Page 19 of Power Play

They’re talking aboutme.

I’m the lone woman on our small team, and Maverick’s interview? It was only possible because he said he wantedmeto tell his story, not anyone else.

The men I’ve worked with for goddamnyearsdon’t see me as anything more than a dumb piece of ass.

Bile rises in my throat.

I taste acid on my tongue and my hands curl into fists at my sides as I rest my back against the wall and slide to the floor.

The urge to cry, to scream, to rage against the world pounds in my blood. It’s close to slipping out, to breaking free, but I closemy eyes and take a breath instead. I cradle my head in my hands and try to recite every positive affirmation I’ve ever learned. I try to focus on all thegoodI can grab on to, yet I can only think about how everything I’ve worked so hard for means absolutelynothing.

I’ve heard about women in the broadcasting industry experiencing misogyny, but I never thought I’d be subjected to something so blatant. Something so volatile and intentional, as if I’m not a coworker but a nameless body they could use until they got their fill.

There’s no respect—I doubt there ever was—and every day I show up to work going forward, I’m going to have to live with the notion there’s no room for advancement. No room for a promotion, because the people who could offer me that opportunity would rather keel over than watch me succeed.

A tear runs down my cheek, and I realize the job I love is tainted now. Holding a microphone won’t ever be the same, and as I wallow in the hallway of a hotel in the heart of Texas, I know that’s the saddest thing of all.

SIX

PIPER

We lostin Austin by a point, and, after hearing my colleagues talk about me so lewdly, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

The game came down to the final seconds. Maverick had a chance to tie it up, but his shot ricocheted off the left side of our opponents’ goal as time expired.

I didn’t arrange for any interviews after the loss. The guys prefer to decompress in the locker room following a defeat, not in front of the cameras where they’re forced to say things they don’t mean likewe gave it our allandwe’ll do better next timeto appease the media.

They’re pissed as hell.

The plane ride back to DC last night was quieter than the trip over. Maverick hung his head the entire flight. Liam refused to look at anyone, and Grant, who’s never in a bad mood, sat in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest.

Not a single dick joke was made.

I even avoided gossiping with my friends, popping on my headphones and pretending to sleep so I wouldn’t have to explain why I didn’t acknowledge my bosses when they walked on the plane and tried to joke with me.

Biting my tongue instead of lashing out was a Herculean task, and I have no idea what I’m going to do going forward.

Quit?

Uproot my entire life and apply to a different team far away from DC?

Suck it up and pretend like I didn’t hear what they said about me?

I can’t bring myself to turn the other way, though.

It’s uncomfortable to face the problem head-on, a confrontation I don’t want to tackle and breathe life into, but if it happened to me, it’s going to happen to the next woman.

And the woman after that.

A cycle that’ll continue untilsomeonebrings those assholes down, and I refuse to be complicit while they waltz around with a badge of honor when they’re no better than the scum of the earth.

Fuck if I ruin my reputation because of it.

To top it all off, Helen, the head of HR, asked to see me at the end of the day, and my mind automatically went to worst-case scenarios.

I’m probably going to be reprimanded for no-showing at the pre-game meeting. Scolded for missing out on a work commitment, something I’ve never done in my career, but I draw the line of fake smiles at sexual harassment.

“Hey.” Maven lowers her camera and glances at me as the team wraps up practice. “Are you okay?”

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