8

ISLA

I clutch my portfolio to my chest as I pace outside the interview room. Was printing the photos that I submitted for the team photographer position overkill?

Yes.

Yes, because I submitted my application and pictures online. But did it make me feel better about what I’m about to do?

Debatable.

I’m a nervous wreck who is pacing a figurative hole in the floor outside of this closed door, all because I can’t sit still. I tuck a stray strand of blonde hair behind my ear and smooth the creases in my blouse without missing a beat. At least I’m the last one out here waiting for my name to be called. Nobody can judge how ridiculous I look right now, and that’s fine with me.

Deep breaths. In and out. You’re a total boss at photography. They’d be lucky to have you.

Just then, the door I’ve walked past a million times at this point creaks open, and a woman with her dark hair in a high ponytail peers out. “Isla Johnson?”

I nearly jump out of my skin at the voice. “Yes, that’s me,” I blurt out.

“We’re ready for you now. Please come in.” The head disappears back into the room as the door opens.

With one last deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and march through the door like I own this place. That’s the way boss babes do it, right? Or so I hope.

Inside, there are two people sitting there. They introduce themselves to me as Bailey, the Red Wolves team’s PR manager, and Alice, her assistant. They are both sitting behind what I assume is Bailey’s desk.

“Please, have a seat,” Bailey says, gesturing to the only chair in front of their long table.

I do as instructed, clutching my portfolio that is now resting in my lap to give my hands something to do.

Bailey clears her throat and begins the interview. “So, Isla, tell us a bit about your experience with sports photography.”

“Well, I’ve been photographing sports events since high school. I was the lead photographer for our yearbook and covered everything from football to volleyball.”

I flip open my portfolio, pointing to a series of action shots. “At NYU, I photographed the basketball team’s championship run last year.” I’m very proud of those shots.

I continue with my well-rehearsed elevator speech about my work covering various NYU sports teams for the school paper and yearbook. Of course, I emphasize the long hours I’ve put in and the shots I’ve gotten. I even included some of the shots I took in Rome of a football match I attended with some of my classmates before I had to come home.

Alice speaks up this time. “How do you handle high-pressure situations?”

“Pressure is my middle name. I thrive on it, which leads to some of my best work.” It sounds cheesy, but I think it gets the job done.

They both nod along, making notes on the papers before them. The questions continue, and the longer they go on, the more I feel at ease. They ask about my experience with different types of cameras, my editing process, and how I’d handle the demanding schedule. I answer as best I can and hope I’m saying the right things so they will consider me for the position. When Dad emailed me about the job several days ago, I didn’t think I’d become this obsessed with getting it. I saw this as a way to keep me busy, so I don’t have to think about all the other things I need to deal with.

But I want this.

I need this.

Bailey taps her pen on her desk, drawing my attention to her. “This job requires the utmost professionalism. You’d be privy to many behind-the-scenes moments with the team, among other things. Having discretion is a huge quality involved with this job. Do you think you can handle that?”

Asher briefly enters my mind before I meet her gaze head-on. “Absolutely. When I’m behind the camera, I’m there to do a job. Document and create, nothing more. You can count on me to be professional above all else.”

She makes another note on the pad in front of her, and I hate that her expression is unreadable. When she’s done, she looks up and says, “Thank you, Isla. I think we have all we need. We’ll be in touch.”

I thank them for their time, shake their hands, and exit the room as quickly as I entered. The adrenaline is still pumping through my veins as I leave the room. I debate my next move as I begin to make my way toward the exit before I pivot and walk toward where I know Dad’s office is.

I hate that I can’t tell if the interview went well or not. Did I say the right things? Did I come across as confident and capable? Or did I just sound like a rambling hot mess?

I was both, but they didn’t need to know about the latter if I could help it.

I make it to Dad’s office and knock. When he says, “Come in,” I push open the door.

“Hi, Dad. Sorry to disturb you, but I thought I would stop by since I was here.”

Dad looks up from the papers on his desk, his reading glasses perched on his nose. His face breaks into a smile when his eyes meet mine. “There’s my girl. How’d the interview go?”

I drop into the chair across from him with a heavy sigh. “Honestly? I have no idea. They were so hard to read.”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “I’m sure you did great. They’d be lucky to have you. Heck, you’d already have the job if I had any say.”

“And that’s why I’m glad you don’t have a say. I want to get this on my own merit.”

“I know you do, and you will. You’re very talented, and they’d be fools not to hire you.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re going to fire them if they don’t, right?”

Dad laughs and shakes his head. “I can’t fire everyone in the room with you, sweetheart.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling at Dad’s attempt at a joke. “You’re hilarious. But seriously, no meddling, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise. Scout’s honor.” He holds up his hand in a mock salute.

