Page 18 of Striking Heat
“You did. It’s a good thing, too. People may have stopped coming if you guys got shut out again.”
“Screw you,” she retorts. “You’ve never played a team sport.”
“You don’t know that.”
“That’s what Google said.” Her hand slaps over her mouth as soon as the words come out. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s trying to look anywhere but at me.
“You Googled me, huh? I must really bug you.” I’m grinning at her like an idiot, enjoying her embarrassment.
“Oh, aren’t you two cute,” August says, turning around and smirking. “But let’s keep this professional, shall we? We’re tryingto create a respectable organization here.” August laughs at us again as he holds his arm in front of the elevator doors, and we all climb on.
“It’s only the second floor. You don’t want to take the stairs?” Mackenzie asks him.
“Look at you trying to change the subject.” August laughs again at her expense.
I stand beside her in the elevator, enveloped by the sweet scent of her sweat. The elevator climbs up one floor, and I have the sudden urge to see what happens if I move my hand slightly to touch hers. She’s standing so close to me. I try not to read too much into it; it’s either me or August. She’s all sweaty from practice, and he reeks of money right now in his tailored pants, polo, and shiny loafers. She’s probably worried she’d sweat on him, and he’d send her a dry-cleaning bill.
August doesn’t bother me too much. I’m used to guys like him. Those who have always gotten by with the help of their daddy. Or who have always been around money. You could say that he and I should have a lot in common.Shouldbut don’t. Yes, I have a trust fund from my father, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at me. I don’t drape myself in fancy clothes, drive an impressive car, or live too lavishly. My gadgets and my laptop are top notch, but that’s about it. I’ve never wanted many people to know that I have money. It’s not all because of my father, either; I made some pretty lucrative deals when I could still swim, and a bit after. But that’s just for me to know, not them.
The elevator dings. We follow August off the elevator and down the hall to his father’s office. He’s the douche who still answers to his father. I stopped doing that a long time ago. The thought makes me smile and gives me a little bit of courage as we head into here to pitch my idea to Maxwell Cromwell.
“Ah, August, I see you have Mr. Taylor and Mackenzie with you.” He stands behind his desk and comes around to gesture at ustoward the couch and chairs that are off to the side. “Let’s sit here. I hate the idea of meetings where I’m behind that desk. Makes me feel like I’m trying to make some kind of a power move.”
He’s the only one who laughs at that. Mackenzie seems a bit rigid and fidgety as she plays with a stray string at the hem of her yellow tank top.
We all sit down. The resemblance between August and Maxwell is uncanny. They’re both tall in stature and have the same brown eyes. Their dress is similar to. Maxwell’s hair has a bit of gray in it, where August’s does not. But there’s something about Maxwell that makes him seem a bit warmer than his son. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I don’t have much time to ponder it. Maxwell is asking me a question.
“Are you here to sue us, young man?” Nervous laughter escapes his lips.
I laugh along with him, trying to put him at ease. “No, I’m not here to sue you.”
“Okay, good. I heard our little striker here gave you quite the blow to the head.” He shifts uncomfortably.
“I did apologize,” Mackenzie pipes in. “I didn’t do it on purpose and the ball didn’t make contact.”
I don’t believe her. There’s a little twinkle in her eye that tells me otherwise, but I let it go.
“You did,” I reply, shaking my head with a laugh. “I have a proposition that I think could help us both.”
He nods and gestures for me to continue. I steal a glance at Mac; she’s still fidgeting on the edge of her seat, waiting for me to drop whatever bomb I have up my sleeve.
“I was talking to August last night at the bar, and he mentioned that you all were looking for more press. A way to introduce the team to the community,” I begin and August and Maxwell both nod. “I thought maybe I could do an in-depth piece on Mackenzie here.”
“Why would you want to do that?” The words come out of her mouth so fast that I can tell she didn’t have time to process them.
“She does have a point,” Maxwell says, smiling in her direction.
I chuckle. “Yeah, I know my first article about her wasn’t exactly kind.”
“That’s an understatement,” she replies.
I wonder how much more of her smart mouth I’ll be hearing in this meeting. She’s not good at keeping her thoughts to herself. If they agree, I can work that into the article.
“He hasn’t given us the most flattering press, but he’s the sportswriter everyone reads,” August jumps in, explaining it the way he did to me last night. He ended up coming over to me right after he watched Mac leave. The smug bastard grinned at me like he knew some secret I hadn’t figured out yet.
“I see,” Maxwell replies. Looking over at his son, he says, “You think this is a good idea? Mackenzie can’t stand the man, and he wrote distasteful things about her. Why would he write an article that’s flattering?”
I nod. “I understand your concern. But I think that’s why Ishould do it. The public knows I’ve already written distasteful things about her, so they would trust that it would be an honest piece. I would write about the team, practice, the games, and the good you all are hoping to do in the community. All from the perspective of the youngest captain in the NWSL.”
