4. Chapter 4
Mariana
The party ends up being weird. Everyone seems to go with it when I say Dom and I had a small disagreement but everything was fine.
If his friends are distracted by their phones at first and give me long, contemplative looks over the course of the night, I pretend I don't see it.
If once or twice it seems they're biting their tongues, I don't pry.
All I do is smile, chat with everyone, and thank them for coming.
I maintain that approach a few days later, when I'm in a meeting with two of Dom's friends at the Strike's building.
The Thunderdome has a modern design. It holds the training and treatment facilities as well as all of the front office.
Today, we're lucky to be in one of the board rooms with a view of the lake.
The office itself is simple, painted in a shimmering white I've seen everywhere in the TD.
At the center, a large table where Evie, Pen, and I gather.
"Okay, the year is taking shape," Pen says. "We're going to focus on community outreach as we build up to the big gala in December."
I nod. "And it's going to be the biggest gala the Strike has ever seen. Especially if the team makes it to the playoffs again."
Evie sits at my right, working with me on the overlap between her PR projects and my Seattle Strike Foundation overhaul.
At my left, Pen helps me as a new hire for the department, in her role as Community Outreach Lead.
One hour into it, and they don't seem to be treating me in any way other than friendly professionalism.
"I'll look into the library thing," Pen continues, "and help coordinate with the spouses and partners event. That one will probably have to be in December too. We'll schedule dates soon."
"And I'll look into working with the producers of Amelia Guerrero's TV show for some sort of collab for that party."
Their neutrality is a relief. How embarrassing, that their first impression of me was of a stomping woman frustrated at a man walking away from her, and exclaiming she's figuring her shit out.
I'm not sure what Cora was thinking, inviting them to the party, when their loyalty is with Dom already.
Cora can't get too close, and I don't want to mingle with him too much.
Not beyond the bare minimum needed to excel at my new job, anyway.
I'll do anything to impress Selena as the team's owner, and my parents when they see how good I can be at this job.
That way, when I go back to England to work with my other sister Maisie at our family's charity, I'll finally have their respect and a say of my own.
"I can help with the Partners' Party, too," Evie offers. "I think Natalia— Damián's wife— wants to add in something about book access and literacy."
I twirl my pen between two fingers. "It could be a fundraiser for some school-aged thing. Food, literacy, and sports."
Both of them nod.
It's close to the end of the work day. Fall is finally approaching as we end August, but the sun hits the windows on its way down to the horizon. It brightens the space around us.
"Part of that gala build up will blend with my PR plans," Evie says. "The calendar being the primary focus for the next few weeks."
Evie already had this plan in motion when I joined the team, and I was only happy to support it. A charity calendar featuring the reigning champions, with all of them wearing their rings. Clothing optional.
"All fans should be targeted," I say. "Whether they want to be them, or want to be with them. We'll plan it with stylists, and we'll try a few things with each player. We'll get good material."
"Oh yeah, no doubt." Evie smiles. "I've been running a few social media projects that are a mix of playful and provocative. There's plenty of potential. They're all just so cute, right?"
She has a coffee with her and sips from it.
"They'll probably make a bet out of it," Pen adds. "It’ll motivate them to do their best with the photoshoot."
"What's this?" I ask. "I'm not above stoking a bet if it will give us better results."
"The Hypersquare," Evie explains. "Like most teams, these guys are competitive to a fault and, for the Strike, that means a betting board. It has some long alliterative name, but they call it the Hypersquare for short."
"It's just small, casual stuff." Pen chuckles. "Sometimes they get sassy with it, but it's all in good fun."
"Yeah, I know the type," I say. "My brothers play hockey, and bet on card games with their friends."
They both give me a long look. I'm not sure why, but I'm not thinking too hard about it either. I'm too busy fighting memories of Dom betting with me. Including my favorite, when after a few days of staring at each other across the library, he took his chance.
It was the lull of dinner time, when most people left the library.
But he didn't— he never left before me— and I didn't. After the fiftieth time we locked eyes across the quiet, expansive room, he packed his things while keeping his eyes on me.
