16. Not So Fast
NOT SO FAST
Leighton
The thing about pigeons pornicating is this—their cooing sound is right in my wheelhouse.
It’s low and a little rumbly, like thunder, and it wakes me up like high-pitched banging never would.
Fortunately, I’m a morning person, so I pop out of bed and turn off the alarm that is about to go off anyway.
In the living room, I pause at the window to check out the feathered friends with benefits.
I suppose I should give them their privacy.
But look—if Ms. Peck and Big Bird want discretion, they could pick a different place to get it on.
I press my hand to the cool glass as I peer at the scene on the windowsill.
“Get it, girl,” I say when Big Bird hops up on her back to seal the deal.
I’ll miss these little exhibitionists when I leave. Shame that this place is going co-op. I don’t mind Maeve’s quirky apartment—ducking in the low-hanging shower, and the sideways toilet. For these last several months, it’s been my own space.
I head out. I have a shoot later today, but I need to make a quick stop at the arena before I go to the studio. Dad texted me after he left the wedding party last night, telling me he’d forgotten to take home a box of chocolates and adding a sad face emoji so I’d grab an extra box for him.
The sweet-tooth treasure in hand, I hop on a bus. I gaze out the window at the city passing by, but in my mind, I’m watching yesterday’s highlights—the moment in the diner with the hostess, then stolen moments with Miles at the party, in The Spotted Zebra, in his car...
My stomach flips, but I shake off that weakness. I’m in full game mode by the time the bus pulls over at the Sea Dogs home, and I bound down the steps and toward the arena’s main entrance. Ruben, one of the security guards, greets me and quickly scans my bag before waving me through.
“Thanks, Ruben.” I hand him one of the boxes of chocolate I snagged from last night’s party. “And this is for you.”
“Whoa!” Ruben’s grin is a rare break from the serious expression I normally see on him. “What did I do to deserve this mid-morning snack?”
“You’re you,” I say, smiling as I head inside and take the escalator down to the quiet concession area. Training camp hasn’t started yet, and it’s almost eerie here without the usual buzz.
I pass the huge posters of the players on the walls, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Miles’s larger-than-life image.
I don’t need more thoughts of him crowding my brain, especially with my dad walking toward me.
On game days, he wears a suit, but today, he’s in a button-down and slacks.
I know Riley picked out those trendy sneakers—he wouldn’t know that style or brand on his own, much less choose it.
“My chocolate supplier,” he says with a grin.
“Junkie,” I tease, handing him the box.
He hugs it to his chest. “You’re my favorite daughter today.”
I roll my eyes. “Such high praise.”
He tips his head toward the corridor to his office. “I got coffee for me. Tea for you.”
Dad clearly wants me to stay for a bit. “Very strategic,” I observe.
Reaching the management level, he scans his employee card, then holds the door open for me. “That’s because I am pretty strategic, Leighton.”
Yes, that’s his job.
As we head down the hallway, I spot Mako, the team’s photographer. We’ve worked together on a few projects when Everly hired me for freelance shoots. He wears a Sea Dogs T-shirt and a hat with the Japanese flag, and when he sees me, he smiles like he has something up his sleeve.
“Just the person I wanted to see,” he says.
It can only be a professional thing, and my father excuses himself from the shop-talk and tells me he’ll be in his office.
“What’s going on?” I ask Mako. “How is Sarah’s pregnancy going?” Last time I worked for the team, he and his partner were expecting their first child.
“Knock on wood—” He raps the concrete wall. “She’s supposed to deliver in a couple weeks, and I just got approved for paternity leave. Three whole months.”
“Nice,” I say.
“I’m pretty excited about it.” His dark eyes twinkle as he rubs his palms together. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I requested that you fill in for me. I just gave the director of marketing a heads-up, so—”
I freeze. “You did what?”
He grins. “I gave Chanda your name. You know I love your work. And I trust you to maintain the high quality I expect.”
I need to hear that again. My head is spinning, and my heart skips in disbelief. “You recommended me for your job?”
He narrows his eyes and wags a finger. “Not my job job. Just a temporary fill-in.”
“Right. That’s what I meant.” I mentally flip through my portfolio of sports photography. While I’ve shot plenty of action pictures over the years, I’m not at the level required for pro sports. “I don’t have your experience with action shots though.”
“No problem. Rae will do the on-ice photos and videos during the games themselves.”
