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“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.
