longer.
Mike: Sounds good. Let’s do it.
Tori: Okay, if that’s what you really want. I have tons of SpongeBob memes saved. I’ll still need something to replace family with since you don’t want to use that. When you get back from your game, I’ll need a list of your favorite bands, any charity or cause you want to bring awareness to since you don’t have any food allergies, and pics of you at the beach.
Shit. I’m from Ohio, and I eat, breathe, and dream football. Mostly. I’ve never been to the beach.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Miss Russo?”
The actual freaking CEO of the Albany Wolves is in my cubicle, staring at me as he waits for my response. His laser focus incinerates any hope I had for a relatively quiet escape now that the season’s over. He didn’t send his assistant. He didn’t even send his assistant’s secretary for this task.
With David acting as the moderator between our two worlds of lowly intern and powerful administrator, I have no choice but to accept the team’s offer.
“I understand, Mr. Gallo. Thank you so much for this opportunity and for your generosity. I won’t let you down.”
He winks. The dude actually winks at me before his gaze slides down my body. “I know you won’t, sweetheart. Keep up the good work and make our boy shine.”
I don’t like the implication in his undertone nor in his slimy eyes, but I’m not about to question his proposal of paying for my master’s degree if I’ll only sign on for another year of indentured servitude.
As if he senses I’m all out of gushing—albeit fake—excitement, David chimes in, “We’re going to make Mike Mitchell the MVP of this team. Not just on the field, but off of it. Your star player is in good hands, Mr. Gallo.”
The CEO barely hides his sneer in David’s direction. “He’s off to a good start. The goal for the upcoming season is to elevate him to the next level. We want him to be competitive in the wide market with the other products of his draft like Fossoway and Falls. Underwear ads are out; personal touches are in. Make it happen.”
David and I watch as Mr. Gallo intercepts Mike in the bowels of the marketing department. If David has miracle hearing to decipher their conversation beyond the obligatory handshake and overly-bright smiles, he doesn’t let on.
“You did too good of a job,” he mutters.
“I only wanted to help!”
“You’ve helped yourself to another season of this nonsense.” David continues to stare at the impromptu meeting between Mike and our CEO. “You’re in the big leagues now, kid. Whether you agree with our marketing tactics is irrelevant. Your cute, simple social media campaigns aren’t going to be enough to achieve the goal Mr. Gallo has given you.”
“I know.” The sad thing is I didn’t do anything special. Mike wouldn’t let me market him organically, so his social media campaign didn’t get as much attention from the wider fan base as hoped, even if it was enough to put him back onto the good sort of radar. The rest of the PR department hates me for taking matters into my own hands because they were ready and waiting to run a smear campaign on Alex Fossoway that ended up not being necessary after all.
As for my so-called client? Judging by the lightness in his step and the smile on his face, he’s more pleased with this new development than expected. “It looks like we’re partners for another season.”
David raises an eyebrow at Mike. “What instrument does Squidward Tentacles play?”
Mike’s face scrunches in confusion. “Who?”
I wince when David turns his displeasure in my direction.
“This will not stand, darling. It is officially the off-season, so we have a little time. We need to plan carefully for how to rectify this mess you’ve gotten us all into. Mr. Mitchell, we’ll schedule a meeting for next week to go over your full media plans.”
Mike glances back and forth between me and David. “Why? Tori’s done a great job. Mr. Gallo just told me so. Besides, I won’t be here next week. I have to attend a wedding in my hometown, then I’m gonna spend some time with my family. I won’t be back in Albany until the end of the month.”
David rolls his eyes to the ceiling like he’s praying for deliverance from all the non-believers around him. “Will Mr. Fossoway also be in Ironville during your stay?”
Mike shrugs. “Yeah. He’s in the wedding party, too.”
“You