Rae is the other photographer. She and Mako usually rotate between promo work and on-ice shots, trading off as it suits them.
Slowly, I process this unexpected news. What does Rae think about doing all the games? And there’s my dad—will he mind if I do more work for the team? From his reaction when Everly first hired me for a freelance assignment, I’m pretty sure he’ll be elated.
But I don’t want to assume anything, so I ask Mako for more specifics. “What do you have in mind exactly?”
“With the season starting up soon, our promo needs are heavy—headshots, photo opps, all sorts of training camp and pre-season events to hype up the fans. There’s so much to do that we figured my stand-in should focus on the promo shots while Rae concentrates on the games.
” He pauses to give me an excited, expectant look. “Want to do it?”
My mind races through my calendar for the next few months. I have some studio work booked with brands and for my boudoir work. But I’m not busy all day, every day. “I have some shoots on my schedule. But if the hours here are flexible enough, I think I can fit it all in.”
Holy shit. Did I just say yes to a new temporary job?
“Chanda is pretty cool about working out the hours and all that. Especially since it’s not a typical nine-to-five.” He rocks back on his heels. “It’s not a done deal yet, but can I tell Chanda you’re interested? Because you’re the only one I recommended.”
Wow.
The only one.
I’m floored. Especially since the Sea Dogs pay well. Really well. Eleanor Greer owns the team with her husband, but she bankrolled it and makes the final decisions—and she’s committed to hiring women and paying above marketplace rates. I know this firsthand from freelance projects.
I flash back to yesterday at the diner and the frustrating moment when I didn’t hear the hostess. It’s a too-familiar flicker of fear—what if moments like that become more frequent over time? Maybe not this month. But next year, and the one after? What if I miss more and more over the years?
I need to snag as much work now as I can and save for my uncertain future.
“If she wants me, I’m in,” I say decisively.
Mako offers me a hand to high-five. “I’ll tell Chanda. Hopefully she’ll reach out soon.”
“Thanks, Mako.”
We exchange goodbyes, and I walk a little faster toward my dad’s office, excited to tell him.
Once I’m there, he slides a cup of tea across his desk. “What was that about with Mako?”
I take the cup and a seat, then tilt my head. I’m fairly sure he doesn’t know, but just in case…“You don’t already know?”
He scoffs and laughs. “No. I stay out of anything that doesn’t involve winning games.”
“Fair enough,” I say, then tell him the whole story.
The more I share, the more his eyes twinkle. “And I said yes,” I finish. But then hold up a hand. “This is all presuming Chanda wants to move forward with hiring me.”
My dad punches the air and doesn’t sweat the details. “That’s great!”
I laugh. “Dad, why are you such a goofball?”
“Can I help it if I like having you around?”
“You don’t think it’ll be weird if I work here? If it happens, I mean. It’s just three months to cover his paternity leave.”
“If ‘weird’ means ‘good,’ then yes. I do think so.”
I roll my eyes, but it does feel warm and fuzzy that he likes having me here. “Are you sure? I don’t want to step on your toes. This is your space, after all.”
He sticks out a sneakered foot. “Step on them, please.”
I am so grateful for his support. He’s always been that way. Where other parents would be protective or hesitant, he’s always had my back.
“Fine, I guess I will.” I was already leaning toward yes. I’d only needed to know he was on board. “If she offers officially,” I add.
“How could she not?” he asks. “I’ve seen your pics.”
True, but I have a hunch he skims over the boudoir ones on my website, focusing mostly on my other work.
At first, while I was dabbling in boudoir photography I didn’t mention it to him.
I wasn’t sure what he’d think of me building a business around sexy photos.
I’ve since told him, and he wasn’t weirded out at all, so maybe the worry had all been in my head.
A fear that the one parent who adores me might not want to think of his little girl taking, and posing, for sexy shots.
But now that I think back on it, maybe the real worry was that he’d be disappointed.
Like Mom was. When she invited me out to New York for the launch of her newest handbag line a year ago, she took me to lunch at a see-and-be-seen eatery on the Upper East Side and asked what I was up to career-wise.
When I told her, she tutted, shaking her head over her arugula salad and Perrier, then said, “Darling, I just don’t understand why you spend so much energy on...
that. Imagine what we could create if you channeled your talent into something lasting—like handbags.
Real art. Something people actually value.
You have so much potential, and it’s such a shame to see it wasted on photos that end up hidden away in bedside drawers.
Now, let’s put your abilities to real use. ”