You’ve got this.
Feeling a bit more composed, I head back to the waiting area just as the door of Marek’s office opens and the woman steps out with Marek on her heels.
I’m immediately struck by the sheer beauty of this woman and recognition hits me. That’s his ex-wife, Jasmine.
Hurrying over to the chair, I pretend to be focused on collecting my things, but I’m really listening to what she and Marek are discussing.
“Please get them signed and returned soon. Edits begin next week and then publication this summer. I haven’t a moment to lose.”
Marek makes a noise of assurance. “I said I would get them to Davis, and I will.”
She flutters her hand in the air and then steps into his space, wrapping her delicate arms around his shoulders to embrace him. It’s a quick hug, but it’s also intimate. Marek returns the hug with hands around her trim waist. When he backs away, he places a kiss on her cheek.
“Goodbye, Jasmine. Travel safe.” He reaches for her hand and clasps it in his palm. “And good luck.”
“Thank you. You too, Marek.”
I glance down at the floor, feeling suddenly like a voyeur as Jasmine walks past Vivian’s desk and says goodbye. I’m not sure what to think about their exchange, but I’ll be certain to do some more digging. Although, it will purely be to assuage my own level of curiosity because Marek made it very clear that I was to ask no personal questions in my interviews. When I look back up, my eyes meet Marek’s.
“Good morning, Harper. Doug. Won’t you both come in? We’ll get started in here.”
So many questions swim around in my head that I know will be off-limits to ask. So instead I grab my bag and follow him into his office, the same one I met him in a few weeks ago for the offer that changed the course of my career.
This time, however, I’m in a position with a little bit more control and clout, and a hell of a lot more to prove.
* * *
We recordthirty minutes of interview questions with Marek until we wrap up and he takes us on a tour of the facilities.
While most of the players are still on their summer breaks and vacations, Marek mentions that some of the team comes in regularly to keep up with their training regimen and to work out with the team trainers. Marek thought it would be a good idea for us to conduct a few interviews with those that are here today.
We follow him down a long hallway as Marek escorts us to the workout area and gym where he introduces us to the head trainer, Brendon Meier. Brendon’s quick smile and his very enticing muscular features under his athletic gear put me immediately at ease. Although Marek, in his expensive-looking suit, certainly gives him a run for his money.
And there I go again. Stop, stop, stop.
“Brendon, this is Harper Conrad. Harper will be conducting some on- and off-camera interviews with the staff and players over the next few weeks. If you could show her around the locker room and gym, I’d appreciate it.”
Brendon nods to Marek. In return, Marek claps him on the shoulder and turns to me.
“If there’s anything you need that you aren’t given, just let me know. All our players, even the rookies…” Marek makes his voice loud enough to be heard over the sound of the clanking weight machines, where two of the players working out stop and crane their heads to look. “…will be nothing but professional.”
One of the guys snorts. I think it came from Jaeger Matlin. Young, green, and clearly not lacking overconfidence and arrogance, both on and off the court.
But I won’t be intimidated or embarrassed. At least not now, not after learning the hard way.
As a sports reporter, my job means I’m surrounded by gorgeous and well-built male and female athletes whose physical appearance can make any woman swoon, especially when you’re faced with their nakedness in a locker room environment. And I’ve made my share of mistakes when I’ve been caught with my guard down.
The most embarrassing to even think about to this very day was my first on-camera locker room interview with baseball player Heath Bennington. I’m not saying he did it on purpose, but there’s also no evidence to prove the contrary.
I walked in after his no-hitter perfect game, the only female reporter in the locker room, and he let his bat swing in the air. And I’m not talking the wood bat from the ballfield. Heath still claims he didn’t know I was in there and had his back to me at the time before he unwrapped the towel from around his waist and let it drop. Then he turned around and I got an eyeful.
Some things, folks, cannot be unseen.
While I blushed profusely and couldn’t even say my name without getting tongue-tied, Heath didn’t flinch. He didn’t smile, nor did he smirk. He just stood there, arms crossed defensively, as I first dropped my microphone on the floor between us, bumped my head on the bench as I stood back up, and then stared wide-eyed, open-mouthed at his semi-flaccid eight-inch dick hanging between his legs.
All thought left my head and I stammered and mumbled until, finally, another reporter jumped in and put me out of my misery. I never wanted to go back into another locker room ever again.
Heath was notorious for his loud and outspoken belief that female reporters should not be allowed in the clubhouse or locker rooms. So, whether it truly was an accidental dick freebie or he was trying to rile me up, sadly his trick worked that day.