Page 33 of Crossing Lines

Evaluating the women’s apparel sales is something I haven’t done yet. It’s on my list, but now it’s shot to the top. I pull up the numbers for the past five years and read and compare them three times. No matter how many times I do it, the result is the same. The numbers stare back at me witha cold,hard accusation.Apparel sales in general are supposed to be the cash cow of the franchise. Since fans love the team,they want the gear,so the money should be pouring in.But these numbers tell a different story.A damning one.

I run a hand through my hair,a mixture of disbelief and exasperation winding its way through me.What’s going wrong here? I flip between my screens, and notice there’s been a steady decline over the past five years. That’s during Harold’s time, and I have no idea what decisions he made to turn these sales against us.

I scan the numbers for the last three months. We should’ve seen a spike in sales after our Super Bowl win, and there is for the men’s apparel, but not women’s.

Shit. I should’ve caught this last year, but I was too busy focusing on the team’s performance, on getting us to the Super Bowl. But something is seriously wrong here, and I need to get to the bottom of this. The profits are needed to help support my VR and ARprojects within the team, but more importantly, this area could be the potential way to get Ben and Mick to sign on as a sponsor.

There’s a knock at the bedroom door.

“Yes?” I ask, turning to face the door. Nina’s standing there, wearing her paint-speckled overalls and another black tank top underneath. The left side of her overalls are unbuckled, and it gives me the perfect view of the words sewn across her breasts that sayI’m not listeningand my logo integrated on the o and the dots of the i’s.

“Do you like it?” she asks, pointing to her shirt.

“I like everything you design.” I give her a slow once-over, savoring the fact that she’s here, in the same room as me. “Have you reconsidered my offer yet?”

“The answer is still no,” she singsongs, taunting me.

“Remind me again why not?”

“Putting money to art isn’t creative. That’s not why I do this.”

“That’s a specific point of view,” I say.

“I’m not surprised you don’t understand it when your entire focus in life is to make more money.”

“That’s not my entire focus.” I smirk.

“Ugh, fine. Then it’s ninety-nine point nine percent of it.”

“Funny, because lately my attention just so happens to be on you.”

She rolls her eyes, like what I said is a joke, but it’s not. “Ohhhh, are you practicing your pickup lines on me?”

“I don’t need pickup lines.” I shrug, trying to play off my defensive tone.

“Right. You never need them because you never date.”

“I date.”

“Oh really?” She raises her eyebrow. “When was the last time you went out?”

“The night my house flooded.”

“Woooow. And here I thought you were a virgin.”

“Oh?” I laugh, loving that she’s trying to hide how jealous she is if her pursed lips and crossed arms are any indication. “I like that you’ve been thinking about my sex life.”

“I haven’t,” she says quickly.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be our secret.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re irritating?”

“Yes, many times.” She isn’t the first, or the last, person to tell me that. “Why? Did you come to my room at midnight just to tell me that?”

“Yes. And I need to finish decorating the bathroom.”

“At midnight?” I ask. I’ve noticed the finishedoffice, and that she’s started on a guest bedroom. But I didn’t realize she wasn’t finished with this one yet.

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