Jennie
Hours later, I sat at the desk in my office staring at my monitor in horror. After a morning of paperwork and players coming in and out to discuss their contracts in regards to publicity, Rosé had sent me an email with nothing more than a link and, like a fool, I'd clicked on it. Now, I found myself face to face with an article entitled:
'All Play And No Work? Lisa Manoban Caught Sneaking Out of Her Player Relations Manager's Apartment Early This Morning.'
There was a photo. Lisa was crossing the street to her car, looking up in just the right direction for the camera to capture her face perfectly as she did. My apartment building was visible in the background.
"Jennie," someone gasped as they burst suddenly into my office. I fought to tear my eyes away from the screen and the words that were written there.
'Miss Jennie Kim is going above and beyond her duty, an educated woman foolish enough to fall for the Los Angeles Chargers' star quarterback's charms-' and most of all, just at the bottom, written by Kim Taehyung, NBC Sports.
I shook my head and looked up to Rosé who braced herself against the doorway panting, undoubtedly, from having run all the way to my office. She was wide eyed and terrified. I likely looked the same way myself. "How did this happen?"
I looked back to the picture. Wasn't it obvious?
"Are you okay?" she asked, softer, before I could answer. I took a breath. Was I?
"Miss Kim," someone said from the doorway behind my best friend. I looked up to see an equally stunned Jimin standing there. "I- well, Mr. Yang wants to see you."
I nodded and stood shakily at my desk. I reached for my coloured binder out of habit but knew I wouldn't be needing it. Instead, I straightened my blazer and strode past them without a word. If I was going down for this, I could at least hold my head high.
Mr. Yang's office wasn't far but I took my time in reaching it, knowing that this was likely the last time I'd pass through these halls as an employee of the Los Angeles Chargers. No one saw me as I went. The halls were completely empty though I heard the far away muffled sounds of the locker room just after practice had ended. Someone's booming laughter made its way all the way to the executive hallway, a constant reminder of why any of us were here in the first place.
When I reached my boss' office, I took a deep breath before pushing through and striding up to his secretary, a smile on my face as though nothing were amiss. She knew better though. I could tell from the way her eyes widened at my approach. She'd seen the article. I wondered if there were anyone in the entire building who hadn't. My phone buzzed but I sent the caller to voicemail and told the secretary as calmly as I could that Mr. Yang had requested to see me. Without a word, she turned around and pushed open the door to his office. I nodded a thanks and headed inside.
Mr. Yang was sitting behind his desk, a frown plain on his face. He did not greet me, did not invite me to sit. Instead, what he said to me was, "I told you that women never last long in the National Football League." As much as the abject sexism of his statement boiled my blood, I could not, in this case, disagree. I had set out to prove him wrong and had instead proved him right. That I didn't belong here, that I was a liability, a distraction for their top performer. He had every right to be angry with me but he was wrong about one thing.
"Maybe I don't belong here," I told him. "Maybe I've proven you right. But don't hold that against the other women who work for this organization or the ones who apply to. I have plenty on my team who are hardworking, determined women. Please do not let my failures affect who you hire in the future."
He looked up at that, surprised by my own admittance, and leaned back in his chair. He studied me for a moment, as if my professionalism in this moment was a marvel to him. "You know why you're here," he said. It wasn't a question but I nodded in answer anyway. "I can't continue to employ you given the scandal you've caused."
While scandal was a harsh word for the situation we found ourselves in, I didn't argue. I just nodded and stuck out a hand. "I am grateful for the opportunity and it has been a pleasure to work with you," I told him as professionally as I could. With a curious uptick of his brow, he reached out and shook my hand.
"I can't let you leave by yourself, you know," he replied, referencing the rules that the National Football League had concerning terminated employees. "But I won't embarrass you by calling security. I'll walk you to your office to collect your things and then out of the building myself."
"Thank you, sir," I said and I meant it. It was a kindness, however small.
So Mr. Yang stuck by my side as we made our wayback down the hall toward my office. My team was hard at work, most of them outtalking to players or press and the few who remained hardly noticed as we passed. Jimin was the only one watching. Or perhaps, staring was the more accurate description. But I could not say a proper goodbye with Mr. Yang watching me so closely. So I gave him a nod and a smile as I carried my cardboard box out of the office and toward the elevators. Mr. Yang pressed the button for me as we arrived and we waited for the elevator doors to open.
