The next morning I feel sore, but I don't mind. It's the kind of slight ache that makes me smile, remembering how good it felt with that guy in the bathroom. So now I know what passion feels like. Passion for a person, anyway. I've always felt a similar thrill from my sport. Ok, not quite similar. Sure, winning feels good. Whatever the hell that was last night? That felt like lightning struck and jolted me awake. I don't ever want to go back to sex the way it used to be.
But I do miss the water. It's been days since I last rowed! I feel off kilter without the water. I need to visit my scull at the boathouse, make sure she made the trip safely. I drag my sore body out of bed, get dressed, and walk the few short blocks to the boathouse for my first row in my new city.
My boat looks just beautiful, and I'm relieved to see she made the trip just fine. I carry her down to the dock, checking her out, re-assembling my oar locks, when the women's team heads down the ramp carrying their 8-seater propped on their shoulders. Once their boat's in the water, I introduce myself.
One thing I love about rowing is that the community is so friendly. There's not a bit of awkwardness as they welcome me to Pittsburgh. I even meet their coach, Derrick, and find out the details about practices for the women's team. Before they shove off, they invite me to go out for breakfast with them after practice, and so I spend an hour anticipating the easy conversation among like-minded new friends.
My oars dip into the brown water of the channel between the island and the north bank of the river, and I head up against the current. Once I set an easy pace, my mind drifts back to last night. What the hell was that, I wonder again. If that's how sex is supposed to feel, I decide I'm really angry with myself for settling with Zack for so long. Four fucking years, I grunt, digging in with my thighs and rowing faster as I think about him.
How could I not know? How could I be so focused on my career, so in tune with my surroundings on the water, but not know the man who said he loved me was playing me for a fool? I reach the dam on the river much faster than I anticipated. I pull toward the side and catch my breath. I see the women's team boat working on their race start technique. Every oar is in perfect unison. All their legs move together. Hell, I know even their breath is connected. They are a unit, a team. They help each other. That's what I need to focus on. Work and rowing. Everything else just winds up a disappointment.
The team meets at a diner nearby after their practice. Derrick claps me on the back and asks about rowing in Boston. He winks and asks me what the men looked like on my team there, and I relax all the more. I'm definitely not in the mood to think about dating anyone, especially after what happened last night, so knowing the male coach doesn't play for that team takes some of the pressure off.
When the table asks me if I've met anyone here, I can't control my blush, but it does feel good to say I had a good time at a club last night. I leave the diner with all their cell numbers, plans to go for a run over my lunch break later this week, and 9 new friends pestering me for more info about my tryst.
"It was just a bar hookup, guys," I say, downing the rest of my cranberry juice.
Tina, the coxswain, laughs. "Well, you'll have to come out with us next weekend and help me find a bar hookup who makes me blush like that."
Monday morning I meet Ben for coffee before heading into my new office. The area around our building is all cobblestone streets and plate glass buildings. There's a cute little sitting area in the middle of the square, where I'm surprised to see Ben sitting at a two-top with a flat white for me. He grins. "My sister told me your drink." I sink into the chair feeling very welcome in this new city and, for the thousandth time, grateful that I have the rowing community to support me in so many ways. "Lisa told me I'm supposed to say they're useless without you, and you'd better return her call or she's going to come hit you over the head with an oar."
That's Lisa. I make a mental note to call her after work today, tell her about my new job once I get a sense of the place.
“Thank you so much for everything, truly,” I tell him. “I’m so glad to finally meet you in real life and not just on FaceTime with your sister! Your whole family really saved my ass.”
Ben waves his hand at my thanks. "So," he says, "You ready for what's up there?"
I shake my head. "No! I have no fucking clue what to expect, actually. Tell me everything." Ben describes Stag Law, how in just four years it grew into a multimillion dollar firm under Tim Stag's calculated direction.
"The man is serious as hell, but it's actually a great place to work." The company represents the players unions for the professional football, baseball, and hockey teams in Pittsburgh, and so the majority of the work relates to contract negotiations, but there's a fair bit of injury work, termination disputes, and, as Ben explains, a lot of the athletes struggle to keep it in their pants. "We do a lot of paternity-custody cases…and then some defense work if they're caught with hookers and blow."
I'm not quite sure how I fit into this high-stakes, masculine world, but Ben explains that Tim really wants to build diversity on his staff. "That starts with you, I guess."
"Wait. I'm the only female attorney? I don't want to be here just to be the diversity."
He shrugs. "Like I said, the business is only four years old. Most of us have only been on staff for two years. I do know Tim was way interested in your resume and talked about you at the staff meeting after your interview. I think you're the only athlete as well. I mean, the rest of us work out. When we have time. But you are involved in team sports. Tim mentioned that your perspective would be really invaluable."
