CHAPTER 7 JOLENE

My blood is boiling but I'm not budging.

I saw him the moment I walked in. It took everything in my being, and I mean everything, not to march over there and tell him to fuck off out of my town.

This is my town. My bar. He does not belong here.

He should stay in Los Angeles, or go back to New York, or Cincinnati or Atlanta or wherever the fuck he came from.

He should stay out of Vegas.

And yet, here he is, and there is no other reason he'd be here at the Gridiron—my home territory—staring out the window at the Complex than because he's waiting for a meeting with the head honchos.

I said I would do what it took to stop him from getting the position, but Jack is right.

It's a personal issue. Yes, I believe the Aces could do better than Lincoln Nash for a head coach. Yes, I believe he is a liar and a manipulator. Yes, I think he's an asshole.

But those are opinions, not facts. Well, mostly.

And I'm not leaving this bar until I see him walk out of the Complex.

I'm not leaving until I know if it was an offer or a rejection.

I watched him as he walked across the street, and as soon as he disappeared inside the building, I called Sam.

"Hey lady!" she answers.

"Can you keep Jonah a little late tonight?" I ask.

"Of course. Why?"

I keep my voice low so nobody overhears my insider information. "I got a tip that Lincoln was back in town, and I raced to the Gridiron and sure enough, he was here having a drink by his lonesome. I think they're offering him the position and I can't leave until I see him leave."

"Are you going to confront him?"

I think about it.

I'm not ready for that.

"No, but I figure I can stay here and watch his body language to know whether or not he got the offer." My other line beeps with an incoming call. "Shit, Marcus is calling me on the other line. I'll call you back, okay?"

"Bye!"

I flip the call to Marcus. "Hey, Marcus, what's going on?"

"Can you swing by the office? I have some breaking news to share."

I glance out the window. He's been in that building approximately thirty seconds. I have no idea how long a head coaching position job offer might take, but a rejection would probably be pretty quick. I know some rejections are handled in person depending on the circumstances, and it's not like LA is all that far from Vegas.

Is it wrong to cross my fingers and hope he doesn't get the job? Because I am.

"I'm sitting outside the Complex right now and Nash is inside the building. Might be for the offer," I say.

He pauses a beat, and then he says, "Damn, you're good. How'd you know?"

"I have my sources."

He chuckles. "What I have is big, so unless you're planning to attack Nash as he exits, we can sideline that until the ink is dry."

I sigh. "I'll be there in ten." I signal the bartender that I'm leaving, and then I head over to the office.

I knock on Marcus's doorframe, and he waves me in. "Have a seat."

I do, and nerves suddenly flit through my chest. Marcus doesn't call me in for a breaking news story, and that's all I could think about on my way over here. This is something else, and I have a feeling he's about to let me down gently.

"Listen, I wanted to do this in person instead of over email or whatever," he begins, and those nerves climb up my spine, leaving a chill in their wake.

Not Sanders. Not Rivera.

God, please, not Rivera.

There's always just been such a heated rivalry between the two of us. Some say it must be because we're attracted to one another, and that couldn't be further from the truth.

He's cocky and annoying, and in simple terms, I can do better.

But it isn't just that.

He's also good friends with my ex…another strike against him.

"You are such a valuable asset to the team, and I know you've been working hard on the sports beat to make a name for yourself."

"Please don't say Rivera," I whisper.

Marcus chuckles. "It's not Rivera," he assures me.

"Sanders, then?" I guess.

"Wrong again." He shakes his head again. "Ms. Bailey, I'm pleased to let you know you've been assigned as the new Aces correspondent for VG-oh-three. We could not be more excited to see what you can do with this opportunity. Ratings are down, and we're confident that putting you in that position will help boost us to where we want to be."

I gasp as my heart races. "Really?"

"Really. It's about damn time we put a woman in as correspondent, and with your background and knowledge of the team, you deserve it."

With my background.

Wait a minute.

Is this…is this because of my father?

I'm about to ask when I clamp my mouth shut tight.

This is what I wanted.

I won't blow it by asking…even though it will remain in my head until the end of time.

And that's where it'll stay.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I squeal, my hands covering my mouth in excitement.

"As our correspondent, you'll be responsible for covering all aspects of the team. You'll be expected to broadcast from every game this season. You'll travel with the team, which will give you a chance to get closer to the players and coaches to form those relationships to give us the high-quality content we all want. You'll conduct interviews, write stories, shoot videos. You'll cover the players, the coaching staff, and the front office. You'll attend practices and camps and press conferences. Your new best friend is whoever the team hires as their new head coach. You'll produce content for social media, the web, and, of course, our television broadcasts, and you'll need to work closely with our sports beat reporters to do that. You're a talented reporter and I'm confident you'll knock this out of the park, Jolene."

Your new best friend is whoever the team hires as their new head coach.

His words stick in my brain.

It better not be Lincoln Nash.

I am so, so fucked if it is.

But I can't worry about that right now. It's time to celebrate.

"Oh, wow. I just…I'm without words, Marcus." I stand and reach my hand across the desk to shake his. "Thank you for this opportunity. I won't let you down."

"Congratulations. I'm here to support you in any way that I can." He grips my hand firmly, and I thank him before I run from his office squealing.

I hear his laugh follow behind me, but I'm just so damn excited.

This is the dream. It's the job I've been working toward since I first started my career in journalism.

And if we can just keep Lincoln Nash out of the equation, it will remain a dream. But if he gets the job and I have to travel with the team and get close to the players and coaches…well, that dream job might just turn into a nightmare.