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My fingers closed around the portfolio I’d never opened. It held another copy of my résumé and a sad-looking reference sheet. There were only two people on it, and neither of them had been upper management since I’d fucked the SafeZone director before blowing the whistle on him for misconduct with at-risk teens.
“I want to specifically work at an LGBT center.”
Joe didn’t respond for several seconds then all he said was, “Huh.”
That was all it took for me to understand that the interview was over. It was honestly what I’d expected from someone like him, but I didn’t just see him. I saw the long line of shitheads who’d smirked at me as if thinking a gay man who wanted to work with at-risk teens had to be a pervert. And I saw Jamie Gallagher—who’d fit that goddamn mold.
I saw all my bad decisions from the past couple of years, and all the times I’d been cowed by men more powerful or educated than me.
The give-no-fucks chip activated, and I swiveled my head to pin the athlete. “Who are you?”
Blond eyebrows rose, but his expression didn’t change. “Are you kidding?” His voice was deep and slightly husky. It belonged in a bedroom, not a job interview.
“No, I’m not kidding.” I turned back to Joe. “I assume he’s someone important?”
At this point, Joe looked impatient enough to boot me from the office. “Mr. Monroe, do you live under a rock?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw the blond hunch forward with his forearms propped on his knees. He was watching me as though I was a rare breed of human he couldn’t identify. Maybe he didn’t mean to make me feel small, but between him and Joe, I did.
I was vulnerable under the scrutiny. Like an insect. Something small and puny that was inspected beneath a microscope by larger-than-life individuals who would deem me unworthy. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt that way, but this was the first time I didn’t have to put up with it. There were other jobs.
“If it’s a problem that I’m unaware—”
“My name is Gavin Brawley.”
The name rang a distant bell.
“I’m the starting tight end for the New York Barons.”
Okay, now things were clicking. The Barons had recently been all over the news. Something about a player being involved in a legal scandal and an assault. The details were vague, but judging by the bulky bracelet on Gavin’s ankle, he was likely the guy at the center of it all. Too bad I couldn’t remember more. The only players from the Barons I knew by name were Simeon Boudreaux and Marcus Hendricks—because they both had a million endorsements and their handsome faces often stared back from cereal boxes or video game commercials.
“Oh,” I said blankly. “Yeah, I recognize you now.”
Joe frowned. “You don’t watch football?”
“I watch the Super Bowl commercials on YouTube after the game.” I shrugged. “I know the Barons were founded when I was in high school, so they’re newish in the NFL? That’s about it.”
“So you do indeed live under a rock,” Joe said. “Gavin Brawley broke the NFL record for receiving yards and touchdowns scored by a tight end last year.”
Was that good? I had no idea. “Cool.”
On the couch, Gavin scoffed.
“He’s one of the most famous names in sports,” Joe said. “How are you unaware of this?”
“I’m not big into sports. I didn’t realize being a football fan was a requirement. My friend’s boss told her about this position.” Likely after she’d bemoaned her childhood friend’s financial woes and asked if I could get a filing job at the firm before I ran out of my miniscule savings.
“Who’s your friend’s boss?”
“An attorney. Cora Durrant.”
Joe and Gavin exchanged looks. “Cora Durrant is married to Gavin’s coach.”
“Oh.” Great, so I was supposed to know this was sports-related. How had this failed to come up? “I guess I’m oblivious.”
“Having awareness of pop culture and the world is generally a good requirement for anyone wanting to work with a celebrity.”
And to that, I had absolutely no response. It was a good point, but his subtle homophobia and slimy attitude prevented me from giving a sweet goddamn. Heat rose to my face, and I scrambled for a defense.
“Look at it this way, the fact that I’m not a fan of the Barons should make me an ideal candidate, since I have no vested interest in Gavin Brawley. Hiring a fan would be more troublesome, wouldn’t it?” I was arguing my case despite not even wanting the job. Joe was clearly an asshole and potentially a homophobe, and Gavin was a cocky fuckboy. If this interview was a literal nightmare, working with Gavin would literally be a night terror if he was anything like his manager plus a hundred pounds of muscle. But I couldn’t back down for some reason. I wouldn’t let a guy like Joe Carmichael watch me slink away with a face full of defeat.
