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“Wait, Mr. Bausch.” I said, turning around. “There is one thing you can do for me.”
“I’ll do whatever it is, just tell me when you need it done.”
“Today.”
Courtney: Now
Present Day
Super Bowl Sunday
I pushed my way through the press’s seating area and found a spot near the edge of the box.
“Attention, journalists!” A woman in all-grey stood at the front. “Journalists, can I please have your attention?”
The conversations around me slowly dissipated, until the only sounds around us were the roars from the crowd.
“Thank you,” she said, clearing her throat. “The National Football Organization would like to thank you for your dedication in covering our league and its players.”
“We would also like to let you know that although we may not see eye to eye on all things, we appreciate your reporting. And we hope you appreciate the special opportunities and media gifts that were given to you this weekend."
I looked past her and down the field where my old co-workers sat in a row with the top journalists, far away from us. That's where the real opportunities were offered this weekend. Those of us in this box, the delusional newbies, received the crumbs.
“Please remain in this press box for the entirety of the game and only use the designated restrooms that are in the hallway behind you,” she said. “Do not live-stream any part of the game or the halftime show. And please do not engage with—”
“Mr. Bausch! Mr. Bausch! I have a question!” My colleagues started shouting over her as the Falcons’ owner stepped closer. “How do you feel about today? How are you taking it all in?”
The woman stood still, speechless and star-struck.
“What would today’s win mean for your organization?” They couldn’t stop asking questions. “How does it feel to be one of the youngest owners to reach this point?”
“I’m not here for any interviews.” He lifted a hand, silencing their questions. “I have a question of my own. Is there a Courtney Johnson from Courtney Rose Media here?”
“That’s me.” I raised my hand, and he motioned for me to stand to my feet.
“I need you to come with me for a few moments, Miss Johnson,” he said. “It’s important.”
Grateful for a break, I made sure that all of my things were tucked into my bag, and then I headed his way.
“Mr. Bausch! Mr. Bausch!” They continued to shout questions at his back as we walked away.
He ignored them and led me down a tunnel, then in front of an elevator.
Pressing the down button, he cleared his throat, "How rude of me,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Peter Bausch, Miss Johnson. I own the New England Falcons team.”
“I know who you are, sir.” I smiled. “It's an honor to meet you.”
"The honor is all mine. You apparently mean the world to Kyle Stanton, so that means that you mean the world to me and my organization as well.”
“What?” I blushed.
“Mr. Stanton thinks it would be best if you watch the game in the owner's box—specifically in my seat,” he said. “He says that you sitting there will make him very happy, and I need him happy to ensure that we win this game.”
My jaw dropped, and I struggled to find something to say.
The doors suddenly opened, saving me from saying something silly.
I remained speechless as we rode up together.
“Kyle says that your writing is far past the level of Michael Router,” Mr. Bausch said, breaking the spell. “He says you taught him everything he knows. Is that true?”
“Something like that.” I smiled.
The elevator stopped on the top floor, revealing an opulent suite that was guarded by security.
One of the guards handed me a jersey.
“Courtesy of Mr. Stanton,” he said.
Mr. Bausch introduced me to every person we passed and then he walked me over to a seat at the front of the box. My name was written on an envelope in the seat, and an array of chocolate-covered fruit stood on my tray.
I ordered a water from one of the personal waitresses and took a seat.
As the players took to the field for the warmups, I slid my finger under the envelope’s seal and opened it.
* * *
Dear Courtney,
* * *
I know that you're still thinking about us and taking me back, but I felt that you should enjoy the game like you deserve to.
* * *
And by “enjoy,” I really mean that.
* * *
Do not take notes.
* * *
I'll have our videographers get you whatever you need, and if you want interviews from my teammates, they've all agreed to speak with you privately, away from the other journalists.
* * *
You should have at least two beers, tons of nachos, and whatever else that real fans do.
* * *
See you after the game.
(Wait for me.)
* * *
Kyle Stanton.
* * *
P.S. You look sexy as hell in red.
P.S.S. It’s a good color for you to say, Yes …
