Page 2 of Score to Settle
I nod dumbly. Mama Sullivan is one of the best agents in the NFL. Her head for business and loyalty to her three sons make her not just respected but feared by many in the industry. She’s not someone you argue with, which I guess is the only reason Tim is allowing me to do this.
“Do you think it was the piece I wrote on the future of baseball atInsight?” I ask, trying to keep the grimace from my face at the mention of my last job. The article was my one byline atInsight, delving into the evolving identity of baseball, walking the line between keeping the traditions old fans love and modernizing to bring new fans in. It was the interview with pro baseball player Quincy Baltimore that gave depth to the piece, but it’s nothing like what they’re asking me to do with Jake Sullivan.
Tim frowns, like he can’t believe it either. “Maybe.”
“But—”
He holds up a hand and the protest dies on my lips. “I’m sorry to do this to you, Harper, but someone with your background shouldn’t have any problem tackling this. Just don’t screw it up. And remember—we want depth and we want truth. Good guy or not, I don’t care, just get to the heart of what makes Jake tick.”
I feel myself nod. My background? Is he referring to my dad or the details I embellished in my interview to get this job?
Callie shoots me a look of pure hate. “Don’t expect any help from us.” She talks like she’s been at the magazine for a decade and isn’t just as new and dumb to how things work as I am. Callie might be a total bitch to me, but she has become everyone else’s friend in the last three months. I’ve tried to keep my head down, work hard and prove myself, but it hasn’t made me well liked. No matter how hard I work, no one sees me as part of the team. She’s right. This isn’t going to help.
Tim reaches for the bridge of his nose again. Not a good sign for Callie.
“Do you know how much of our advertising money comes from companies targeting the NFL?” he asks.
I bite back a smile at the sight of Callie’s reddening cheeks. Even though Tim is nothing like my father, I’ve been at enough family dinners with my dad when he’s home from traveling to know what it is to be put on the spot.
“Um…” Callie opens her notebook, flipping through the pages as though the answer will be in there.
“It’s millions, OK?” Tim answers for her. “It’s not an exaggeration to say that Jake Sullivan is as high profile as they come in football. Thanks to his skills as tight end and his reputation, he’s a household name. His reach goes a lot further than just Denver Stormhawks fans and a feature like this is going to sell a lot of magazines. So if Harper needs help from anyone on this team, we help. That’s why I’ve called you all in here. This is going to be our lead feature for February to coincide with Super Bowl frenzy, which means after the five weeks of shadowing Jake, time is going to be tight. Callie, you’ll be booking Harper’s transport and accommodation for when she’s traveling with the team. Harper, you’ll send me weekly updates with your notes for the feature. And if you have any questions, Kevin and Alison or anyone here will help.”
Tim’s tone is final and no one offers another snarky reply. Even without it, it’s clear not a single person in this room, including Tim, believes I can do this.
I swallow down the mountain of what-the-fuck-am-I-going-to-do fear and act like I was expecting nothing less than to be given a huge story and no time to write it in my fourth month on the job. “So when do I sit down for an interview with Jake?”
“Aren’t you listening, Harper?” Tim replies. “This isn’t a ‘you ask, he answers’ kind of feature. This needs to go beyond thesound bites and the bravado. Sullivan has spent years building a reputation as a bad boy and a womanizer. The Stormhawks management team has let it slide up ’til now, but they don’t like the backlash they’re getting in the press. Any time the Stormhawks get a mention it’s followed with a story about Jake. Which means no more sex scandals or drunken brawls. Mama Sullivan has promised the Stormhawks he’s a good boy really. If that’s true, then they want everyone to see it in this feature. And if it isn’t true, it’s probably going to mark the end of his career at the Stormhawks. It’s one of the last family-owned NFL teams, and its reputation and the reputation of its players means a lot to the higher-ups.
“So you’ll be shadowing his every move for the next five weeks all the way to their penultimate game of the season at the end of December against the Kansas City Trailblazers. You’ll be going to the games. Going to practice. Going wherever it is Jake goes. And Mama Sullivan has invited you to stay at Oakwood Ranch when you’re not on the road. She told me to tell you to bring hiking boots.”
Fuck!
“But Thanksgiving is next Thursday,” I say, picturing a cozy dinner at my best friend Mia’s mom’s house. Heading out to watch the parade then eating more food than we should, including second helpings of Gloria’s famous pumpkin pie. I’ve already got my holiday sweater ready.
Tim shakes his head. “You’ll be in LA with the Stormhawks for Thanksgiving. But the Stormhawks aren’t one of the teams playing on Christmas Day so you can see your family then.”
“Right.” A hard lump forms in my chest. I hate letting people down, but I know Mia and her family will understand. “When do I leave?”
“Now. There’s a car downstairs waiting to take you to your apartment to pack a bag. You’re due at Oakwood Ranch at five.It’s about a thirty-minute drive west of Denver so don’t be late. And a word to the wise—keep it professional.” Tim strides out of the room without waiting for a reply, his meaning clear—don’t sleep with Jake.
Not a chance, I think as my cheeks flush crimson. I get to my feet in the black Louis Vuitton stilettos I bought for my New York life and leave the meeting room. The rest of the team is already talking about how badly I’m going to fuck this up before the door has even closed behind me.
I grab my jacket and bag and hit the elevator button. The editorial meeting replays in my mind as I climb into the waiting car and give him directions to Mia’s apartment and the couch I’ve been sleeping on since returning from New York.
I wonder if there was a point I could’ve casually mentioned to Tim that I’ve been keeping a few tiny details to myself that feel important for this feature. Like how as a sports journalist I might know plenty about baseball, basketball, ice hockey, and golf, but I know nothing about football. Seriously nothing… What the hell is a tight end anyway?
And it’s not like I can throw myself into research. There’ll be no computer to hide behind for the Jake Sullivan feature. It’s massive and they’ve given it to me. I have no idea why Mama Sullivan chose me, how she even knows who I am, but I’m in too deep to back out now. This assignment will finish at the same time as my trial period atSports Magazine. If I mess this up, I’m out of another job.
The thought sends a flutter of unease through me. The humiliation of being fired fromInsightin New York this past summer is still a wound that won’t heal. It doesn’t matter how many times Mia tells me it wasn’t my fault, I can’t shake the glaring knowledge that I’ve let people down, mostly myself.
I love journalism. I love finding the tiny details of a story that others miss and crafting just the right words to draw the readerin. And I especially love sports journalism. Even if my dad thinks it’s not as important as the political stories he’s built his career on. But sports has competition and passion. It has the drive of the athletes, the adoration of the fans. It’s blood, sweat, and tears, and it fascinates me. All aside from the NFL. Football is a sport I’ve steered clear of since high school.
The junior position atSports Magazineis a dream job, and one I was so lucky to get with no references. It was only thanks to Mia pulling strings that I got an interview—having a best friend whose family owns a media empire was bound to come in handy one day. It’s why I wasn’t exactly honest during my interview with Tim about my NFL knowledge. If I lose this job, Mia won’t be able to help me again. My career will be over.
I won’tlet it happen. Being a journalist is all I’ve ever wanted to do. Without it, I’ll have nothing. Not to mention having to see the look of disappointment on my dad’s face if I fail again. As a Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist, he’s hard enough to impress as it is.
Whether I like it or not, I’m going to have to write this feature on Jake. And if I want him to trust and open up to me, then I’m going to have to become his new best friend for the next five weeks.
