I settled down on the front step to wait for my car to arrive.
Click. Click. Click. The locks opened, and the front door swung in. “Why are you still here?”
I stood up from my perch on the step. My butt was asleep. “The car didn’t come yet.”
“And you were going to wait all night?”
I checked my phone. “It’s only been an hour.”
Davis Blake sighed loudly. “Come inside.”
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Read More About Camdyn’s Sister Ellie: The Benchwarmer
“Hello…excuse me, I can’t remember your name.”
I stopped and half-turned in the hallway, unsure if the voice was directed at me, and not wanting to seem like I was presuming too much. Usually, people around here weren’t talking to me, unless it was to give me their lunch orders.
“Is it…Emily? Emily Wilde?” This was a woman I recognized from my trips around the stadium looking for things to do, the assistant to the CEO. She smiled a little.
“Oh! No, it’s Ellie.” I thought she did mean me, unless there was an Emily Wilde nearby.
“Wonderful. You’re just the person I was looking for.”
“I was? Me?” No, that was wrong, because I wasn’t anybody around here. I wasn’t anyone who someone looked for, anyway. “I’m Ellie Wilde,” I said, just in case she really was needing another woman named Emily.
The woman gave me an odd look. “Yes, pardon me for mistaking your name,” she said, a little frosty now.
“Oh! No, that’s not—” I tried to explain.
“You’re in Player Personnel, right? Great.” She walked off down the carpeted hallway, and reluctantly, I followed her to an office. She stuck her head through the open door to talk to whoever was inside. “Frank? What about Warren Wilde’s daughter?” She gestured to me. “Emily, come here. She’s not doing anything,” she told the person in the office.
“Ellie,” I whispered. I couldn’t hear a response from beyond the door.
The woman stepped aside. “Have you met Frank? Frank, this is Warren Wilde’s daughter.”
“Of course, Emily,” the man in the office said. “Come in. I’m Frank Pauley.”
“Oh, it’s Ellie…”
Frank Pauley stepped from around the desk. We were about the same height, but to me, he looked so tiny. My dad was my yardstick for every other man, and he was tall and broad. Even now, kind of hunched with his bad back and with his knees making him sink down more, he was still bigger than most guys standing on their tiptoes with their chests puffed out like mating birds. Kind of like Frank Pauley seemed to be doing now. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but we have met before,” Frank said. “When we retired your father’s number, at the party afterwards.” His eyes swept over me and I unconsciously crossed my arms over my body, covering my breasts.
“Yes, of course, I remember you.” I recognized him for sure, but I knew a lot of people around here one way or another. I’d been coming to the stadium since I was born. “Did you really need me, or were you looking for my dad?”
“You’re available to work today?” When I nodded eagerly, he told me, “We have a special project for you, regarding Davis Blake.”
My heart started to pound. “You want me to help Davis? Yes! Of course! What can I do?”
I sounded so fervent, Frank actually took a step away, back behind the safety of his desk. “I’m trying to get in touch with someone and I’m hoping you can help. None of the numbers we have for him seem to be working, and most of the Junior Woodsmen staff is on vacation so they can’t do much for us. You can find him.”
“Me? Who do you want me to find?”
“Teddy, uh…” Frank looked down at the papers on his desk. “Hayes. He’s the quarterback for the Junior Woodsmen. We want to get him here, now, to fit him in as Kayden Matthews’ new backup.”
“Teddy Hayes, the Junior Woodsmen QB,” I repeated. This was going to be an exciting day for that guy. The Junior Woodsmen was our local development league team, so moving to the real Woodsmen squad was a giant step up for him. Most of the players in the devo league had gone undrafted out of college, so they were good, but not quite good enough to make it to the pros. A lot of them were hoping to play well, put up big numbers, and catch the eye of one of the United Football Confederation scouts so they could finally make it into the big time. There were also some guys who were working their way back from injuries, playing in the development league to rehab before returning to their pro teams.
But I didn’t recognize the name, this Teddy Hayes, as a former pro player in injury rehab, or even as someone who had a great college career and had been close to making the cut for the professional football level. “Do you mean that you want me to keep calling him and trying to get in touch?” I asked.
Frank shuffled some papers together and handed me the stack. “I want you to go and physically find him. Bring him here to the stadium so he can start learning the offense right away. Figure out why he doesn’t answer his damn phone. We don’t have many people working today—I’m getting some to come back in, but we want Teddy, uh…”
“Hayes,” I supplied.
“We want Teddy Hayes here, now.” He pointed to the
