Page 7 of Wild Hit
My computer pings with an incoming message and I pause from watering my desk plants to check it out. Karen Schmidt, myboss who doesn’t exactly debunk the reputation her first name has garnered online, writes to me on Teams.
Schmidt, Karen [15:23]:
Come to my office
I allow my expression to sour freely in the privacy of my cubicle. Hers is just a few steps away from mine. She could either drop by herself or ask like a normal person.
I find her typing on her keyboard like she’s the busiest person in the entire Orlando Wild organization. “I’m disappointed in you,” she says as her opening—loud enough for the entire office to hear, by the way.
Since it’s not our first rodeo, I mutter, “Is that so?”
Finally she tears her attention from the screen and swivels on her chair to face me. “How is it that we’ve had the best hitter in the entire league in our team for almost a month already, and you haven’t found him a campaign?”
I do my best to keep my expression neutral. “We already had one with Lucky Rivera lined up,” I explain.
“That was already shot last week.” She waves a hand, like the past shoot doesn’t require more work afterward. “Bring me a proposal about Machado by the end of the day. And make it bigger and better than the previous campaigns we’ve ran. I’m sure yourSPORTYcontacts will be happy to support,” she adds with a sardonic smile.
I guess she’ll never stop being annoyed that I’m the one who got us theSPORTYsponsorship through Camila Puig, my college roommate. A good boss would take it as her own win, but not dearest Karen. Ever since she’s been out to get me.
“You’ll have it by the end of the week,” I respond with a smile that would look friendly to HR, but raises Karen’s hackles.
“End of today, I said.”
I don’t respond. If she could fire me over this disagreement, she would’ve fired me ten times over already. And I’d take theSPORTYaccount with me wherever I go.
Wait, maybe this isn’t so bad. I can use the excuse of having too much work as an excuse to dip out of the gala early.
“There’s only one problem,” I mumble as I take a seat back inside my cubicle, resting my elbows on the desk and lacing my fingers. “Miguel Machado,” I say against my hands. My new neighbor, who I gave a black eye to last week that has caused many rumors. And who still doesn’t know that I also work for the Wild.
Somehow I’ve managed to avoid the guy both at home and here, and I’ll of course deal with his agent to arrange a campaign. But eventually our paths will cross and I’ll have to give explanations that I’d rather not share.
Then again that’s my life, a circle of being forced to do things I don’t want to. I tuck the manila folder with my name change forms in my purse and get back to work.
CHAPTER 4
MIGUEL
Marty has a new nanny. Her name is Consuelo Gomez—sixty-one-years-old, with thirty six years experience taking care of kids, no criminal records, perfect credit score, recommended by our previous nanny back in Colorado, over two hundred five star reviews on the website of the top nanny agency in town, and apparently also cooks amazingly.
Mi Niña Bonita
Dad stop worrying
Or I’ll block you
What, she already knows how to block numbers on her phone? When did she learn that? She’s justten. I didn’t know how to keep a damn Tamagotchi alive when I was her age.
I press my lips tight. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.
I typeI’ll stop worrying about you when I’m deadbut Marty hates it when I’m a drama king—which is all the damn time. It’s funny how I can be completely calm in a stadium full of fifty thousand screaming people, facing a ball that comes at ninety miles per hour with just a wooden stick, yet I have negative chill when it comes to my child. I hate that I have to leave her in thehands of strangers all the time, but even more for a frivolous thing like this.
Except I can’t really say no to the owner of my new team when he invites me to some fundraising gala to show me off to donors. I’ll probably retire from the Orlando Wild when the time comes, so I have to play nice.
Me
I’ll check in again in fifteen
After hitting send, I wonder if she’ll follow through on her threat to block me. Joke’s on her, there are security cameras around the house, and if Consuelo were to not pick up her phone I’d call anyone from nine-one-one to the Army.
