accepting the offer, she surprises me with a question. Leave it to Harper to continually knock me off my feet when she does the unexpected.
“Why me and not some other sports journalist out there today? Someone bigger or with network ratings?”
I shrug. “You asked. They didn’t.”