Page 77 of On Merit Alone

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Merit

I padded down the hall of the tunnel toward the men’s locker room without any regard for getting caught.

We’d just won one of those hold-your-breath type games.

The ones where anything could happen. Where the basketball played wasn’t exactly pretty, but it was still a dog fight and the victory just barely scraped by.

I’d usually be upset with a win like this. Winning ugly was still winning, but it didn’t always feel good. But after a season like this, full of ups and downs and insecurities and the questioning of my career itself, it felt like validation coming out on top tonight.

Because we’d made it to the playoffs.

I don’t know when the playoffs became the measure of my comeback success, but I realized now that somewhere in my head, it’s what I’d been fighting tooth and nail for.

It was obvious that over the course of the season, even after doing exactly what he wanted, Rob didn’t like me much.

And after the way I acted with Chelsea, I couldn’t dispute it without some kind of tangible evidence that I was worth forgiving. The playoffs were that evidence.

The competitor in me obviously wanted to go all the way. I wanted to win in the championship, just like I had wanted every other year. But the ups and downs of this season, not to mention the rest of my life this year, had given me perspective.

It didn’t always happen right away. There were steps to growth. This year’s step was simply making it there.

Hopefully it was enough for Rob to forgive me and want to keep me.

Speaking of the devil, as I dragged my tired limbs in the opposite direction of my own locker room in nothing but my socks and sweaty uniform, I heard the clicky dress shoes making their way toward me way too late. By the time I realized who it was, he was standing right under me.

“Ms. Jones,” Rob said slowly in greeting.

“Sir,” I said tersely, immediately holding my hand out to shake his.

Shit . I was not prepared for this. I was headed to the men’s locker room for God’s sake.

I mean, it could be for any reason as far as he knew, but just the knowledge of what we’d done in there a few times before was enough to have my cheeks burning with embarrassment as I stood there looking down at the man who owned my career.

“Close one out there tonight, but good you managed to scrape through,” he said, but it wasn’t in a way that sounded exactly congratulatory. It almost sounded like he was irritated. “Maybe next time it’ll be more decisive.”

“Definitely next time. We’re looking good overall, just had an off night,” I said. “But getting better every game. We’ll definitely be in good shape before the playoffs start.”

He let out a short grunt, eyeing me. “Still stiff as ever, Jones. Do you ever think maybe the problem is you?”

I bristled. “Maybe before, when I was coming back. But I’m confident I’m no longer holding the team back. I’ve recovered. You don’t have to worry about me. ”

“And the team’s image? Has that recovered from your ‘little slip’?” he asked aggressively.

“Cherry doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge over it,” I said through my teeth. Which was true.

Cherry and I had spoken after that first bullshit interview where they made women’s sports out to be some kind of charity case that people should “support” and “care for” instead of just enjoying it like men’s sports.

We’d even bonded about how absurd people made us out to be.

We apologized for taking shots at each other’s careers and found out that we even had a thing or two in common.

She ran division one track in Virginia, close to where I grew up. Long story short, we were good.

Rob was the only one holding onto the mistake from months ago.

Why, though?

He huffed, his arms crossing over his stout body like a child would. “Not to your face. You should have just apologized as I suggested.”

I eyed him curiously. He was being rude, not even bothering to hide it behind a mask. Probably because there was no one else in the hallway with us. That very same factor is probably why I decided to ask, “What is your problem with me?”

Because there definitely was a problem.

It didn't hurt my feelings that he seemed to not like me, but out of my five years here, Rob had been here three, the first GM retiring not long after I was signed. And though he didn’t seem to love me, he didn’t hate me either. Until now.

His eyes skated up and down my form, his lip curling.

But just as I thought he would tell me the truth, he pulled back his disdainful expression.

“No problem, Ms. Jones. I’m just wary of this team's faith in you as their star, as I’ve said.

I see a lack of leadership and presence with you, and now after that knee went to the shitter, I’m seeing a lack of results. ”

I swallowed. Here we go again.

“If it’s about the team, we’re working out our kinks,” I said.

