The offices are relaxed, humming with a positive but low-key energy, even with Lydia coming out periodically to demand something that’s already been done. I don’t know how she’s not seeing the eye rolls that are coming more and more often as our staff grow increasingly annoyed with her antics.
Hopefully soon enough, we won’t have to put up with catering to her any longer. And yes, I feel like a terrible person saying that as the one who wants her job, but there’s no denying it’s the truth. We’re all just waiting for her to decide her official end date and announce her replacement.
“These look great, Sheena.” I smile down at the junior staff who just shared a new concept for one of our social media accounts. “Let’s run it for a week and see how it lands.”
I’m walking back to my office when my phone starts to go crazy with incoming notifications, and my stomach plummets. Especially when I hear other members of the team also receiving notifications. That can only mean one thing: a big headline, and probably not a good one.
“Tridents’ second baseman Maverick King has been identified in a now-viral video showing an altercation between two men outside a well-known Phoenix sports bar.”
“Shit. Fucking shit, goddamn it, Maverick.” I curse under my breath as I pivot on my heel and hurry down the short hall to Lydia’s office. She’s on the phone when I knock but beckons me inside. Just as she hangs up the phone, her door opens again and Uncle Mike walks in. Giving my shoulder a brief squeeze, we both sit down.
“Alright ladies, how are we gonna spin this one?” Uncle Mike asks grimly. He’s looking at Lydia, and she’s looking at me.
Okay, guess I’m up.
“Do we have any details on what sparked the fight?” I ask slowly, my attention still also focused on scrolling through media sites, trying to get a handle on things. “Have we heard anything from the crew down there?”
Uncle Mike is still looking at my boss, and she might not recognize it, but I can see his growing impatience. “Lydia?”
The woman in question shoots me a glare, as if this is all my fault. “Not to my knowledge. I’m waiting for my team to bring me more information before I can formulate a plan.”
If my eyebrows went any higher, I think they’d shoot off my head. Waiting for her team? When we all just received the same notifications? What exactly is stoppingherfrom getting on the phone to Arizona and figuring out what’s going on?
I have to take several deep breaths. At the end of the day, she’s still my boss, and still holds the key to my promotion.
“I’ll call Rudy. He went down to catch some B-roll of practices, that kind of thing. Maybe he knows more of what happened.” I’m already scrolling to his phone number on my phone.
Uncle Mike just nods. “I expect a response to be crafted and on my desk for approval within the hour.” He stands up and looks at me. “Willow, are we still on for lunch?”
Um, what? I didn’t know we had lunch plans, but I nod in agreement, nonetheless. I look to Lydia, but she’s typing furiously on her phone, hopefully to someone in Arizona, but I doubt it. She’s likely waiting for me to do that.
Sure enough, as I turn to leave with Uncle Mike, she calls out after me. “Willow, come back after speaking with Rudy and I’ll let you know how to proceed.”
“Okay.” I bite back the response I really want to make. How did I ever let myself think Lydia was someone to admire? Maybe at one time she was, and maybe I’ve inadvertently enabled her to be like this, but I swear to God, the woman has made a mastery out of having someone else do her job for her.
She’ll tell me how to proceed. Right. More like, I’ll subtly suggest what I think should be done, she’ll agree, then pawn the idea off to Uncle Mike as if it was all her swooping in to fix everything.
I’ve never had the guts to ask him why no one has said anything or done anything about her work ethic. It just seemed easier to carry the extra weight and make sure no matter what, our department ran smoothly and effectively. If Lydia got the acknowledgment for work that I actually did, oh well. We were a team. Or so I used to think. Besides, the last thing I needed was to be seen as the narc who went running to her uncle any time something didn’t go her way.
But it’s getting harder to stay quiet and respectful around her lazy sense of entitlement. For me and everyone else on our media team.
Half an hour later, a quick chat with Rudy in Arizona has given me enough information to come up with a draft press release, and I’ve eked out a promise from the assistant coach to get Maverick and his agent on a video call with us this afternoon to discuss how he needs to respond to any questions from the press.
I make my way back to Lydia’s office, press release in hand, as well as waiting in her inbox. “Lydia, I’ve got a call with Maverick in an hour and the press release right here for your approval,” I say by way of greeting.
Her eyes flicker up from her phone. “Fine. Send it on to Mike.”
“You don’t want to look it over?” I ask, purely out of professional courtesy.
“Do I need to? Or did you do your job?” she fires back. My fingers clench at my side, but I manage a tight smile.
“It’s all done and proofed. We’ve got multiple witnesses confirming that Mav was —”
“I don’t care what he was doing. I care that we keep our name clean,” Lydia interrupts with a wave of her hand. “Send it to Mike and make sure the articles for next month’s Tridents blog are ready.”
The blog articles that have been ready for a week? I’m starting to wonder if she ever checks her emails.
“Will do,” I reply curtly. Then I march back to my office, sit down in my chair, and let out a massive, silent scream of frustration.
