Focused
Karla Sorensen
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Other books by Karla Sorensen
About the Author
© 2019- Karla Sorensen
All Rights Reserved
Cover Designer-Najla Qamber Design www.najlaqamberdesigns.com
Cover Photographer- Regina Wamba
Interior Design- Indie Girl Promotions
Proofreading- Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This is dedicated to the ones who’ve ever felt like they needed to prove their worth.
I promise, the right people will always know exactly how valuable you are.
Chapter One
Molly
If I'd known that my new boss was Cruella de Vil, I would've color coordinated my outfit for work that day. She matched the colors of the Washington Wolves perfectly. She was all sleekness and shine with her black dress, white jacket, red shoes, red lips, and a silvery white bob that fell just below her glass-sharp chin.
"Molly Ward, is it?" she asked quietly. Like the kind of quiet where I felt like if I answered wrong, she'd press a button, and I’d fall through a secret trap door.
I nodded. "Welcome to Washington, Miss Kelly. I've been looking forward to meeting you."
One perfectly manicured eyebrow lifted like it was being pulled oh, so slowly by someone tugging a string. Briefly, she glanced down at something on her desk, my employment file, presumably. "You've been here a long time."
I smiled. "My whole life, practically. But as a paid employee, for four years now."
I waited for Beatrice Kelly, the brand-new chief marketing officer of the Washington Wolves, to smile back, but she didn't.
As I stood in front of her desk, my nervous fingers twitching together behind my back, she appraised me openly, her gray eyes (because even her eyes matched) traveling from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, clad in sensible brown leather flats.
Personally, I found sensible footwear incredibly sexy because I enjoyed the ability to walk without pain at the end of the day when my shoes came off.
For some reason, those shoes offended her. I saw it the moment her gaze touched the rounded toe and tiny leather bow in the middle.
I glanced down, like the shoes would explain to me what they'd done wrong and why we were now in trouble with my brand-new boss.
I miss Ava, I thought for the thousandth time, my heart squeezing over the loss of my old boss, Ava Hawkins. Why they had to up and move across the country to be closer to her husband's family was beyond me.
"Have a seat," Beatrice said, still not taking her eyes off my shoes. I slid into one high-back black chair and folded my hands in my lap, wishing desperately to have something to keep them occupied. My whole life, I was the worst fidgeter in the universe when I was nervous. And this moment right here was sliding right into the top ten moments of all time. "Tell me what you love about your job, Molly Ward."
My brain raced at the unexpected question because I felt very much like I was being tested on some unseen scale. Quite irrationally, I wanted to glare at my shoes as if they'd gotten me into this mess.
"I love so much about my job, Miss Kelly," I said honestly. "I could probably talk your ear off for hours telling you all the reasons."
She hummed. "Marketing liaison suits you then?"
"It does." I took a deep breath because I knew this was one of those moments when false modesty would get me nowhere with my kinda scary, really matchy-matchy boss. "I'm good with people. I make them comfortable and anticipate their needs well. So when I finished my internship, Ava knew that I’d do well dealing with our advertisers, and I believe that I have. For the past four years, I've built strong relationships with our advertisers and we haven't lost a single major sponsor since I took over that role. They trust me, and I've earned that trust."
For a split second, I held my breath, worried I'd gone too far, based on the speculative gleam in her eyes. My restless hands itched to reach up into my hair and redo my bun for the thousandth time. It was a bit of a running joke among my coworkers that you could tell I was stressed when my hair moved positions more than two times throughout the day. This morning, knowing I'd be meeting my new boss, I'd anchored every strand of my dark hair so firmly into place that only a crane operator would be able to get it to budge.
"May I be honest, Molly Ward?"
"Of course." And also, why did she keep saying my full name?
Beatrice settled back in her large leather chair and studied me again. "I wasn't looking forward to meeting you."
Ever heard the air being let out of a balloon? That slow, sad hiss of air until the only thing left was a droopy piece of crumpled plastic? Yeah, now imagine it happening to an unsuspecting twenty-five-year-old, eager to get to know her new boss.
"Oh," I exhaled. "Okay?" As soon as the words slipped out, I wanted to take them back.
This wasn't okay. Not okay at all. I'd known these halls and practice fields and offices since I was fourteen years old. Everyone here loved me! I was Molly freaking Ward. I was good at my job. No, I kicked ass at my job. "Actually," I said slowly, gathering my nerve and lifting my chin, "I'm sorry to hear that because I was looking forward to meeting you. I love this organization, I love my job, and I'm very good at it. If it's something I've done in the past that I can improve on, please tell me, so I can fix it."
Boom. I saw the spark of grudging admiration in her eyes, there and gone like a flash of lightning.
"Aren't you curious as to why I wasn't?" she asked, resting her jewelry-free hands lightly on the desk in front of her.
Not particularly.
Okay, fine. That was a lie. If I knew, I could do every damn thing in my power to change it. Change her perception of me. In college, I was a 4.0 student. Any unfocused energy that I'd wasted in high school turned into a bright, shiny red laser trained straight at hitting the dean's list every semester. It took me no time at all to realize that even if I wasn't the smartest person in the room, I could damn well be the hardest worker, and that had my name on the list every single time.
