Page 13

Story: Wild Catch

CHAPTER 13

ROSE

N ormally I’m pretty well put together for work. I’ll wear a cute and professional dress, but with some personality. Or I’ll pair a fun cardigan with jeans that look way more expensive than they are. I’ll do my makeup and ensure that my curls are the bounciest they can be.

But not today.

Today I look like I crawled out of a trash can.

In my defense, the clothes are clean and I did shower. The issue is that all I could muster was wearing my comfiest gym leggings and a too-oversized sweatshirt with the team logo. I didn’t take the time to do my hair care routine, so I just gathered the mass of curls into a messy pineapple bun at the top of my head. And there’s no makeup, which is the one thing I should’ve really done after a sleepless night.

The culprit is the video that my boss now proudly projects onto the wall for the entire marketing department to see.

“And now here’s the best part,” he says with morbid glee as the camera of whoever recorded this zooms into Logan Kim’s worried face.

The audio is spotty but the OP picked up his words perfectly, maybe by reading Logan’s lips, and added some helpful captions for the audience. And so everyone in the baseball community knows that Logan Kim, aloof superstar catcher, with a face card that never declines, was worried about me—the poor social manager of the team. And that’s just to correct some of the commenters saying that I’m an intern.

Anyway, now everyone thinks we’re dating and that apparently I’m pregnant with twins.

It would be hilarious if, first, this was happening to someone else. Second, if I hadn’t stayed awake the whole night watching as comments rolled in like an avalanche. Soon the video reached far beyond the baseball community and fell into the deepest corners of Booktok and Bookstagram. As someone who also belongs to that community, I knew exactly what this would turn into.

Chaos.

Let’s just say, after the initial fun wore off and the first handful of death threats rolled in, I had to set all my profiles to private. By that point it was almost sunrise so I just came to work early, hoping that my job would distract me from the internet trolls.

Here we are, though. It’s not like the marketing team was going to pass up the latest viral moment.

“This is gold, people.” Dave folds his arms and stands back to watch the rest of the video, which is somehow a more dramatic rendition of what happened than the real events.

Yes, it was kind of scary to be surrounded by a bunch of drunk strangers who wanted to see if I had naughty pics of my alleged boyfriend—some fans they are, huh?—but also I didn’t think it was a big deal until Logan made it one.

I can admit to myself that this also kept me up last night.

It could’ve gone wrong. I could’ve been punched or worse. They could’ve stolen team property and get me fired. Or it could’ve escalated until I retaliated and—yep, got myself fired.

I couldn’t really be the one to initiate a physical altercation either, even if it was to get them away from me. What I needed at that time was exactly what the providence sent me: someone else to intervene.

But why couldn’t it have been Hope? Or my boss? Or someone in the coaching staff? Or security?

No, it had to be the same freaking guy I had already gone viral with before.

I stifle a sigh. I want to complain, but I know I won’t find any sympathy here.

Tom leans his elbows on the table. “So, what are we doing about it?”

“I say we lean into it,” Dave proposes like the shark he is, even if he’s generally a pretty good guy who still has to take his hernia cushion with him everywhere. “Play it up until it stops bringing traffic.”

“Does this advance the team’s brand, though?” asks another manager—finally, a voice of reason.

Please say no , I beg in my mind.

“I think positioning our players as the guys both men and women can aspire to definitely does,” responds my boss who I don’t like very much right now.

“Rosalina, do you have any ideas?” Tom asks.

Ah, shit. Now every pair of eyes is on me and they’re expecting me to perform. I clear my throat and repeat his question aloud to buy myself some time.

Meanwhile, my mind whirs as fiercely as it can while running on no sleep and four cups of Café Bustelo. Of course I wish I could tell them all to screw themselves—see how they’d like to be the brunt of online harassment. But that would probably be funky coming from someone whose entire livelihood depends on social media, right? And not just that, but on making sure that social media is thriving. Which it is right now.

I need to grow a thicker skin. Especially if I want to be in front of the camera more often than random viral videos with the team catcher.

“I do think that pivoting back to our usual content will turn away the new warm audience,” I start tentatively. Pause for squirming. Longer pause for humming under my throat in fake deep-thought. Then I continue, “But whatever we do, we have to make sure that the higher ups, HR, and Logan himself are on board.”

Tom nods at that. “That’s a very good point. I will take that action and come back with a verdict. In the meantime, I want everybody to think about how we can use this. No idea is too outrageous—let’s just keep it PG, though.” That elicits a round of chuckles.

I hide a snort by pretending it’s a cough and bringing my fist to my mouth. Everyone here knows that there are layers of codes of conduct we have to adhere to from our own, to those of all the platforms we have a presence in. It’s why I was so pissed at Logan’s request of me taking down the Mexico video the other time. It’s not like I recorded him while he was half naked or something.

That wouldn’t just break the internet. It would break the entire grid. Even satellites.

My mind casually replays the moment in Cade’s yard when Logan took off his biker jacket and revealed the flimsiest tank top I’ve ever seen a man wear. I don’t know exactly what made it not be PG rated, if it was the ridges of lean muscle or the tattoos—maybe both. I have no doubt that his fans would kill to have seen that.

Fortunately for me, the meeting moves on to the merch line we have available right now and which items are top or low performers. I try to focus but my brain is starting to shut down, and once the meeting ends I realize that nothing went into my head. And that I have no notes to work on for later.

Dave falls into step beside me. “Any brilliant ideas for your boss about what to do with Logan?”

Somehow I don’t think he’d appreciate it if I respond with my real idea: launching him into the moon.

“Honestly, none yet,” I admit with a sigh. “I spent the whole night reading comments on that video and my brain got fried.”

“Understandable.” And he does get it, he’s probably one of the few people who would. “Take it easy today while the big bosses agree on whether this is a go or not. But if they do, I expect you to bring your A-game.”

“In that case…” I narrow my eyes but decide to go for it. “Can I go take a nap in my car?” I motion at my head. “I’m gonna need this pretty thing to be in working condition if that’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Hmm.” He shrugs. “Well, the team shouldn’t be doing anything too exciting right now, so go ahead. I’ll give you two hours to freshen up.”

I rush forward and grab both of his hands, offering him bloodshot puppy eyes. “Thank you. You’re the bestest boss ever.”

Dave grins. “And don’t you forget it. Now go before anyone else figures out what’s up.”

The only detour I take is to grab my car keys from my cubicle, and hide them inside the waistband of my leggings. But I don’t feel bad about the fact that I’m going to get paid for napping. I’m sure that the higher ups will find a way to turn this into a campaign, and I’m just about to be busier than I’ve ever been.