He didn’t react, so I went on blindly trying to read his mind.

“And if it’s about the image issue, Ryan said there doesn’t seem to be much of a problem.

And with the charity events coming up, he guarantees that’s going to boost the team's image with the community regardless of basketball standings.”

His face fell, gaining color. “Yes, but we pay you to win basketball games now, don’t we?”

“But you were the one concerned about what my actions were doing to the team's image. If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t be doing half of these things and Ry wouldn’t have come up with the charity events,” I said, confused at him talking in circles. “Is that not the case anymore?

“It is the case,” he said, getting flustered. “But if we would have just done it my way, it would have been much better and maybe your attention could be more focused on your job rather than flipping your skirt for the men’s team.”

Okay. He was making less and less sense the more we talked.

I mean, I couldn’t win with this guy. It was like he was out to get me no matter what I said, and there was a difference between sucking it up and taking criticism and simply taking a beating.

He was not entitled to verbally abuse me just because he was my boss.

And boss or not, I didn't have to take it sitting down.

“I play basketball, sir. I wear shorts.” My face burned.

I was done with this, respectfully. “Plus, all these interviews, ‘image boosters’ , they’re distractions.

They're taking away from the facts. You do pay me to win basketball games, and likable or not, I’m winning more of those than the Dynamite did all season last year.

I’m performing, Rob. So I don’t understand the problem. ”

“Ice Queen.”

They were the exact last combination of words I never expected him to say. But there he went, saying them anyway .

I swallowed. “ Excuse me?”

“Have you heard that name before? Ice Queen?” he went on. “They’re talking about you, the biggest Ice Queen in the whole organization. And as someone who’s trying to steer this team to the top, not only on the court but also with our… marketability, you pose a huge problem for me, Ms. Jones.”

Realization felt thick and gross and so fucking infuriating as it slid over me. I guffawed, humorless laughter dripping from my mouth. “You hate me because I don't smile enough? Because I'm not palatable?”

“I like the word marketable,” he corrected. “Marketability makes money.”

“You know what else makes money? Winning ,” I scoffed, incredulous. “Or are you just interested in a team of smiling dolls?”

That was a joke, but the smug way he smiled was disgusting. “That would be preferable.”

My lip curled. “You are supposed to be better than this. You have an entire team of women who trust you.”

He shrugged. “They should learn from your example. Keep things tight and they won't have anything to worry about.”

I took a step forward. I think I was growling at this point. “Rob?—”

“Is there a problem here?” a voice said from down the hall.

I looked up at the familiar sound. I was both relieved and nervous that he was here and might have actually heard all of that. When I looked up at his face, though, I felt nothing but safety.

Ira had just come from the alcove of the men’s locker room entrance and was making his way toward me and my boss with long strides.

His hard expression said he’d indeed heard Rob, and the stark set of his shoulders said he didn’t like it one bit.

He was beside me in a second, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black pants as he looked down at our opponent.

Rob seemed to blanch for a second before he collected himself and stammered, “King. I didn’t know you came to the Mites games.”

Between us, he extended his hand to shake. Ira just looked at it for a pointed amount of time before sliding his unimpressed gaze up to Rob’s face. “I’m here every week. They’re a good team.”

I tried to elbow him discreetly, but he just turned his gaze on me. It was hard. Serious. Angry . And when he looked back at my boss, it was with that same mask of unimpressed impassiveness.

Tucking my chin a little, I said quickly, “Rob, you know Ira.”

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet,” he said in a much nicer tone than he had with me.

He extended his hand again, apparently not giving up, and after a sidelong glance at me, Ira shook it while supplying a heavily sarcastic, “ Pleasure .”

There was a beat of silence. Awkward silence. It wasn't like Rob and I could continue our previous conversation and Ira wasn’t offering anything to make the situation less strained. He just stood there staring down my boss, his gaze unrelenting.

Rob tried, “Great run in the playoffs this year, King. You really know how to lead a team to victory.”

Was it just me, or was that as backhanded as it sounded?

“Thanks,” is all Ira offered.