Focused: A hate to love sports romance
Karla Sorensen
Chapter One
Molly
If I'd known that my new boss was Cruella de Vil, I would've color coordinated my outfit for work that day. She matched the colors of the Washington Wolves perfectly. She was all sleekness and shine with her black dress, white jacket, red shoes, red lips, and a silvery white bob that fell just below her glass-sharp chin.
"Molly Ward, is it?" she asked quietly. Like the kind of quiet where I felt like if I answered wrong, she'd press a button, and I’d fall through a secret trap door.
I nodded. "Welcome to Washington, Miss Kelly. I've been looking forward to meeting you."
One perfectly manicured eyebrow lifted like it was being pulled oh, so slowly by someone tugging a string. Briefly, she glanced down at something on her desk, my employment file, presumably. "You've been here a long time."
I smiled. "My whole life, practically. But as a paid employee, for four years now."
I waited for Beatrice Kelly, the brand-new chief marketing officer of the Washington Wolves, to smile back, but she didn't.
As I stood in front of her desk, my nervous fingers twitching together behind my back, she appraised me openly, her gray eyes (because even her eyes matched) traveling from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, clad in sensible brown leather flats.
Personally, I found sensible footwear incredibly sexy because I enjoyed the ability to walk without pain at the end of the day when my shoes came off.
For some reason, those shoes offended her. I saw it the moment her gaze touched the rounded toe and tiny leather bow in the middle.
I glanced down, like the shoes would explain to me what they'd done wrong and why we were now in trouble with my brand-new boss.
I miss Ava, I thought for the thousandth time, my heart squeezing over the loss of my old boss, Ava Hawkins. Why they had to up and move across the country to be closer to her husband's family was beyond me.
"Have a seat," Beatrice said, still not taking her eyes off my shoes. I slid into one high-back black chair and folded my hands in my lap, wishing desperately to have something to keep them occupied. My whole life, I was the worst fidgeter in the universe when I was nervous. And this moment right here was sliding right into the top ten moments of all time. "Tell me what you love about your job, Molly Ward."
My brain raced at the unexpected question because I felt very much like I was being tested on some unseen scale. Quite irrationally, I wanted to glare at my shoes as if they'd gotten me into this mess.
"I love so much about my job, Miss Kelly," I said honestly. "I could probably talk your ear off for hours telling you all the reasons."
She hummed. "Marketing liaison suits you then?"
"It does." I took a deep breath because I knew this was one of those moments when false modesty would get me nowhere with my kinda scary, really matchy-matchy boss. "I'm good with people. I make them comfortable and anticipate their needs well. So when I finished my internship, Ava knew that I’d do well dealing with our advertisers, and I believe that I have. For the past four years, I've built strong relationships with our advertisers and we haven't lost a single major sponsor since I took over that role. They trust me, and I've earned that trust."
For a split second, I held my breath, worried I'd gone too far, based on the speculative gleam in her eyes. My restless hands itched to reach up into my hair and redo my bun for the thousandth time. It was a bit of a running joke among my coworkers that you could tell I was stressed when my hair moved positions more than two times throughout the day. This morning, knowing I'd be meeting my new boss, I'd anchored every strand of my dark hair so firmly into place that only a crane operator would be able to get it to budge.
"May I be honest, Molly Ward?"
"Of course." And also, why did she keep saying my full name?
Beatrice settled back in her large leather chair and studied me again. "I wasn't looking forward to meeting you."
Ever heard the air being let out of a balloon? That slow, sad hiss of air until the only thing left was a droopy piece of crumpled plastic? Yeah, now imagine it happening to an unsuspecting twenty-five-year-old, eager to get to know her new boss.
"Oh," I exhaled. "Okay?" As soon as the words slipped out, I wanted to take them back.
This wasn't okay. Not okay at all. I'd known these halls and practice fields and offices since I was fourteen years old. Everyone here loved me! I was Molly freaking Ward. I was good at my job. No, I kicked ass at my job. "Actually," I said slowly, gathering my nerve and lifting my chin, "I'm sorry to hear that because I was looking forward to meeting you. I love this organization, I love my job, and I'm very good at it. If it's something I've done in the past that I can improve on, please tell me, so I can fix it."
Boom. I saw the spark of grudging admiration in her eyes, there and gone like a flash of lightning.
"Aren't you curious as to why I wasn't?" she asked, resting her jewelry-free hands lightly on the desk in front of her.
Not particularly.
Okay, fine. That was a lie. If I knew, I could do every damn thing in my power to change it. Change her perception of me. In college, I was a 4.0 student. Any unfocused energy that I'd wasted in high school turned into a bright, shiny red laser trained straight at hitting the dean's list every semester. It took me no time at all to realize that even if I wasn't the smartest person in the room, I could damn well be the hardest worker, and that had my name on the list every single time.
I took a deep breath and nodded. "A little."
Her scarlet red lips curled up in the slightest of smiles, something I'd come to know as the ultimate sign of amusement for Beatrice. "You probably don't struggle with people liking you, do you, Molly? I imagine it comes very easily to you."
Did it?
I suppose it was na?ve of me to think she hadn't already answered that question in her head.
"It doesn’t always come easily," I heard myself saying.
Now the edges of her smile stopped, frozen on a face that showed nary a wrinkle, despite the color of her hair. "I'm sure it's difficult to make friends. You're beautiful. Charming. Privileged. Your brother is a football legend and now a celebrated coach within these very halls. Your sister-in-law, Paige, is a former supermodel who could walk in New York Fashion Week tomorrow if she wanted to. You scored a job fresh out of college that ten-year industry veterans would kill for. Obviously, you're doing something right, Miss Ward."
The emphasis on my last name had me sitting up straight in the chair.
Like she was sitting on my shoulder, I could hear my sister-in-law's voice, the veritable devil with flaming red hair, the one who always battled for my sisters and me when someone came against us.
This bitch can go screw herself. She doesn't know you, and she sure as shit doesn't know our family, Paige whispered. My inner Paige wasn't wrong.
But on the other shoulder was my brother, Logan, the man who'd all but raised my three younger sisters and me after our mom bailed. And I knew what he'd tell me to do. Show respect. Do my job. Prove her wrong in the right way.
Inner Logan wasn't wrong either.
"I know what I must look like to you," I told Beatrice. "How my life must look. But you've only just met me, Miss Kelly. I'm a hard worker; otherwise, I wouldn't have this job, no matter what my last name is."
"We'll see," she mused.
Her attention flicked back to something on her desk, and my molars ground together at her flippant tone. She held up a file and handed it to me over the immaculate expanse of her desk. The black and red Wolves logo was stamped on the front, and I opened it up once I had it firmly in my hand. My eyes skimmed quickly over the cover page, eyebrows popping in surprise.