Page 25 of Playing the Field
Gerald looks me over from head to toe. It’s not at all lascivious, more like he’s trying to figure out if my pants match my shirt. I look down to be sure. “Something’s missing, and I’ve been trying to put my finger on it.”
He wags a finger and backpedals out of my office. Leaning to where he’s left something outside the door, he picks up a tote bag and brings it inside, plopping it on the chair opposite my desk. He nods toward it. “Have a look.”
I come around my large oiled-wood desk and open the tote. Inside, I find a stack of yellow, red, black, and white clothing, all bearing some form of the Devils logo or branding. Gerald plucksa white baseball cap from the pile and pops it on my head. Backing up, he surveys his work. “That’s more like it. You’re a Devil now, might as well dress the part.”
There are at least three hoodies, a stack of tees, socks, pajamas, and a scarf in the pile. It doesn’t even include half the items of clothing I’ve seen people wearing around the office.
“Thanks. I’ll try to show more team spirit.” I adjust the ball cap so I can see a little better and salute him.
“You’re fine. I’m not suggesting anything is wrong with your clothes. Just wanted to give you a team welcome, is all. You’re a Devil now, and we take care of our own.” He winks, every bit the genial boss I’ve never had in the half dozen years I’ve spent crunching numbers for some of the best in the business.
I’m surprised by the sudden welling of emotion I feel and swallow hard to tamp it down, lest he think I’m the type who goes to pieces over a kind gesture.
I’m absolutely the type who goes to pieces over a kind gesture. Or animal. Or a Hallmark movie.
“Well, thank you for the warm welcome. I’ll wear my Devils gear proudly.”
Gerald smiles like he’s satisfied. “We feel lucky to have you, Gracie. Keep up the good work.”
When he leaves, I move slowly back to my desk, pausing at the window to take in the field below, not at all worried this time about getting caught staring at the team. I’m part of the Devils now. Their well-being is part of my job. That includes the players on the field and the ones we’ll one day recruit.
For the first time since I arrived in Los Angeles, I feel like it might be home.
CHAPTER 13
Gracie
“I thoughtit never rains in LA.” I stand in the lobby, staring out at sheets of rain pummeling the courtyard between me and the dry safety of my car. The clouds overhead aren’t particularly dark, but the winds are blowing fiercely, sending the water sideways.
Even with my new Devils-branded umbrella in my hand, I’m no match for the rain.
“Yeah, global warming and all. Who knows?” Darby Green, one of the team’s physical therapists, shakes his head but keeps his head down like a bull prepared to charge the red flag. “What’s a little water? I’m going for it.”
I watch him hold a magazine over his head and jog through the center of the courtyard, where he splashes through a puddle. “Goddammit.” His words pierce the rain and the glass walls of the building, but he continues onward until I can barely see him in the distance.
“It can’t last,” I mutter, resigned to work another hour or so until this flash flood wears itself out, and I can leave without getting soaked.
Of all the days to skip lunch, I have to pick the one that has no foreseeable end. If I don’t want to drive home sopping wet, I need to wait.
Back up to my office I go.
As I’m walking down the hallway, I’m surprised to find Hunter coming the other way. This floor is all corporate offices, and I’ve never seen him up here. I’m pretty sure Gerald Moder is content with his performance, so I don’t think he was called here for a beatdown.
“Hey, you lost?” I ask, noticing that the assistant cubicles are empty. Rain or no rain, people like to leave on time. Maybe they have more to go home to than an empty house full of surf gear and a new muffin recipe. I’m not complaining. I like work, and sometimes I do my best thinking when the office is empty.
A few executives are still at work with their doors closed, their muffled voices audible on the phone.
Hunter stops in his tracks, whips his head from side to side and feigns confusion at his surroundings. “Wait, is this not the gym? I wondered what happened to the weight racks, but these barbells are kind of awesome.” He lifts up a leafy plant from one of the assistant desks and starts pumping it.
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure the trainers will be impressed by how many reps you can do of a pothos.”
“A what, now?”
I point at the plant. “That’s a pothos. And you’re right about them being awesome. They’re almost impossible to kill, which is why I have three of them in my house.”
He leans against the wall, and I notice that he’s not wearing workout gear. In fact, his hair is damp and slicked back, and he's wearing jeans with one of the team hoodies. “You have a house? Then why do you live with Kyler?”
“Because my house is in San Francisco. Kind of a long commute.”
