Page 19 of Penalized Love

Just then, the door I’ve walked past a million times at this point creaks open, and a woman with her dark hair in a high ponytail peers out. “Isla Johnson?”

I nearly jump out of my skin at the voice. “Yes, that’s me,” I blurt out.

“We’re ready for you now. Please come in.” The head disappears back into the room as the door opens.

With one last deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and march through the door like I own this place. That’s the way boss babes do it, right? Or so I hope.

Inside, there are two people sitting there. They introduce themselves to me as Bailey, the Red Wolves team’s PR manager, and Alice, her assistant. They are both sitting behind what I assume is Bailey’s desk.

“Please, have a seat,” Bailey says, gesturing to the only chair in front of their long table.

I do as instructed, clutching my portfolio that is now resting in my lap to give my hands something to do.

Bailey clears her throat and begins the interview. “So, Isla, tell us a bit about your experience with sports photography.”

“Well, I’ve been photographing sports events since high school. I was the lead photographer for our yearbook and covered everything from football to volleyball.”

I flip open my portfolio, pointing to a series of action shots. “At NYU, I photographed the basketball team’s championship run last year.” I’m very proud of those shots.

I continue with my well-rehearsed elevator speech about my work covering various NYU sports teams for the school paper and yearbook. Of course, I emphasize the long hours I’ve put in and the shots I’ve gotten. I even included some of the shots I took in Rome of a football match I attended with some of my classmates before I had to come home.

Alice speaks up this time. “How do you handle high-pressure situations?”

“Pressure is my middle name. I thrive on it, which leads to some of my best work.” It sounds cheesy, but I think it gets the job done.

They both nod along, making notes on the papers before them. The questions continue, and the longer they go on, the more I feel at ease. They ask about my experience with different types of cameras, my editing process, and how I’d handle the demanding schedule. I answer as best I can and hope I’m saying the right things so they will consider me for the position. When Dad emailed me about the job several days ago, I didn’t think I’d become this obsessed with getting it. I saw this as a way to keep me busy, so I don’t have to think about all the other things I need to deal with.

But I want this.

I need this.

Bailey taps her pen on her desk, drawing my attention to her. “This job requires the utmost professionalism. You’d be privy to many behind-the-scenes moments with the team, among other things. Having discretion is a huge quality involved with this job. Do you think you can handle that?”

Asher briefly enters my mind before I meet her gaze head-on. “Absolutely. When I’m behind the camera, I’m there to do a job. Document and create, nothing more. You can count on me to be professional above all else.”

She makes another note on the pad in front of her, and I hate that her expression is unreadable. When she’s done, she looks up and says, “Thank you, Isla. I think we have all we need. We’ll be in touch.”

I thank them for their time, shake their hands, and exit the room as quickly as I entered. The adrenaline is still pumping through my veins as I leave the room. I debate my next move as I begin to make my way toward the exit before I pivot and walk toward where I know Dad’s office is.

I hate that I can’t tell if the interview went well or not. Did I say the right things? Did I come across as confident and capable? Or did I just sound like a rambling hot mess?

I was both, but they didn’t need to know about the latter if I could help it.

I make it to Dad’s office and knock. When he says, “Come in,” I push open the door.

“Hi, Dad. Sorry to disturb you, but I thought I would stop by since I was here.”

Dad looks up from the papers on his desk, his reading glasses perched on his nose. His face breaks into a smile when his eyes meet mine. “There’s my girl. How’d the interview go?”

I drop into the chair across from him with a heavy sigh. “Honestly? I have no idea. They were so hard to read.”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “I’m sure you did great. They’d be lucky to have you. Heck, you’d already have the job if I had any say.”

“And that’s why I’m glad you don’t have a say. I want to get this on my own merit.”

“I know you do, and you will. You’re very talented, and they’d be fools not to hire you.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re going to fire them if they don’t, right?”

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