Page 20 of Wild Catch
“Oh.” I could melt on this chair right here, that’s how big my relief is. But then I sit up straighter again. “Wait, there’s footage of that?”
“Yes, it was posted by theSPORTYpress account.”
“And our question is”—Tom leans forward—“Why is it not posted from ours?”
“Because a moment like that?” Dave makes a kissing sound. “Priceless. Kim is a hero, an extremely athletic one. That’s the kind of stuff that helps build up the public appeal of the Orlando Wild brand. So what gives, Rose?”
I squirm. “Well, in my defense I almost got my head smashed to smithereens. It kinda stopped thinking for a moment after that.”
But that’s kind of not it. I specifically remember the moment when humiliation washed over me and I decided not to broadcast that moment to the world.
Which is entirely the opposite of what I should’ve been doing as the team’s social media manager.
Like Dave implied just now, that moment wasn’t about me and how I was the defenseless damsel in distress. It was about how outstanding Logan Kim looked.
“Rosalina.” Oh no, Tom’s voice has turned serious. “I checked out your development plan right before the meeting. You want your next career step to be in the broadcasting team with Julien, right?”
“Yes.” I give a stronger nod than I feel.
“You need those journalistic instincts to take over even your amygdala,” he says all calm and collected. “No freeze, fight, or flight. Only inform, inform, and inform.”
Damn it.
He’s right. He’s one hundred percent right. I didn’t fail when it came to posting about Hope and Cade, but I did fail this time.
No, wait! I can fix this.
“Actually… what if I say I do have footage?”
“Oh?” both men say in unison.
“I’d have to parse through it and edit it really well because that moment was kind of a mess, but I think I did capture something.” Now I’m the one leaning forward. “We can still ride the wave of theSPORTYvideo and make ours go viral.”
“You do?” Dave shouts in obvious excitement.
“Shut up, man,” the voice of a man on his end of the line says. “Some of us are trying to rest here.”
“Some of us?” Dave snorts. “We’re the only ones in this room, dude.”
Tom clears his throat. “Okay, this sounds promising. But the edit has to be even more enticing than the originalSPORTYpost. How do you plan to accomplish that?”
My brain whirs so hard, there’s no doubt that Tom can picture the math signs popping around my head like I’m an in-person meme.
And then—ding! I remember my fave pastime: romance books.
“I could edit it to look romantic. Point of view: you’re rescued by the hot baseball player.” I spread a hand in an arch across the air. “We have a majority female audience so they’ll lap it up.”
Tom snaps his fingers. “Bam! That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Okay great, I can die in peace now.” Dave sighs in an exaggerated manner.
“No one’s freaking dying here, we just have hernias,” the other patient says from the other side.
Tom and I exchange a glance. We unanimously decide to pretend like that part of the conversation never happened.
“Anyway, I strongly suggest you prioritize this project over other posts,” Tom says with a nod.
“Roger that.”
