Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

I suck at job interviews.

When Mikey interviewed me for the position at Ned’s, I arrived half an hour late, broke the glass of water he had offered me and got caught lying about my experience as a bartender. So I’m keeping my expectations to the absolute minimum with the job interview as an intern at Diablo Hill magazine. In fact, if I manage not to break anything in the process, I’ll declare victory.

The fact that I have absolutely nothing to offer—I didn’t even major in journalism and my only connection to the school paper is that I once fooled around with a guy who wrote for the music section—doesn’t help. But I’m eager to impress, and still on a high from graduating, so I’m hoping this will work in my favor.

The sports editor is named Cameron, and he’s the guy I’m about to meet. I borrow an outfit from Izzy, because my wardrobe doesn’t offer anything vaguely representable. Fancy black pants with a white collared shirt and matching pumps. With my hippie, wavy hair and teenage posture, I look like I dressed up as a middle- aged bookkeeper for Halloween.

Diablo Hillmagazine’s headquarters is situated on the edge of Diablo Mountain in an architecturally dazzling loft with floor-to-ceiling windows. Beats me how a small, local publication can afford such lavish digs. I walk into the pristine white foyer, with blooming, fresh tulips carefully tucked into elegant vases and breathtaking pictures of the surrounding landscape hung on the walls. The receptionist greets me with a smile wider than the fields outside, her four-inch stilettos clicking against a pristine hardwood floor. She is insanely pretty and has the high-pitched voice of a toy dog, and I immediately know that I’m not good enough for a place like this. But I’m already here, so I might as well enjoy the ethically-sourced coffee.

Violet, the rail-thin receptionist, leads me to Cameron’s office while engaging me in a casual chitchat, her huge grin both dazzling and scary. She knock on Cameron’s door and announces I’ve arrived. Then she leaves me on a sleek white chair to wait. Everything around me is white and wood and fancy, and it makes me feel like I’m in a Reese Witherspoon rom-com. I didn’t even know places like this existed in real life.

Cameron opens the door, and I’m instantly taken aback by his looks. He is hot. Hipster hot. He’s got a messy, light brown hair, a dashing face and dreamboat blue eyes. He’s wearing a denim button-down shirt, quirky glasses, tight skinny jeans and a sophisticated grin he obviously perfected over the years. Had I been emotionally available, Cameron would be the guy I’d crush on, for sure. Tall, lanky hipster, designed and molded to be unique and quirky and all Oh, are those funky chucks personalized? Who-is-your-graffiti-artist? and Baby-Baby? Of-course, I’ve heard of them. Great band.

But I can’t get myself to get even remotely excited about the idea of working closely with him when I am still so totally and completely hooked on Ty.

I shake his hand and flop into a chair opposite him while he sits behind his desk. Cameron is nice and cheery and asks me to call him Cam. His office window overlooks a postcard-worthy view of Diablo Mountain.

“So tell me about yourself.” Cam knits his fingers together and gestures with his thumbs in my direction.

This one is difficult. I’m not good at selling myself. I could sing the praises of Izzy, Shane, Bree, Mikey and even Ty...but telling people about my strong points? Ain’t happening. Still, I need to say something, so I do.

“I graduated from Diablo Hill School of Art recently. I majored in communications, and I’m very enthusiastic about my career. Professor Penniman was kind enough to recommend me after reading my assignment in journalistic reporting. I’m very grateful for the opportunity to be interviewed here.”

Jesus. I just bored myself to sleep. I believe Cam has the same reaction, because he nods at an even pause, which means what he’s really doing is thinking about what he should have for dinner tonight. He presses his knitted pointer fingers to his lips, probably thinking of a way to break the ice.

“What do you know about sports?”

“Very little. People usually sweat but not always.” I downplay my knowledge so he won’t have any expectations. A shout-out to all my underachiever peeps. High five!

“Follow any sport? NBA? NFL? XWL?”

So, editor Cam has not been reading gossip sites recently. Good.

"I follow the XWL whenever I can." I inwardly cringe when I say this out loud, because I really do condemn MMA as a sport, but I’m also aware that this is my strongest selling point at the moment.

"Yeah?" He scans me with an arched brow, obviously calling me out on my bullshit. "That’s good, because we may have a local titleholder soon, and someone will need to cover that."

I gulp hard. "I think Ty Wilder stands a good chance of winning the championship."

Cam smiles, suggesting that I passed an unspoken test. He slaps his desk and straightens up quickly. "I think I need a caffeine fix. What about you?"

I think I need something stronger, like a shot of vodka or maybe crack cocaine.

"Sure, coffee sounds good." I follow him to the door, fidgeting with the hem of Izzy’s designer shirt (too tight, as per usual).

Cam cocks his head to my outfit. "You do know that we don’t really have a dress code here, right? You don’t have to be all buttoned-down. We’re a creative group."

I let out a relieved sigh. "Thank God, because I feel like an accountant in this outfit."

Cam smiles. "Oh, and we have cool stuff like pizza Friday and a pool table and PlayStation and Xbox in the common room. We’ve even got Wii. And a terrific sound system, of course."

"I can work with that." I hitch one shoulder noncommittally. Cameron laughs and we roll out to the sunny afternoon. He immediately lights a cigarette and a pang of regret pierces through me. I would love to come home today and smoke a joint, take the edge off, but I know that I won’t. Weed is no longer a part of my life, with or without Ty in the picture. We make our way to a local coffee shop and get our coffees, then Cam motions for me to follow him back to the office. We walk down the hallway but continue to talk. It’s nice, knowing he can’t examine my face while I answer his questions. It’s less intimate, somehow.

