Little did I realize that the hardest choice of my adult life would be asked of me in less than twenty-four hours.
CHAPTER NINE
SABRINA
I’m running on the spot in the middle of my living room, looking like the biggest idiot.
I don’t care.
In ten minutes, I would be in a virtual meeting with SNN and one of my idols, Bruna Rose. I had so much energy and I needed to get some of it out so I didn’t make a complete fool of myself as soon as I saw her. Oh, and Ricky. He is a big name too, just not as big as Bruna.
“It’s happening!” I sing to my empty apartment. “It’s happening!” I stop running and take a step forward like I was taught decades ago in tae kwon do. “Who’s gonna impress the shit out of them?” I take another step forward, and as I do, I punch the open air. “I am! Who’s gonna make BFFs with her female sports idol?” Another step. “I am!” Another air punch. “Who’s gonna knock their socks off and land this job and then get offered all the other jobs at SNN?” I start to erratically punch the air, one after the other, until I’m short on breath and stop to lift my arms in victory. “I am!”
My cheeks are starting to hurt. I’ve been smiling so much over the last day. Catching my breath, I smooth my favorite dark burgundy sweater and shake my hair off my face. Popping out into the hallway, I give myself a quick once-over to make sure I’m still looking fine…and professional too, obviously.
“It’s go time,” I say to my reflection. “You got this.” With a final nod, I march into my office and plop down on the swivel chair. And wait. I have two minutes until the meeting is set to begin.
At one minute, I click the link and wait in the virtual waiting room. The camera is working, and I click the sound icon on and off a few times to make sure I’m on the right one—you can never be too careful.
When the digital clock finally reads the meeting time, I count to five, take a deep breath, and click Join.
“Sabrina! Hello. Nice to see you.”
Everyone is already here. I freeze like a deer in headlights as I take in the people before me.
“H-hi,” I stammer, then try again, not wanting these members of SNN to think I can’t project, let alone speak. “Hello! Great to see you as well, Ricky.”
“Appreciate you making the time, Sabrina. We move fast here at SNN, so your flexibility was extremely helpful. Do you know who we all are, or do you want introductions?”
Be cool. Be cool. Be cool.I repeat the mantra in my head as Bruna freaking Rose addresses me.
“Oh, I know who you are, Ms. Rose. I’m a huge fan. The work you did on the—”
“Every time,” Ricky laughs, cutting me off. “Every damn time, Rose, you meet another fan in these meetings. You owe me twenty dollars”
I’m wide-eyed and confused. Has Ricky gotten his ego hurt because I gravitated to Bruna? I can’t read the situation yet. He’s still chuckling and shaking his head.
“Ignore him,” Bruna admonishes. “He’s jealous because most journalists we interview for opportunities here at SNN praise me first and not him.”
“Well, then he needs to unearth a scandal within a national team and report on how we need to fix the system and protect the victims.” The words slip out before my brain clicks in. Oh no. What the hell did I just say?
A hoot of laughter bursts out from my computer, and I blink, not sure I’m seeing or hearing this right.
Bruna’s head is thrown back in laughter, and West is nodding with smaller chuckles.
“Damn, Sabrina, why’d you have to do me like that?” Ricky asks, a huge smile on his face. Thank God I didn’t offend him.
“That just shows me you’re the perfect fit for this documentary,” Bruna starts. “I was a little worried since most of your work with theToronto Spherewas direct and straightforward reporting, but you just showed me you can do both. The serious and the humour. That’s what we need for this next project.”
“Okay, I understand that. Documentaries always have a fine balance.”
“Yes, and with this one, we’re hoping that your relationship with the player will help draw out more information and paint a vivid picture of his day-to-day but also unearth how he became the player he is today.”
“My relationship with the player?” I question, racking my brain to where this direction of conversation is coming from. “I can assure you I’ve never had a romantic relationship with any professional sports athlete.”
“No. No, that’s not what I meant. Sorry.” Ricky holds his hands up in correction. “I mean it works great that you and Max already have a foundation of trust to start from. He was really hard to pin down for this project.”
Black spots fade in and out of my vision. No. That can’t be right. I’m sure I must have heard wrong.