Nobody played defense, and this was something I set about to change with the Vikings.
“Yes, most definitely. Tomorrow before practice, let's meet in my office, so we can look it over.”
Sasha’s eyes beamed with satisfaction. “Okay, great. I'll come by early.”
“Sounds good.” I nodded and went to my office.
It was spacious, sterile but filled with many accolades of my accomplishments. They used to be my pride and joy but the older I grew, the more I no longer cared for the trophies, the competition or what I could get. It mattered, but that wasn't the sole purpose. I had other ambitions as I approached my forties. Trophies couldn't follow me to the grave, so they seemed to be more of a credential. Like a degree. I had two, so I knew. Your credentials, opened doors experience wouldn't. It was a necessary evil, but I was fortunate enough to have both the experience and degrees. Though, my struggle was my greatest teacher.
Sitting at my large oak desk, with the leather bound executive chair, I twirled the elegant, card stock invitation with gold embroidered words for the sports party held at the owner’s penthouse in downtown Philly. All the leadership, staff, coaches from the various leagues would be there. It was a huge networking opportunity, but I was not in the mood for mingling. A tall glass of wine, a good book or game would work and my trusty battery-operated boyfriend. I did not want to schmooze, smile, prance around or act social.
I wasn't.
More importantly, I did not want to have to deal with Desiree flirting with me through the goddamn night. The girl couldn't take a hint. Shit, she couldn't even take blunt as I had been in the past. She heard me tell a guy that I didn't date men. In her mind, that meant I dated women, which wasn't true either. I didn't date anyone. There were no plans to join a convent, but I'd sworn off all men since I had enough duds in my lifetime.
Two hours later, I entered the penthouse. The buzzing of busybodies, wine, hors d'oeuvres, wait staff, suits and little black dresses surrounded me. I, on the other hand, wore a tailored, two-piece black suit with a burnt orange top and burnt orange shoe boots to match. I was very much like Matlock regarding my wardrobe. At least twenty different kinds of black pants suits hung in my closet and were rotated frequently. It was simple, and that was what I liked. People would tease but I never took offense. That was me and I made no apologies for it.
Moving through the crowd, I was looking for the owner of the Vikings, Pete Wiser. My face had to be seen, before I left so the thought was to do that early enough, so I could make a speedy exit.
After nabbing a glass of white wine from the waiter in a three-piece outfit, I took a sip. The goal was to look casual and as if I had been in attendance for more than three minutes.
“Zora,” Pete called with his balding hair flipped to the side to cover his pasty white head. “There you are.”
He was standing with three other men, one I didn't know but the other two were owners. The blond owned the Leopards women’s team, and the other was the owner for the Warriors. The blondish, red-haired man's gaze seared into me for some reason. His name was Harvey Black, and everyone knew it because he made sure they did.
No fear was my motto, but I almost took a step back with the intensity of his stare. It was like he knew me or knew something about me. The right side of his goatee covered lips were turned into a knowing smirk and his reddish beard followed along. He was slightly tanned with clear skin and a pair of deep set, whiskey-colored flecked eyes. His profile spoke of power and ageless strength and the shadow of his beard gave him an even more manly aura.
The man did not blink, move or even turn his head. Just openly stared at me.
“Pete, how are you?” I moved to him as he held out his arm to embrace me for a hug that I returned.
This placed me directly across from the man with the unfaltering eye contact. Pete placed his hand on my forearm and announced, “Gentlemen, I know you know Zora McCoy, but what you didn't know is she's going to win me a championship this year.”
Pete said this with the utmost of confidence, which was odd because we were knocked out in the second round of the finals last season. We lost some promising talent, but we gained a few veterans. We always hoped to make it to the championship, but it wasn't a discussion. Therefore, I raised one eyebrow as I smiled at the men nodding their heads toward me with warm smiles.
Well, two had a warm smile and the other handsome one was kindled with what seemed like a secret expression.
“That's good to know.” I laughed.
Two of the men chuckled.
“Oh, she didn't know yet.” Pete kept the joke going.
Getting to the playoffs was always in the plan but being the winner takes all, involved strategic planning and more importantly hard ass work from all involved—our defense, offense, strength exercising, stamina and the godforsaken injuries. It wasn't impossible, hell, it was the goal, not just for the players but the coaches too. This is why our strategy was as rigid as it was now.
I almost laughed out loud again at Pete’s words. His job was to fill seats, win medals and please fans. A sure-fire way to do all three was to have his team win. If he wanted to get me on board with his plan for the things I could control, like winning the whole chip, his point was taken.
“Zora.” Pete waved his hand around. “You know Ralph, Thomas and Harvey.”
I shook each man’s hand with a smile and a nod. They knew of me but we had never spoke. Yet, Mr. Dark Eyes, decided to speak.
“I don't have the pleasure of knowing the beautiful and accomplished Miss McCoy, but I've most definitely heard of her amazing work.” Harvey notes with a quick glass lift of the white wine.
“All I know, is I want to take a page out of your book,” Ralph, owner of the Leopards said. “Getting your ladies to get their master’s degrees or start non-profits, so they are employable after their tenure. Fucking, genius.”
Pete beamed and chimed in, “Hell, Zora hit the mark with that one. Brilliant. The league should follow suit. Some of these agents don't look out for the big picture. Swear that's why we got Shaw, Christy and Monique. If nobody else gives a damn about their career, their coach will.”
The men nodded their heads.
I took that opportunity to grab my phone from my clutch and say, “Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure, but I can only take so much talk about myself.”
They laughed, bid their farewells, and I moved toward the bar.
“Gin and tonic,” I called to the eager lady bartender.
“Yes, Ms. McCoy.” She batted her eyes and smiled. “Coming right up.”
Hell.
Feeling a presence next to me, I slowly turned around and of course, Desiree was sitting there looking like she was worth all the money she spent on that designer dress. She was pretty, no one could deny her that, and she was excellent at her job. If I was interested, yeah, this would be a no-brainer, but she didn't do it for me.
“Zora,” Desiree cooed. “You ready for me yet?”
I laughed.
“Well, hello to you too.” My mouth turned up into a smirk.
“We’re beyond pleasantries.” She moved in close, with her shoulder touching mine. Her expensive perfume crawling up my nose. It was clear the fragrance was made to entice and seduce. “I’d much rather scream your name while your head is buried between my thighs.”