The Wife Win

Harper

My first week on the job was chaotic. A whirlwind of meetings, sports talk, and the white-boarding of upcoming assignments for the crew.

It’s everything I dreamed it would be.

Although I’ve been holding off on forming an opinion on Alex Ving, the executive producer for the sports news—and my boss—until I have conclusive evidence that he’s either just an unfriendly producer, or just an uptight prick.

He’s been less than enthusiastic about welcoming me into the fold. During our first Monday staff meeting, when all the reporters and producers get together in the studio to discuss upcoming games and various events, he barely gave me a shoutout in recognition of my arrival.

It was a side note after discussing the Pilots’ draft and rookie acquisitions.

“Oh, and by the way, this is Harper Conrad. She just transferred in from Spokane. I guess you got tired of reporting on the rodeo. Isn’t that right, Harper?” He laughed like it was an inside joke instead of the asshole-ish slight that it was. “I’ll be putting her with you, Taylor, to cover the Pilots. Okay…next up. The hockey playoffs…Johno, where are we at with the coverage?”

And that was it. A few of the guys came up to me afterwards and introduced themselves. There are two other female reporters, Jackie and Elana. They were nice enough to my face, but I’ve learned never to underestimate the power of female competition. Some women will embrace you with open arms and do what they can to support you because they’re your teammates. Others will find you to be an obstacle in their way and throw you under the bus without blinking or fucking up their mascara the first chance they get.

Those are the traits you can’t easily suss out when you first meet your new team members. So just like Alex, I’ll hold off on making any first impression decisions until I have further evidence.

“Hey, Harper, nice to meet you,” Taylor Heinz greets me with a wide smile and proffered hand. I shake it and return the smile.

“Nice to meet you too, Taylor. I’ve watched several of the segments you produced about the Seattle franchise. You really have a great knack with getting those boys to talk.”

Taylor lifts a large beefy shoulder. “Thanks. I appreciate that. It wasn’t easy at first and took me a while to make inroads with the team. You know how it goes. I didn’t play the game in high school or college, so they thought I knew nothing about the sport and figured they could fuck with me.”

I chuckle, nodding in empathy. “I hear ya. Even though I did play ball, when you have these in your way,”—I point at my chest—“it’s like wearing a sign that says ‘go ahead, I’m too dumb to know better.’ Talk about getting fucked with.”

Poor Taylor cringes and his face turns red, clashing with his ginger hair.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I clarify, placing a hand on his forearm and then dropping it again quickly. “Lucky for me, I’ve met and interviewed a number of the Pilots already, so I’m kind of a known entity and won’t be going in cold.”

He nods with approval, shaking his finger to gesture at me. “Yeah, I saw your segment Alex used a few weeks ago about the Combine. Those were some great in-depth interviews. Well done. I’m impressed.”

I beam with pride. While Alex didn’t give me any glowing reviews or say anything positive in particular, it’s Taylor’s approval that means more to me because he’s my teammate. His acknowledgment of my work is all that truly matters.

Taylor looks at his phone that pings with a reminder.

“Listen, Harper. I’ve got an interview scheduled in a bit. But how about we meet up for lunch and talk through the plans for the upcoming season? I’ll introduce you to our production staff for the games. You like Dim sum?”

“You bet. Sounds great. I’ll be around.”

* * *

The week wentby in a flash, and I’d already helped one of the other staff produce a segment on the minor hockey team and began brushing up my knowledge of the Seattle professional baseball team. Although I’m very comfortable around any sport, my main role will be as sideline reporter for the Pilots, but I can be called on at any time to help with coverage of any of the teams in the Seattle area.

It fills me with glorious anticipation and excitement.

I’m about ready to leave for the day when I pick up my phone from the desk to see I have a few unread texts. One’s from Jade about meeting up tonight and the other is from Marek.

He was away on an unplanned trip with the owner of the Pilots, Marvin Spurlock, the last two days. We’d been casually chatting and in contact, just not the kind I’d been expecting.

Honestly, I don’t know what I expected. I thought I gave him the easy out after Chicago, but he didn’t take no for an answer. He pursued, chased, and caught up with me. It was flattering. I thought he really wanted something with me, but things have changed since my move from Spokane. And though I live in the same city now, there is a distance between us.

I realize he’s a very busy man, running a multi-million-dollar organization with plenty of moving parts. But all it takes is a phone call or something to from him to make me feel like I matter to him.

I’m just about to open the text when a knock on my cubicle wall has my head popping up. I covertly flip the phone over, feeling like I’ve been caught red-handed at the scene of the crime, and find Alex standing in the walkway with his arm crooked over the partition wall. I almost snicker at the similarity between his stance and the boss from the old movieOffice Space.

“You got a second, Harper? Or are you packing up for the night?”

I shake my head and straighten my back in my desk chair. “No, not at all. What can I help with, Alex?”