"So when can you start?” Cam asks as he pushes his office door open. I curl my fingers around the hot paper cup, thinking about Ned’s. I don’t want to leave there. But I know I’d be stupid to turn down this opportunity.

“I’ll need to check with my current employer, but I think a month’s notice would be sufficient for them.” My heart pounds in my ears.

“And what do you think about us hiring you?” He turns around to face me before we enter his office. His eyes sparkle behind his hipster glasses.

“I think you’re doing the right thing. I’m kind of pleasantly surprised with my journalistic abilities.” I feel the smile spreading across my face. I discovered that I’m good at something these past few months, and I can’t wait to show it off to the world.

Cameron grins and motions for me to take a seat in front of him. We’re back to square one. He is staring at me. I’m staring back. Baby, I got my staring lessons from a fighter. I will stare back at you right until my eyes bleed.

“You and I are going to get along just fine. And you’ll meet a lot of awesome people here. My friend, Emilia, is the editor of the culture section, and I’m sure this one’s right up your alley. You can contribute to the cultural section too. Your portfolio will pile up quickly.” He seems to be at ease with our constant eye contact.

“Wow, I’d really like that.” I don’t know how much fun it’s going to be working on sports items, but if I ever get anywhere near culture and music, I just know I’ll thrive.

“Well, then, Blaire, tell your employer you’re done serving drinks. Welcome to the Diablo Hill family.” Cameron winks. And for the first time since Vegas, I’m actually smiling not just out of politeness but for real.

Cam wastes no time throwing me in the deep end. He ignores the fact that I still need to hand in a month’s notice and fills me in on a piece he wants to publish this month—an editorial article about a new performance enhancing drug named Exo. He tells me Exo stimulates the production of red blood cells and is very popular among athletes, even though it’s been proven that the medication, originally invented to treat cancer patients after chemo, increases the risk of death. In fact, Exo stimulates the growth of certain tumors, so by using Exo, a lot of athletes are risking their lives every day, just to get better, stronger and faster at what they do.

"The article is not about Exo itself. Exo is just the entry point. The article is about the psychological difference between competitive athletes and the rest of the population. We’re interviewing a bunch of anthropologists and sport psychologists about this phenomenon. It’s interesting how athletes will completely disregard their health for their sport. Sell their souls to the devil, so to speak."

You can say that again. I suppress a grunt. I’m guessing Cam would be head over heels to discover that Jesse Clement of XWL used steroids, and that Ty Wilder of the same MMA league pimped his body to get fights. But I’m afraid my loyalty lies firmly with the two fighters. I’m not even sure why, but the need to protect their secrets is way stronger than my need to impress my new boss.

"And I’m guessing there are plenty of examples," I say.

Cam nods excitedly. His blue eyes gleam. "Performance enhancing drugs are just the tip of the iceberg. People will go to great lengths to get to the top, and I mean bribery, blackmail, a ton of things that haven’t been addressed yet. Athletes are a different breed. They don’t think like us, they don’t act like us. They make bigger sacrifices. It’s just the way it is."

"Yup, the list could go on forever." I press my lips to the rim of my cup. Cam is pressing way too many sensitive buttons right now.

"So what’s the argument of the piece?"

"That maybe it’s time to cut athletes some slack, because, well, let’s admit it, they seem to be wired entirely differently. Look, this is your brain." He opens the lid to his coffee cup. "And this is an athlete’s brain." He takes my cup and opens it too. Both cups are nearly empty. Then he starts throwing candy bar wraps and an old piece of tissue he had tucked in his pocket.

"See the athlete’s brain? It’s cluttered with so much extra pressure. Elite athletes always score high on traits such as obsession, asceticism, the ability to focus on long-term goals. They’re not as easily swayed by immediate gratification as most of us. Instead, they’re able to push through pain, hunger and even social condemnation to get to their goal."

“I’m not sure I buy that athletes should get away with shit just because they can’t help themselves."

Cam hurries to correct my conclusion. "I’m not saying they can do whatever they want. I’m just saying it’s harder for them to resist cheating. No matter how great they are and how big the risk is, they feel compelled to win. Just look at Lance Armstrong."

"So if someone did something wrong, very wrong, let’s say, to push their career forward..." I nibble my lip thoughtfully. "But then stopped because they felt it’s morally wrong..."

"Then I’d say that they’re displaying mental strength to take such a step. They deserve a second chance"

I blink my surprise.

"At their sport, of course," he clarifies.

Right. Of course.

We carry this conversation for a few more minutes, and even though I’m trying hard to concentrate on the actual conversation, I get a really weird feeling that Cam is...well, I wouldn’t call it flirting, nothing feels too inappropriate, but let’s just say that he seems overly interested in knowing more about me.

And what I like.

And what I do.

And how I spend my free time.

By the time we walk back to the reception area and Cam drops me off at Violet’s desk so she can show me to the HR department, I am sure of two things. One, if Cameron could (which I guess he couldn’t, seeing as he’ll be my boss), he would have totally asked me out. He checked me out thoroughly when we said our goodbyes. Two, if Cameron asked me out, I would have said no, because frankly, he may be perfect for me. Hell, Shane may be perfect for me. But the guy I want is perfectly imperfect, and I’m completely fine with it.

I’m not fine with what Ty did. I’m not fine with how he handled everything—us, his secret and his past mistakes. But yes, I’m fine with knowing that his actions are going to have some consequences, and I’m ready to shoulder some of the weight, some of the burden and even some of the pain that comes with it.

Too bad that after our last conversation, I’m starting to think that he might not be on board with that arrangement.

I’ve always been a late bloomer, and I have a nagging feeling that I may be late again.

Shit.