No big deal.
If only I’d known.
2
Kelsey
“Knock, knock.”
I swivel my chair around at the sound of a female voice behind me to find my friend and coworker, Whitney, standing at the edge of my cubicle in the newsroom.
“Hey, how was your long weekend away?” I ask.
Her husband, Cole, whisked her away to wine country. He has his own whiskey company and apparently, he was considering investing in a winery in Napa. Must be hard to be rich.
“Nice to get out of the city and have my husband all to myself.” Her eyes twinkle and her smile spreads.
Someday I want what she has. Especially that post-orgasm bliss grin.
“Well, you didn’t miss much here.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
My forehead wrinkles in confusion before I remember what she’s talking about. I’ve been doing my best to forget what Brock Allen said at last night’s game.
God, she’s beautiful, isn’t she?
The awe in his voice and his apparent surprise and then embarrassment when he realized he said it out loud are like a film running over and over again in my head in a never-ending reel.
“Oh, you mean that comment Brock made? No biggie.”
She crosses her arms and leans her hip against the side of my cubicle. “It’s a big enough deal that they’re reporting it in tonight’s segment.”
I snap up from my chair, eyes wide. “What?”
“I overheard Thorne and Sally talking earlier.”
Thorne and Sally are the nightly news anchors for the same station I work for. Why would they do this?
I pick up my phone from my desk to check the time. Since there’s no hockey game tonight I’m not working. It’s just about time for them to lead into the nightly sports report. The only reason I’m here is to put in a little extra legwork in collecting some stats for a story I’m doing on the Infernos’ goalie later this week.
“I have to see.” I rush past Whitney to make my way over to the lounge area in the office where a large flat-screen TV hangs on the wall playing WHFI twenty-four seven.
With one arm crossed over my abdomen and the other hand at my mouth, chewing on my freshly manicured thumbnail, I impatiently wait for the sports segment to begin.
Whitney stands beside me. “Aren’t you flattered? I think it’s sweet what he said. He really is a great guy. Cole knows him, and I’ve met him a few times.”
My head whips in her direction and I narrow my eyes. “It’s embarrassing is what it is. And…”
Whit’s smile dulls when she clues into my biggest insecurity. She’s quick to reach out and rub my back. “Listen, I know how… sensitive you are about your looks and being taken seriously.”
She says the word sensitive like she’s afraid it’s a trigger word for me and I’ll have a Karen moment.
“I know it’s stupid—”
“It’s not.” She shakes her head. “It’s not stupid at all. Women’s worth has been judged based on their appearance—both good and bad—for too long. I understand why you don’t want it to overtake your skills to have this career. I’ve seen people’s assumptions firsthand about you.”
I think back to the industry party we attended a few months after we were both hired. There was a bigshot from one of the stations down in Los Angeles there who made an obnoxious offer to me in front of my colleagues—if I was willing to spend some time on the casting couch, I could secure a job at his station in a larger market.
Mortification doesn’t begin to describe how I felt at that moment—cheap, unworthy, ashamed—the list goes on and on.
“Still, you think I’d be used to it by now.” I shrug.
“You shouldn’t have to be.” Whitney frowns.
When Chad’s face appears on the screen, I reach for the remote and turn up the volume so I don’t miss anything. His first report is on the football game, which eases my anxiety until a video of the press conference from yesterday shows up next. My stomach drops from under me, but I manage to listen intently.
“The San Francisco Infernos might have gotten their name for the great fire of 1851, but the name might be fitting in other ways, too. At last night’s press conference after the game against the Florida Fury, our very own Kelsey Callaway was there to report on the team’s victory, but things took an unexpected turn, heating things up when she was about to ask a player a question.”
The screen cuts to a video of what Brock said about me and his reaction when he realized he’d been overheard. Then the tape cuts to me in the soup bowl of reporters. My cheeks are flushed the brightest color of red.
I’m used to seeing myself on TV, but not in this context.
It cuts back to the nightly news anchor, Thorne. “Could romance be blossoming between these two? Now, we certainly know what Brock thinks of Kelsey, but it remains to be seen what she thinks of him. What do you think, viewers, could you feel the heat? Should we be shipping these two?”
My cheeks are on fire once again, but it’s not from arousal, it’s anger.
“I can’t believe this! My own station.”
All hope of the incident quietly fading into the abyss is ruined, I fist my hands at my sides.
Whitney cringes as she turns the volume on the TV back down and glances over at me. “I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as Mr. Jefferies is going to be.” I stomp off in the direction of my boss’s office.
“Go easy on him. I think he and hubby had a fight this morning. I saw him eating carbs this afternoon,” she calls out after me.
I’m forever indebted to Mr. Jeffries for giving me this job and allowing me to prove my skeptics wrong, but I can’t believe he saw no issue with allowing that segment on the air.
I’m relieved when I find him still behind his desk. And Whitney was right, he and his husband must be arguing because there’s a half-eaten donut to the side of his keyboard. Mr. Jeffries only goes to carbs for comfort when he can’t go to his husband.
I don’t bother knocking or wait for an invitation before I enter. “How could you let them put that on the air?” He’s not big on formalities and though he’s my superior, we’ve developed somewhat of a friendship over the years.
He looks up from his screen and takes his glasses off his face, dropping them to the desk and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “How can I not? Every other station, newspaper, and sports blogger is going to be talking about it.”
I cross my arms and give him the stink eye. “You know how hard it’s been for me to earn any respect in this industry. I’d like to try to keep what little I have.”
He stands and walks over to me, resting his hands on my shoulders. “Kelsey, you’re a damn fine reporter. You know the ins and outs of most leagues, understand the stats, and can predict when players are moving up and down in their game like you’re a bloody psychic. You’ve earned your place in sports journalism.”
I huff and open my mouth to speak, but he continues.
“And because I’m gay, I can say this without you thinking it’s a come-on… you’re a beautiful woman. But those things aren’t mutually exclusive. You more than prove that. Have some confidence in yourself.”