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“Brandon and Bobby have been at the same practices as Miles,” I point out. “They know the playbook. Back-ups are there for a reason. These guys are competent, but they need you to believe they are or they won’t be. Your passion for the game is infectious, Lincoln, and they need you there motivating them every step of the way.”
“Yeah, but how do I do that when I already told Fletcher he wasn’t my first choice?” he whispers, and it’s the first time I’m seeing the vulnerable side of the coach.
Something about that makes my heart thump. “Only you can answer that, and I know you’ll figure it out. You wouldn’t have kept him on your team if you didn’t think he could play in the event something happened to your starter.”
He nods, and he presses his lips together as he contemplates that. It’s as if he knows I’m right but he’s still not quite sure how to piece it all together…or how to get Brandon to understand that he believes in him.
But I know Lincoln, and I know he’ll figure it out.
We head up to bed shortly after that, and he basically passes out while I lie awake staring at the ceiling and wondering whether I made the right choice in issuing that rejection since now I want it and he didn’t offer it again before he fell asleep.
When morning dawns, I have a headache even though I didn’t drink a drop. Between the lack of sleep and the sympathy pains I have for Lincoln, I feel like I shouldn’t go into the office.
But I have to. I have to play Marcus, and I’m cranky…which doesn’t bode well for our Monday morning meeting where we discuss the stories for the week.
I hold my head high when I walk into the office even though I’ve been demoted from team correspondent back to beat reporter, and both Sanders and Rivera are already in the conference room when I walk in. They stop talking when they see me, and I hate that it feels like they were talking about me.
“If you have something to say to me, you can say it to my fucking face,” I hiss.
Rivera’s brows arch. “Feisty for a Monday morning, Bailey. But, then again, you’ve always been pretty feisty.” He winks at me, and it makes my stomach turn.
I shake my head. “Fuck off, Rivera.”
The other reporters and sports anchors join us, and I start the meeting.
“What’s everyone working on?” I begin, and we round robin the table for everyone to discuss current stories and projects.
“I’ve got an exclusive interview with Troy Bodine later this week,” Gary tells me, and I smile.
“That’s great. Make sure to keep the sex club question out of the discussion.”
“Oh I think you definitely need to ask about it,” Rivera says. “Viewers want to know more about it and whether the rumors are true about his connection to it.”
I grit my teeth for the first offense, but it feels like no matter what I say, Rivera has a comment about it. And most of the comments are neither helpful nor wanted.
Eventually I turn toward him. “Do we have a problem here?”
“You know we have a problem,” he says.
“Then talk to me after the meeting. Marcus asked me to stand in for him, so you can kindly keep your comments to yourself. I’ve got this.” I continue to hold my head high.
“Just like you’ve got your personal life?” he jabs, and I snarl at him.
“My personal life is off-limits to this conversation, but maybe you’d like to share with everyone why you’re so fucking obsessed with it!” I’m screaming at him, and just then, the door opens and standing there are Marcus and Paul—the guy from human resources.
They look between Rivera and me, clearly not sure what to do while all the others in the room look on with a bit of awkwardness.
“What’s going on here?” Marcus asks.
“I was simply trying to give my opinion on some stories and she attacked me. Everyone in here can vouch for that,” Rivera says, and my blood boils.
“Oh come off it, you jerk! That is not what happened!” I wait for someone to stick up for me—anyone—but nobody says a word.
Fuck this.
“Uh…Jolene, can I see you in my office?” Marcus says.
“Fine,” I spit out, and I storm out the door past him and beat him to his own office. “What are you even doing here?” I ask.
