David tsked, his gaze dropping to the iPad in my father’s hands. Then he quipped, “I guess it doesn’t really matter, Andrew.” His eyes returned to mine. “The video has six million views across all platforms. I think we all understand that.”
The video.
Six million views.
Across all platforms.
My knees wobbled. I wobbled. And I wasn’t one to.
Often, I’d been told I was too clinical, my humor too dry, and my smiles too rare. My assistant, Kelly, the only one in the Flames’ offices who has made the effort to befriend me, openly calls me an unbothered queen. But I know most people here refer to me as an ice queen, or snow queen, or whatever variation of the term that references being cold and female. I’d never let it bother me.
Because I never wavered. Or wobbled. Or let things affect me.
Not until yesterday, when I—
David let out a chuckle. “You’re officially viral, Ads.”
When I’d gunned for the team’s mascot in six-inch heels, as David had put it.
My lunch crawled up my esophagus, partly because of that Ads I’d always hated so much and partly because I… God. I couldn’t believe this. I was viral. Viral.
“Six million views,” my father said with a shake of his head when I didn’t—couldn’t—speak. “Six million people have seen you bulldoze into the mascot, scratch at his face, and pluck his goddamn head off. Six million. That’s the population of Miami metropolitan.” The tips of his ears went red. “You even have your own hashtag: #sparklesgate. And people are using it next to the club’s.”
“I didn’t know it was all recorded,” I all but murmured, hating how my voice sounded. “I couldn’t know there was a video circulating, but—”
“There’s no but in this situation, Adalyn. You assaulted a colleague.” The word assault hung in the air, and my jaw clamped shut. “Paul is an employee and Sparkles is an entity of this team. He is a phoenix that embodies the fire, immortality, and transformation of the Miami Flames. Your team. And you attacked him while the press was in the house for the club’s anniversary. Journalists. Cameras. The team and their families. There were children watching, for Christ’s sake.”
I swallowed, making sure my shoulders remained squared. Strong. Image was everything in these situations. And I couldn’t break. Not here. Not again. “I understand, I do. Sparkles is an important symbol and he is well loved by the fans. But the word assault seems an exaggeration. I didn’t physically harm Paul, I…”
“You what?” my father pressed.
Apparently, I beheaded a six-foot-two bird made of foam, polyester, and acrylic feathers that goes by the name of Sparkles and represents immortality. According to the video evidence.
But saying that wouldn’t help, so my mouth hung open for what felt like the longest five seconds in history, and… I didn’t say a single thing.
My father’s head tilted to the side. “Please, I’d love for you to explain.”
My heart pounded. But there was nothing I could say, not without prompting a conversation I wasn’t ready or equipped for. Not right now, and possibly not ever.
“It was…” I trailed off, once more hating the quality of my voice. “A forceful encounter. An accident.”
David, who had been uncharacteristically quiet the last few minutes, snorted, and my face, so often called indifferent and cool, flamed.
My father placed the iPad on his desk with a sigh. “We’re lucky David persuaded Paul not to press charges or sue us.”
Charges. A lawsuit.
I felt sick to my stomach.
“I offered him a raise, which he obviously accepted,” David added. “After all, this was such an out-of-character outburst for our very… composed Adalyn.”
The way he said the word composed, as if it was something bad, a flaw, hit me square in the chest.
“We asked for the tape of the event,” my father continued. “After you all but fled the… scene. But someone must have recorded the incident with their phone. David suspects it was one of the interns that came in with the camera crew.”
David tsked. “Impossible to know for sure, though.”
I couldn’t believe this was happening. God, I couldn’t believe what I had done.
A foreign and odd sensation pushed at the back of my eyes. It was like a prick of warmth that made my sight… misty. Was this—No. Were these— No. It couldn’t be. I couldn’t be about to cry.
“It’s just a video,” I said, but all I could think about was that I couldn’t recall the last time I’d cried. “It will blow over.” The sting in my eyes increased. “If there’s something I know about the internet it is that everything is fleeting and short-lived.” Why couldn’t I remember the last time I’d cried? “No one will care about it tomorrow.”
David’s phone pinged, and he slipped it out of his pocket. “Oh,” he said, looking at the screen. “I somehow doubt that. Seems like we’re getting more than a few press inquiries. For you.”
That was definitely concerning, but something else clicked. “Why…” I frowned, looked down at my phone. Nothing was there. “That email should come to me. Why am I not cc’d?” David shrugged and my father exhaled loudly from his post. Again. I glanced back at him, and his expression made something in me shift into action. “We can turn this around.” My voice sounded desperate. “I can turn this around. I swear. I will find a way to benefit from the wave of extra attention. Even the hashtag. We all know the team is not making headlines as it is, and we have been stuck at the bottom of the Eastern Conference for so long that…”
My father’s face hardened, his eyes turning an icy shade of blue.
Silence, heavy and thick, crystallized in the room.
And I knew then, in the way his eyelashes swept up and down, that whatever battle I’d been fighting was over. I’d said out loud the one thing that made his switch flip. The Miami Flames were in the mud. We hadn’t gotten to the playoffs in more than a decade. We were far from filling up stadiums. This was the one investment Andrew Underwood had made that hadn’t turned a profit. The one that had cost him more than just money. His pride.
“I just meant that—” I started.
But my battle was now lost. “ ‘Mascot Slaughter in Miami Flames’ Home,’ ” he read from the iPad. “How’s that for some extra attention?”
I swallowed. “I think the use of the word slaughter is a stretch.”
