He gestures vaguely behind him. “Second door on the left,” he says in the most dismissive tone possible as he jerks his chin toward a nearby door.
I nod, already moving to get away from him. “Thanks.”
I push open the door and—
Oh.
Fuck.
I’ve just walked directly into the locker room.
A locker roomfullof half-dressed, loud soccer players.
That. Fucking. Asshole.
I know all the faces from my research, but I wasn’t expecting to see this much of them so soon.
I freeze for a moment, mortified, but determined not to let it show. Oliver stands behind me in the doorway, leaning up against a locker, with a smug grin on his face. I will not give Oliver the satisfaction of thinking he’s rattled me. If there’s one thing I know about PR, it’s how important it is to own the moment. I can spin whatever hand I’m dealt, and so long as I retain my composure, I can control the narrative.
Instead of bolting like I wish I could, I roll my shoulders back, plaster on a confident smile, and take a deliberate step forward in the locker room.
“Well,” I say, my voice loud but amused, “this is kind of disappointing.”
That’s enough to get their attention. There’s so much ego flowing through this room that half of them probably think I’m referring to the parts of their bodies on display as disappointing.
Carlos Cabrera steps forward, a towel barely clinging to his hips. “Disappointing?”
I arch a brow. “Not one of you is media ready? First impressions matter, boys. In PR, they’re everything.”
Sebastian Leroux, half-dressed and grinning, gestures to himself. “I do not look perfect already?”
I give him a slow, assessing once-over. “You look fine. But PR isn’t just about looks. The public only knows you from what you put out there. Presentation is crucial. I’ll be meeting with all of you, as a team and individually, to teach you about media awareness. Because like it or not, people are watching.”
Carlos laughs, breaking the silence in the locker room. “Dios mío, you’re a feisty one.” He smiles at me, and the rest of the team falls in line behind him. If their resident agitator isn’t going to make waves, they all let the moment pass.
I turn on my heel before they can get the upper hand again, walking right past Oliver in the doorway.
I don’t stop. I don’t even look at him.
“Better luck next time, Captain,” I say smoothly, and keep walking.
Once I’m out of his line of sight, I pick up speed, storming into Luke’s office and shutting the door behind me with more force than necessary.
“What a fucking asshole,” I announce.
Luke blinks, looking up from his laptop. “And hello to you, too. Who are we talking about?”
“Oliver Bradshaw.”
“Ah.” A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “And what did he do to make such a good first impression on you?”
I throw my hands in the air. “Oh, he only gave me fake directions that sent me walking straight into a locker room full of half-naked men.”
Luke stares at me for a second, then bursts out laughing.
“Did you not hear the part about the half-naked men?” I ask, thoroughly annoyed and still embarrassed.
“I heard.”