“You were never a Boy Scout,” I point out with a smirk.

“Semantics.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Point is, I have full faith in you. And if they don’t pick you, it’s their loss.”

“Thanks, Dad. Seriously, I needed to hear that.” I stand up and put my bag on my shoulder. “I should get going because I have a paper to finish.”

“Alright, and don’t be a stranger. And let me know as soon as you hear anything about the job.”

“Will do. Love you.” I blow him a kiss as I head out the door.

“Love you too, Iz.”

I grin because he uses a childhood nickname that I haven’t heard in a while. It brings up this warm, fuzzy feeling that I haven’t experienced in a while.

The smile stays on my face as I make my way toward the exit of the arena. I pull out my phone to see if I have any text messages or emails before I head back to my room. Maybe Selene is free so I can avoid my roommate for a while longer. I’m not paying as much attention as I should be, and that becomes apparent when I collide with a solid wall of muscle. I stumble back, an apology on my lips, when I look up into a familiar pair of striking green eyes.

“Whoa, sorry about that,” a deep voice says, steadying me by placing his firm hands on my shoulders.

Asher Bennett.

I’m convinced I forget to breathe as Asher’s hands linger on my shoulders for a beat too long. This is the first time he’s had his hands on me in over three years. I swear I can feel the warmth from his touch through my blouse. This simple thing is making me feel things I shouldn’t.

I look down and shrug my shoulders, forcing him to drop his hands. “Um…sorry about that.”

I’ve rehearsed repeatedly what I would say the moment I saw Asher again. If I ever saw him again. And now that the moment is here, those are the only words I can think of.

Asher takes a step back and shoves his hands into the pockets of his red hoodie with the words Crestwood Hockey written across the front. “It was you.”

“Wait, what?”

“I mean, uh, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Well, I could say the same thing about you,” I mutter, adjusting the strap of my bag because of nerves.

“I was just heading to see your dad. Coach wanted to talk to me about something.”

“Right. Cool. I don’t care, and I won’t keep you.” I step around him because I’m ready to escape this awkward encounter.

But Asher sidesteps and blocks my path on purpose. “Isla, wait. Can we talk for a second?”

I glance down at my phone, pretending to check the time. “I need to get going...”

“Please. It’ll only take a minute.”

I think about his request as I stare back into his green eyes. His eyes were one of the most entrancing things about him, and even now I find myself getting pulled into them. However, this moment reminds me too much of when he broke my heart.

“No, because I don’t owe you a thing.”

I step around Asher, and he doesn’t try to block me this time. Without looking back, I make a beeline for the exit. I can’t do this. I thought I might have been over all this, but seeing him again made me realize the wounds are still fresh, even after all this time.

“Isla, please,” Asher calls after me. “I just want to talk.”

I whirl around because the only emotion I have now is anger. “Talk? You want to talk now? Where was this desire to talk three years ago?”

Asher flinches at my words, his face falling. “I know I messed up and I should have explained myself better. I should have?—”

“Save it,” I snap, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You made your choice, and I’ve moved on. That includes not hearing the shit that you’re about to spew.”

The lie falls off my tongue with ease. I haven’t moved on, if my reaction to him is any indication. But Asher doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t deserve to know the truth of how I feel or how much he hurt me.

Asher looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes search mine. For what, I’m not sure. Forgiveness? He’s about to get an answer he won’t like because he won’t find that here. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “That is what I should say first. I’m sorry for everything and I never meant to hurt you.”

A harsh laugh drips from my lips. “Well, you did a bang-up job of that, didn’t you? Congratulations.”

Why am I wasting my time talking to him? I have other things I could be doing. What’s funny about this situation is that I’d rather be back in my dorm room with Tessa than have to deal with this.

I shake my head, clearing the fog in my head so I can address the man in front of me with a rational mind. “Your apology means nothing to me. You are a fucking coward and chose the easy way out. Nothing you can say or do will change what you did. So fuck you and get over it because I have.”

With that, I turn on my heel, not giving Asher another chance to respond. I can’t bear to hear another word from him. My heart is slamming around in my chest as I push through the doors labeled ‘Exit.’

Of all the people to run into today, it had to be him. The universe must have it out for me. First the interview, and now this confrontation with my ex-boyfriend is the cherry on top.

I hop into my car and slam the door closed, shutting out the rest of the world. I take several deep breaths with my hands on the steering wheel because I’m barely holding on. Once I collect myself somewhat, I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Selene.

Me: Hey, you free? I need to vent.

Her response comes almost immediately.

Selene: For you, always. Want to grab lunch?

Me: Perfect.

Thank goodness.

I start my car and pull out of my parking spot. I need something to go right today because there’s no way I’m falling for whatever Asher is selling again.