I smile demurely. “Thank you. My question is for Marek.”
Marek’s eyes meet mine, flashing with insider knowledge, the corners of his mouth curling up into a knowing, if not a little nervous, grin.
He leans into the microphone. “Go ahead, Harper. I’m all ears.”
The statement I’m ready to make and the lengths I’m willing to go to set the record straight could very well end my career in broadcasting. Everything I’ve worked for up to this point could disappear in the blink of an eye. But if I don’t ask it, it will only snowball and grow more dangerous every day from here on out.
I clear my throat, positioning the microphone closer to my mouth so everyone can clearly hear what I have to ask.
“Marek, did you ever go behind my back and speak to Herve Schueller, KOGN’s general manager, and ask him to give me a job because I slept with you?”
The room goes dead silent. Jaws drop open. Mics literally drop. All that can be heard is the sound of cameras.
Click. Click. Click.
Cameras capture Marek’s expression as it morphs from confidence, to confusion, until finally landing on understanding of my off-the-cuff question. The atomic bomb that just blew up this entire press conference.
Marek’s eyes grow wide, his jaw tics, and he inhales sharply before letting it out in an effort to regain his composure.
He folds his hands on the table in front of him, twirling his thumbs as he processes his response. It feels like ages before he leans forward into the mic and answers.
“As many of you know, if you’ve read the book my ex-wife published,” he begins, and the audience of reporters all snicker. “She painted me out to be a terrible husband. A neglectful partner. A man solely focused on his own career and ambitions.”
He rubs a hand at his temple, a reflective smile displaying across his mouth. The cameras are eating this up.
“And she was right. Looking back now, I have the benefit of time and clarity to see just how distant and distracted I was to my ex-wife’s needs. I put my own needs first and not hers. I took out more from that marriage than I put in.”
Someone in the audience adds with a chuckle, “Yeah, but she took you to the cleaners!”
Marek looks out into the audience and shakes his head.
“We all know money doesn’t buy happiness. Anyway, my point is, and getting back to your question, Harper, is that I’ve changed as a result of my past. I’ve worked on becoming a better leader, a better man, and hopefully, a better partner to the one I love.”
His eyes lock on me and it’s like a spotlight has taken hold, shining its bright light over me as everyone gawks in anticipation.
“Yes, Harper, I did speak with Herve about you. But it was strictly about the work you did for my team. As you all know,”—he flattens his palm up and gestures to the crowd—“the rapport a sports journalist builds with a team and its players is a vital part of your job. If you don’t build that relationship, you can’t expect to gain good interviews.”
Marek’s head swings back to find me, directing his next statement directly to me.
“Harper, your knowledge of the game, your professional tone, and your work ethic are what impressed me. Once those segments ran in the market, our ticket sales saw a huge lift.That’swhy I called Herve. That’s the reason I gave him my unsolicited stamp of approval. Not because I slept with you or because I love you.”
There’s a collective gasp. Someone drops their phone, and it hits the floor with a metallic clatter.
Tears prickle at my eyelids, my lower lip trembles.
I will not fall to pieces on camera, goddammit.
I straighten my shoulders. “Okay, thank you for that. But why, then, didn’t you tell me? Why keep it a secret? If you’re trying to be a better partner and communicate with the one you love, don’t you think you may have missed the shot?”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Marek chuckles, scratching at his head. “But then again, even the best player that ever was, MJ, missed game winning shots on double-digit occasions. Yet, he kept at it. Kept taking those shots because that’s what led to his success. Honestly, I was ready to give up on ever having another relationship again. I didn’t want to take another shot in fear of missing with a big air ball like I did the first time.”
Marek rises to his feet and walks to the end of the platform, leaping off the three-foot side, and strides straight toward me. The entire crowd follows his every move, cameras angled to track his progress.
Suddenly my palms dampen with beads of sweat. My heart races and gallops like it’s in contention for the Kentucky Derby. And the microphone weighs a ton. I drop it to my side and let it dangle there as Marek grows closer.
He stops in front of me and pauses, staring into my eyes that are now misty with emotion. Cupping my face, he tips my chin up and gazes at my lips.
“I would never forgive myself if I didn’t take this shot you’ve given me right here and right now. And if I don’t make it this time, I’ll try again until I get it right. Do you forgive me for the mistake I made by intervening in your career and not telling you about it?”