He hangs up.
I sit there for a long minute. Then I open a fresh document and try anyway. I draft a longer statement - three paragraphs explaining the timeline, including dates, stating that the kiss was a single incident I rejected and disclosed to no one. I read it back. Every sentence reads like a man trying to save his own ass. Every justification reads like a confession. Tom was right. There’s no statement that fixes this.
I delete the document.
My phone rings. It’s Marshall.
Shit. I got sidetracked reading about how my career is about to implode.
“Noah. My office. Right now,” he says in a tight voice.
“Yes, sir. I’m on my way,” I say.
I hurry through the arena in a daze. Staff members avoid eye contact. Everyone’s seen the article.
Everyone knows.
Marshall’s office door is open. He’s behind his desk with his phone pressed to his ear, looking like he’s aged ten years overnight.
“I understand. Yes. We’re handling it. I’ll call you back.” He hangs up and gestures for me to sit. “That was the league. They’ve read the article.”
“It’s not?—“
“Don’t. Just don’t.” He scrapes a hand over his face. “Is it true? Did the relationship start during probation?”
“We kissed once. That’s all. Nothing else happened until after?—“
“That’s not nothing, Noah. That’s a conflict of interest. That’s you compromising your professional judgment while supervising a player under disciplinary review.” He leans forward. “Your statement said the relationship began after probation concluded. That was a lie.”
“It wasn’t a lie. The relationship…the actual relationship…started after. The kiss was a mistake. I pushed him away. We didn’t?—“
“The league doesn’t care about semantics. The reality is that you lied in an official statement.” He picks up a piece of paper. “I have the league’s director of operations on one line, our legal team on another, and the PR crisis firm we hired demanding to know how a PR director created a PR nightmare.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice as hollow as the hole in my chest where my heart used to be.
“Sorry doesn’t fix this.” He lets out a sigh. “I’m being pressured to terminate you. The league wants action. Sponsors arethreatening to pull funding. The organization’s credibility is on the line.”
My chest tightens. “You’re firing me.”
“I don’t want to fire you, Noah.” He slides the paper across the desk. “So I’m asking you to resign. It’s better for everyone. Better optics. You leave on your own terms, we release a statement accepting your resignation, and we all try to move forward.”
I stare at the resignation letter.
“And if I don’t resign?”
“Then I have no choice but to fire you. It’ll make it harder to find another job.” He’s not being an asshole, just stating the facts. But it doesn’t sting any less. “This is me trying to help you, Noah. Pick the resignation.”
I pick up the paper and read it.
I, Noah Enver, hereby resign from my position as Director of Communications for the Oakland Raptors, effective immediately. I take full responsibility for my actions and the appearance of impropriety that resulted from my relationship with a player under my supervision. I apologize to the organization, the team, and the fans for any damage caused.
“What about Danny?” I ask.
“What about him?”
“He’s suspended fifteen games. His reputation is destroyed. The team?—”
“Masterson made his choices. He gave an interview to a journalist known for sensationalism. He admitted to a relationship that started during probation, contradicting your official statement. He’s dealing with his consequences. You need to deal with yours.”
