“Notasbad? Meaning alittlebad?” My brow pulls in and the panic tingles in my stomach and legs again. I feel the urge to sway.
Theo laughs.
And then his hand is on my wrist again. A light touch, but one that freezes me in place and stops my heart completely. His fingers curl in and he pulls his hand away, quickly stuffing both in his pockets.
“You look fine, I mean. But maybe . . . a shopping trip to expand the wardrobe a little?” He lifts one brow and looks down at my feet. I follow his gaze as he kicks lightly at my toe. “Your roommates have big feet.”
I shake and spit out a quick laugh at the memory of me fumbling out of Morgan’s shoes. That’s when Theo went to get my shoes, even though he supposedly didn’t want anything to do with me.
“Fair point,” I say as Abby and Todd walk into the room, the same duo from our interviews.
“So, are you guys ready to immerse yourselves inTheAffiliateworld?” Abby is three-cups-of-coffee amped. It’s a bit jarring.
“Let’s do this,” Theo says, somehow mirroring her enthusiasm and energy level.Chameleon.
I was thinking maybe his response spoke for the both of us, but as Todd and Abby’s focus drips to me and their smiles go stale, I realize they’re waiting for me to say something too.
“Yeah!” I fist pump, which is something I’ve never actually done once in my whole life. It’s obvious, to everyone, but at least it gets a laugh. My face burns and the smile I’m trying hard to push outward tingles with the urge to cringe.
“All right, all right,” Abby says, nodding and moving in to shake our hands. “Theo, you’ll be going through orientation with Todd. He’ll introduce you to our advertising team and the sales manager. It’s a great group. I think you’re going to like them. And Lily . . . you’re with me.”
Her eyes lock on me again, and the only thing I can think of doing is a repeat of the fist pump, which, shocker, did not get any better over the span of four seconds.
Abby shakes her head and laughs, then motions for me to follow her down a long hallway to the row of offices in the back. I glance over my shoulder before we dip inside her office and manage to catch Theo before he’s swallowed up by a group of people all dressed exactly like him. It’s hard to say from this far away, but I think he winks. I’ve come to my senses enough to not try and wink back,thank God!I’ve shared enough of my nonverbal communication skills today.
“Have a seat,” Abby says, motioning to the set of chairs in front of her desk. Her office is modest, room enough for a small table in the corner that’s covered with tear sheets and a wall decked with framed covers of some of their biggest name interviews. I get caught up looking at the names as she sits down across from me.
Labron. Pedro Martinez. Phelps.
“He let me race him at the training center for that interview,” she says, snapping me out of my daze.
My gaze jets to her and I know my mouth is agape. But Phelps . . . in a pool? Wow.
“He lapped me. Twice,” she says, leaning back in her chair and holding up two fingers.
I chuckle.
“He’d probably get me three times,” I respond.
“Oh, I bet it would be closer than that. You’re quite the swimmer, I hear.” She pulls her hands in, folding them at her lap as she swivels in her chair and smiles at me with admiration. It’s a nice compliment. I don’t really want to talk about my swimming, though.
“Doubtful, but thanks,” I say, brushing the topic off.
Her stare lingers on me for a few seconds, and my anxiety claws at my stomach and chest again. I slide my feet under me and pull my bag in tighter to my chest.
“I had the team pull the last six months of issues together for you. I’m hoping to start you off with an easy but important project. If you want to look at one of the issues . . .” She shifts the stack of magazines from her side of the desk toward me and I scoot forward, glad to have something to do with my nervous hands—and edgy focus.“Flip to the back. Where you see those briefs?”
I head toward the back to the regional stories, the pages where I always found the most interesting features about athletes my age. I wonder if I’ll get to report on some of these. That would be amazing.
“Like most magazines have already,TheAffiliateis going completely digital.”
“Oh,” I say, glancing up with a frown.
“Yeah, I’m with you. There’s something about turning pages that I’m going to really miss. But paper is expensive. And digital ads are endless. It’s a bottom-line thing, and if it means we get to do more storytelling, then I’m willing to let go of some ink . . . I guess.”
I’m warming to her.
“Makes sense,” I say.