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Kurt gratefully moved on from that part of the conversation, and I was happy when the conversation got back to the internship. He told me I had a good chance at it, a great one actually.
“We’re still in the middle of the selection process, Ms. Greenfield, but I don’t think it’s too early to let you know you’ll be getting a second interview.” He reached over, shaking my hand. “You’ve already made so many great contributions to the medium, and I can definitely see a bright future ahead of you. You’re one hundred percent Jack Greenfield’s daughter, and that shows all over your work.”
He had no idea the compliment he gave me, truly. I strengthened my shake. “Thank you, Kurt. Just… thank you.” He didn’t know what this meant, meant to me. A lot of times these internships led to actual jobs, and to be offered something like this my freshman year was crazy.
Is this life right now? Really?
It was like I had an angel looking out for me, my dad certainly present. Outside of my work over the summer, I’d done other human-interest projects and had very little roadblocks along the way. People allowed me to capture their stories, and in general, doors just seemed to open for me when I needed them. Doors like this internship and getting into Pembroke with a less than desirable GPA.
Thanks, Dad.
He was definitely in here, and even though Kurt and I had wrapped up, he still entertained all the probing questions I had about the Times and his own work. He let his assistant outside the room know we were done, but he still stayed to chat with me. I really appreciated it as I was excited to hear about the Times and my dad’s old stomping grounds. This was certainly the dream for me, and it was seeming closer and closer to being fulfilled. Kurt was actually telling me about some work he’d done in Australia recently when the door opened and his assistant came inside the room.
“He said he’s all wrapped up if you want to head in,” she said, followed by someone who had to dip their head to enter the room. The conference room had a wide door, a long door, but even still, the guy with curly dark hair had to lower his head to make his way inside.
He took up most of the width too, shoulder to shoulder nearly touching wood, and I just about dropped my portfolio.
But that had nothing to do with his size.
Those eyes, dark and dusky like a buck’s fur, I’d captured behind the lens of my camera once. They’d been rage-filled and extremely violent, and his fist was covered in blood in the end.
He’d been beating a man near to death.
That had been what the byline said. Though, I had nothing to do with that. I couldn’t do anything about what the papers said once they got one of my photos. I was just there to tell a story visually, and that was what the reporters had said about him. This guy. This…
“Ares,” Kurt exclaimed, calling him by a different name. He waltzed over to the guy, shaking his hand and his basically disappeared in this guy’s. Lengthy digits completely covered Kurt’s, but it wasn’t the guy’s hands that captured my attention.
Well, much.
He had a strong jaw, a tight jaw that was well defined. His thick curls waved just below it, and he had a gold hoop looped around his left nostril. He had two actually, close together and pressed tight to his flesh. I rocked a silver one myself but mine looked more like a piece of metal in my nose where his was an accessory. It caused him to look even edgier in the all-black ensemble he wore. A black hoodie hugged his broad shoulders, his dark jeans low on his hips. He rocked solid-black high-tops below them, expensive-looking like the rest of him, and that said something considering he was wearingjeans and a hoodie.
And he was looking at me, his eyes on me while he shook Kurt’s hand, and my entire body sweated, pits and under-boobs first. The double-Ds were definitely catching perspiration, and I had good reason. I’d captured photos of this guy who’d taken a fan toward the brink of death, and though that should have been the worst part, it wasn’t. The worst was what had come after, and something I’d definitely noticed since I had provided the photos for all those news stories about this guy my sophomore year. He’d been one of the best players in the state at the time.
And I had cost him his junior season.