I nod and finish my drink. We walk upstairs and I'm introduced to the executive assistant, Donna. Ben tells me she is the one who really steers the ship. He whispers, "Donna knows everything about everything that happens here. Tim is totally fucked without her." Noted: suck up to Donna, I think as I shake her hand and give her my best smile.
"Juniper, you let me know if you need help with anything while you're getting settled," she says, squeezing my arm. I like her. I can tell her offer is genuine.
We walk into the corner office, a huge space with 2 walls of windows and a massive desk. Seated behind it is Tim Stag, looking impeccable and handsome in a tailored suit. He smiles to greet us, but I notice his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. There's something familiar about him, but I can't place it. I decide I must just be recognizing him from my video chat interview. "Juniper Jones," he says, pumping my hand. "We meet at last. I hope Ben was filling you in about Stag Law?"
"I only told her the bad stuff," Ben jokes. Ugh. Male posturing.
We all laugh and at a nod from Tim, Ben ducks off to his own office.
Tim goes through his whole spiel again, even asking me about rowing because he seems really interested in this athletic perspective I bring to his team. "I've never had someone negotiate for time off versus increased salary," he says, and I smile.
"I take rowing as seriously as I take my work, Mr. Stag. I'm fast and efficient at both, but I need a lot of Fridays off to travel to competitive regattas."
"As you know, most of our clients are professional athletes," he says, and I nod. "One reason I was eager to hire someone with a team sport background is because I need my employees to understand our clients, but not get starstruck. You're going to be brushing shoulders with a lot of famous men, Ms. Jones. I take it you can keep your wits about you?"
This makes me laugh, since I don't really follow sports much outside of rowing. I practically grew up on the water. My dad was an Olympic rower and coached my team in high school. There was no room at the Jones household for drooling over football stars. "I promise to treat our clients like I would anyone else with a strict training regimen," I say. "I'd rather ask them about their anaerobic workouts than their prowess on the field."
Tim seems really pleased with this information and leans to grab a file. "Come on," he says, "Let me show you to your office and tell you about your first client." He walks me into an office a few doors down from his own. We're on the top two floors of one of the skyscrapers downtown, and from my window I have a great view of the confluence of the rivers. I feel a warm sense of anticipation, looking forward to mornings spent out there, days spent in here.
I run my fingers along the polished wood desk. A brand new laptop and extra monitor are angled away from the glare of the window. I vaguely pay attention as Tim tells me someone from IT will be in to get me set up with email and the company wifi.
I hang my bag on a hook and look at him, expectantly.
"May I sit, Juniper? Should I call you Juniper? We mostly do first names here, including clients, but stick with formal titles when pro executives are in…"
"Please sit," I say, sinking into my own leather desk chair, "And absolutely, call me Juniper." I adjust the levers on the side of the seat to accommodate my height and find that it hugs my body perfectly. I'm going to really love it here.
“I’m assigning you to my brother Ty, who plays for the Pittsburgh Fury as of this weekend,” he says, and I feel my jaw drop.
“Your brother will be my first client? Tim, are you sure that--”
He cuts me off. "I want to review the details of my brother's contract negotiations before he comes in to meet you in a bit. I would ordinarily handle this sort of case myself, but it's a conflict of interest. Him being my brother and all." I nod, and Tim tells me about Ty's transfer from Vancouver. The only thing unusual about the contract is that the Pittsburgh team, the Fury, are in Stanley Cup playoffs and Ty will immediately begin practices. We still need to work out the details of his playoff bonus.
"This seems relatively straightforward," I say to my boss, and I furrow my brow, still trying to place why he seems so familiar to me. “What’s with the emphasis on morality and sportsmanship?” Tim coughs.
His face shifts, as he explains that his brother is a hot head who gets himself in trouble for fighting on the ice, and partying off the ice. Great I think. A cocky, impulsive asshole. Apparently this guy was on timeout in the minor leagues for a while and is getting his shot at redemption because a Fury player tore his ACL right before playoffs.
Tim's phone beeps several times and he stands. "I'll leave you to look it over, and I'll meet you in the conference room in an hour. Ty will be there along with his agent to look over paperwork." I nod as he backs out of the office, taking a call.
When I make my way to the conference room, I feel totally familiar with Tyrion Stag's Pittsburgh Fury contract. Shoulders back, confident, I push open the door ready to impress, and I freeze in my tracks. The blood drains from my face and I have to clutch the doorknob to steady myself. Sitting at the table with my new boss is him. The man from the nightclub. The guy I fucked last weekend is my client and, worse, my boss's brother.