Then he walked slowly. So self-assured. A little smirk on his lips.
Then he sat next to me, and bet that he could make me laugh.
If he won, he said, he got to invite me out for coffee.
He leaned close. "You get to say no… but I doubt you will. You've checked me out as much as I've checked you out. I think it's time to see if we like being near each other as much as we do from afar, don't you agree?"
Then I laughed, disrupting everyone around us, shocked at his cockiness. And when he immediately invited me out, taking my mirth as a win, I rolled my eyes and said sure, but he had to make me laugh again. He did. Then he invited me out to a second date right there and then.
"Go out with me twice," he said. "Give me a second chance, if I screw up the first time."
I still remember the way his shampoo smelled back then. It doesn't take me long to bring it back to me, even now.
My heart squeezes just to think of it. God, I loved him so much.
I clear my throat. As a distraction, I check my phone quickly just in case.
I'm not expecting a notification from my lawyers for a few days, but I'm eager to be finally, officially, completely divorced.
It would be a big weight off my shoulders if that whole debacle happened ahead of schedule. Closure can't come soon enough.
How am I supposed to start over before things are truly done?
Evie raises an eyebrow. "No need to push them to make bets about the calendar. They will find something. They loooove wagering for the crown."
Yeah, Dom loved betting. It was endearing, the way he used his charm to get away with things, and his skill and luck to get what he wanted. Especially since he didn't have as many options as the people surrounding him.
Pen purses her lips. "Regardless, we'll have great material. None of them are hard to look at… or shy…"
I cast my eyes toward the one painting hanging from the wall. It's an impressionist take on the Strike's stadium. Colors seem to move on the canvas, and I try to lose myself in it.
Having Dom close has me thinking of him too much. It's probably the impact of seeing him again after so long. Or maybe it's the fight we had in the kitchen. How he looked, like a refined version of the young man I used to know. Those intense eyes…
"Objectively, great material," I say. "No doubt."
They stare at me again. Evie's eyes twinkle. Pen's mouth fights a smile.
I relax my face until I'm sure nothing shows.
"Have you looked up the posts I've made of them?
" Evie asks. "We could see what kind of videos get the most engagement and take a few notes.
It will help with planning the photoshoot.
In my experience, fans love the ones where we make them look skilled and sexy.
Competence porn, if you know what I mean. "
I know what she means. I may have played those videos on my phone a few times over the past little while.
To prepare to see him at work. To desensitize myself, in a way.
Except the simple mention of those posts puts glorious images in my head.
Dom in a suit, with the same intensity in his eyes directed at the camera.
Dom wearing only his joggers, with his arms crossed and smiling confidently.
Dom working out, edited to entice and thrill viewers…
Wait. Nope. No. Those feelings are not allowed. Not for Dom— especially not him— but no other Strike players either. Left unchecked, this is the kind of thing that can lead to fun escapades as much as to unwanted complications.
Seattle is where I'll prove what I'm capable of.
It's where I'll redeem myself for my mistakes— not make new ones.
Succeeding here will take me back to England, where I'll grow real roots and work with Maisie at last, designing the career of my dreams. Building something I can be proud of and contribute to my family’s legacy.
A place to belong. I cannot allow anything to get in the way.
"I know you film the players for some of your projects." I lift a single shoulder, like all of this is inconsequential.
Evie's eyes stay on me. She rubs her lips together, like she's thinking hard. Like she wants to say something, but is choosing not to.
My stomach tightens. Damn. If this is her being professional, then, good. But if she feels she can't be open and honest with me, then… sigh. I don't want that either. I need her to trust me. Everyone in the front office likes her, and she seems to be one of the pillars of the organization.
I bite the inside of my lip, and study Pen on my other side.
She stares at me with curiosity, if not restraint.
She may be new to the Strike, but she's already close with Evie.
I'll be working more with her than I will with Evie, since she's part of the Foundation rather than in PR.
I can't have her not trusting me enough to be candid, either.