Harper
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Commissioner Smith.”
I’m shaking hands with the most important leader in the league. Jonathan Smith, the commissioner of the league.
He smiles politely, the white beard covering most of his face. He could pass as a twin or a brother to David Letterman.
“The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Conrad. I was hoping I’d get to meet the sports journalist who talked the notoriously tight-lipped Marek Talbert into giving interviews with him and his team. You must be very persuasive to have gotten him to agree to such an imposing endeavor.”
He raises a glass and winks at me. I’m taken aback a little, blinking in surprise to hear that the Commissioner even knows who I am. His comment strikes an odd chord with me, though, and feels somewhat underhanded. Or maybe I’m just reading more into it after that conversation with Marek earlier.
“I don’t know about that. I asked and he said yes.”
“I suppose Marek would be out of his mind not to accept the invitation to meet with such a beautiful and talented reporter as yourself. As we all know, Marek is famously private and holds his cards close to the vest.”
Commissioner Smith nods his chin in the direction of where Marek stands at the bar, waiting for our drinks, speaking with several other attendees. I turn to look behind me and nod in agreement.
When I return my gaze to the Commissioner, he’s smiling down at me, but his eyes are on my chest.
Jesus, man. They’re only boobs.
I subtly cross my arms over my breasts, hoping he’ll take the hint, and lift my champagne flute to my lips, returning his patronizing smile. “That he does. But he’s been more than gracious and has offered me some incredible insight into the leadership strategy he pours out into his franchise. Marek’s business acumen and love of basketball are nothing short of stellar. I can’t wait to see what the team does this year.”
Commissioner Smith hums, raising an eyebrow. “All true. I just hope this messy public affair with his ex-wife and her book doesn’t dampen the season.”
I tilt my head, smiling politely. “The thing I’ve learned about Marek is that he is, without fail, 100 percent focused on his team and organization. A book and some gossip aren’t going to throw him off course.”
Feeling a hand curl around my waist, I turn to find Marek now back at my side, drinks in hand.
“I see you two have made introductions?” He speaks to both of us, but his gaze doesn’t leave mine.
“Oh, yes. The Commissioner and I were just talking about how kind you were to grant me the exclusive interviews with your team. And how the hard work you’ve put in will certainly see a payoff come championship season.”
The Commissioner sniggers as if he’s heard an inside joke and speaks directly to Marek. “Seems to me you’ve turned this little lady into a life-long fan of Marek Talbert. She can’t stop touting your winning traits.”
Marek’s eyes flicker with something I can’t read as he takes a sip of his drink.
“I don’t know about that, Commissioner. If anything, it’s the team and the fans that are the true winners in this venture with Miss Conrad. The work she has been doing with our organization has been nothing short of extraordinary. I think it will enlighten our existing fan base and hopefully create new fans prior to the season starting.”
“Hmm…yes. Well done, Miss Conrad.” The Commissioner glances down at Marek’s hand that’s latched tightly at my waist. Then he takes a pull from his glass and gives an obligatory wave and smile to someone behind me.
“Well, it’s been nice chatting with you both. I’m going to freshen up my drink, speak with a few more people, and then we’ll get the ceremony started. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” His eyes snag mine. “Both of you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Enjoy your evening,” Marek says, shaking his hand with a brisk motion before the man walks off and leaves the two of us alone for the first time since we entered the ballroom.
I’m suddenly tired. Tired of all the bullshit that comes with my job. I may be a sports broadcaster, but I hate the games I’m forced to play. Playing “nice” when made to feel inferior and less than because of my gender can be goddamn exhausting.
Why can’t they all be like Marek—respectful and professional—instead of a handful of dickwads and creepy assholes?
I lift my gaze from my champagne to find Marek looking down at me intently. I’m unprepared for the rush of emotion that hits me when he cups my elbow in his palm, protectively tugging me closer so he can whisper in my ear.
“Commissioner Smith is an old-school asshole the size of North America. His opinions on you and your talent should be promptly dismissed as narcissistic trivial nonsense. Off the record, I can’t stand the man, to be honest.”
I let out a short laugh. “What makes you think I’m affected by our conversation?”
Marek presses his finger under my chin, drawing my gaze up to his as his eyes roam my face. “It’s written in your expression. I can read you like an open book.”