Page 42 of Most Likely to Score
I leave the boutique hotel and make my way to the ocean to take care of business. That business involves my phone, my bare feet, and the beach. Because tonight, the thermometer reads in the high seventies, a rarity for late July in Miami. The beach is my kind of bliss, with sand that’s soft and sugary and water that’s crystal clear and calm. I drop my big silver shades over my eyes, and drink in the tropical contrast to San Francisco. Back home, I’m surrounded by water and beaches, too, but the Pacific is colder, harsher, and our beaches are better suited for melancholy, solitary strolls while wearing jackets and thinking deep thoughts.
Here, even at seven in the evening, the Miami coastline is a brochure for bikinis and stylish trunks, suntan oil and toned muscles. Gentle waves lap the shore, and sleek white boats glide across the water. I can’t deny that the view is quite lovely as I walk along the coastline, returning work calls to the West Coast, making sure I’m on top of my job.
My last call is with my boss.
“I’m going to need a bigger fan in my office,” Lily declares as we chat.
I’m not really sure how that’s an agenda item, but she’s in charge, so I go with it. “Why’s that?”
“Because these pictures of Jones Beckett are hawt, as in H-A-W-T. I’m looking at the calendar drafts so far,” she says.
“Let’s hope people buy it in droves. I’ve already started the publicity for it, teasing fans that it’s coming.”
“And the early buzz is excellent. By the way, how is everything going with Paleo Pet? Even though it’s not part of your regular assignment with the team, I think it will definitely look good when you talk to the general manager for the promotion.”
“You do?” I hadn’t considered that aspect of the deal, to tell the truth. I said yes because I wanted to be helpful, and because I knew I’d learn new and useful skills. But if it gives me a leg up, that would be a nice bonus.
“Absolutely. It shows everything you’re capable of doing in terms of massaging, presenting, and turning around a reputation. I’ve been doing some monitoring of what the public thinks of Jones and it’s already on the uptick,” Lily tells me, and I pump a fist. “And when it’s time for you to interview for the promotion in September, I’ll prep you for it. I want you to nail it.”
“Thank you so much, Lily. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
When we hang up, I’m reminded thatthisis what I want, andthisis the next step in my career. I’ve been lucky enough to move up quickly in the job of my dreams. Though my mother would say it’s not luck, it’s focus, and she taught me that. While my father and I came first with her, she also balanced work and family with uncommon grace. She was home for me every day after school, but when I was in class she gave her all to her job. Every morning when she left for her psychology practice, she was energized. She liked to sayher client sessions were her own form of caffeine. “Find something you’re passionate about. Nurture it. Cherish it, and watch it grow. But always tend to it,” she told me.
When she and my dad gave me the cherry earrings after I nabbed the Renegades job, she said, “A reminder to keep making your own luck.”
That’s what I’ve tried to do, by working hard, by giving my best every day.
That’s one of the reasons I call my dad next—to get him up to speed on the latest at work and to ask for his advice in handling a thorny email I received from a reporter inquiring about training camp coverage. My dad offers his best tips for prickly journalists, and I thank him as a seagull swoops past me, hunting for French fries on the nearby picnic tables.
“And how is that young man you’re smitten with?” my dad asks after we finish our work conversation.
“I’m not smitten with him.”
He chuckles. “You always did make me laugh. Next thing you’ll be telling me he doesn’t fancy you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t like me like that.”
“Denial is so entertaining. Can you do more of it? I find it amusing.”
I snort-laugh but hold my ground. “Dad. Stop.”
“Oh, please. Baby pictures? Who asks to see baby pictures?”
I furrow my brow as my feet sink into the soft sand. “Everyone? Isn’t that normal, to want to look at baby photos?”
“Nope. A man who is keen on a woman wants to seebaby pictures. I know because I used that same trick with your mother back when I was courting her.”
I weave around a group of women taking selfies in their microscopic bikinis. “But he’s not courting me,” I point out. “And just because I might have told you once that I thought he had a pretty face doesn’t mean anything will happen.”
“Want to know what I’m doing right now?” he asks in a leading tone.
“What are you doing?” I ask carefully, though I know he’s setting me up for something. I duck out of the way of a volleyball whizzing past me. A fit, dark-haired guy with bronze skin who’s wearing a painted-on pair of yellow swim trunks jogs after it, winking at me as he runs.
“Sitting at the desk that the man who is keen on my daughter made for me,” my dad declares, sounding thoroughly satisfied with his pronouncement.
I shake my head, amused at my dad’s persistence. No wonder he was a top journalist in his day. He’s a dog with a bone. But I’m not a queen of spin for nothing. “He helped out. It was that simple. Nothing more to it.”
My dad scoffs. “He helped out because he’s a nice guy. I’ll give you that.” He clears his throat. “But he’s a nice guy who happens to be quite fond of you. Mark my words. Sooner or later, Jones Beckett is going to make his intentions clear.”