I took a deep breath and nodded. "A little."
Her scarlet red lips curled up in the slightest of smiles, something I'd come to know as the ultimate sign of amusement for Beatrice. "You probably don't struggle with people liking you, do you, Molly? I imagine it comes very easily
to you."
Did it?
I suppose it was naïve of me to think she hadn't already answered that question in her head.
"It doesn’t always come easily," I heard myself saying.
Now the edges of her smile stopped, frozen on a face that showed nary a wrinkle, despite the color of her hair. "I'm sure it's difficult to make friends. You're beautiful. Charming. Privileged. Your brother is a football legend and now a celebrated coach within these very halls. Your sister-in-law, Paige, is a former supermodel who could walk in New York Fashion Week tomorrow if she wanted to. You scored a job fresh out of college that ten-year industry veterans would kill for. Obviously, you're doing something right, Miss Ward."
The emphasis on my last name had me sitting up straight in the chair.
Like she was sitting on my shoulder, I could hear my sister-in-law's voice, the veritable devil with flaming red hair, the one who always battled for my sisters and me when someone came against us.
This bitch can go screw herself. She doesn't know you, and she sure as shit doesn't know our family, Paige whispered. My inner Paige wasn't wrong.
But on the other shoulder was my brother, Logan, the man who'd all but raised my three younger sisters and me after our mom bailed. And I knew what he'd tell me to do. Show respect. Do my job. Prove her wrong in the right way.
Inner Logan wasn't wrong either.
"I know what I must look like to you," I told Beatrice. "How my life must look. But you've only just met me, Miss Kelly. I'm a hard worker; otherwise, I wouldn't have this job, no matter what my last name is."
"We'll see," she mused.
Her attention flicked back to something on her desk, and my molars ground together at her flippant tone. She held up a file and handed it to me over the immaculate expanse of her desk. The black and red Wolves logo was stamped on the front, and I opened it up once I had it firmly in my hand. My eyes skimmed quickly over the cover page, eyebrows popping in surprise.
"Amazon?" I asked. "That's ... huge."
"It is. I got this job because I'm bringing this project with me." She sat back and watched me again. As much as I wanted to flip through the pages to learn more, I gave her my full attention.
"How can I help?"
"You told me you're good at developing relationships. That you anticipate problems and make them go away. That people feel comfortable around you. Am I remembering all those things correctly?"
I nodded slowly.
"I think you've been behind a desk for too long."
I took a deep breath, excitement tingling along the edge of my fingers where I gripped the manila. "Where would you like to move me?"
Beatrice pointed at the folder. "All of that is laid out on page two. I'm offering you a huge chance to back those words up, Miss Ward, but I'm giving you twenty-fours to give me an answer."
My eyes scanned quickly, but when I opened my mouth, she interrupted.
"No, I mean, I don't want to hear a yes or a no for at least one day. If you say yes to this, this is your one chance to prove to me that you're not just here because of your last name. Got it?"
Carefully, I forced my immediate acceptance down. "I understand."
Her eyes held mine unflinchingly. "This is a big deal. Working with a company like Amazon opens doors that don't get opened often, Molly. That job description includes a lot of fine print that you'd do well to read through, which is why I want you to take your time."
Returning my gaze to the papers in my hand, I saw a lot of familiar jargon. But there were new phrases as well.
No fraternization.
Morality clause.
My attention went back to her. "I didn’t think we had a no-fraternization policy in the Wolves handbook."
"We don't," she answered dryly, "but this one does. I insist on it for anyone who’s assigned to something of this caliber and reports to me. I’ve seen people’s careers ruined for a lot less, which is why I take this so seriously." Beatrice held up a hand. "It's for your protection too, if you agree."
"Got it."
She searched my face. "Only say yes if you know, unequivocally, that you can do this job. I don’t believe in the three-strike rule, Molly. In life, we get one chance to impress people, and rarely do we get another."
An hour and a half later, I pulled into Logan and Paige's driveway, mind chugging like a freight train. It hadn't stopped since the moment I flipped over to the second page.
I was the first one to arrive for family dinner, which we gathered for every Tuesday night without fail. We held them on Tuesdays because during the season, it was my brother's day "off," if you could call it that. As the defensive coordinator for the Wolves, he still worked what seemed like a thousand hours a week during the season, but it was the one day a week he could get home before six thirty for all of us to eat together.
Before I walked into the house—the same one I lived in from the age of fourteen until I'd officially moved out after college—I took a second to calm my racing nerves.
My family would have varying reactions to this.
My sisters would think it was cool to differing degrees. The twins, Lia and Claire, would freak simply because it was Amazon. Isabel, my middle sister, would want to shadow me day and night because of her obsession with all things related to sports documentaries.
Paige would be excited for me, once she got over the need to punch my new boss in the throat.
And Logan? I groaned. My big brother would hate it. Unequivocally and irrationally. He'd all but command me to say no. Wait for another boss or another chance.
I blew out a harsh breath before I pushed the front door open.
Screams greeted me, as did the smell of garlic and herbs. The screams didn't faze me in the slightest, and the smell had me breathing deeply.
"I'm home," I called over the chaos. "Hide the carbs because I had a day."
Down the hallway in front of me, the one that led to the wide-open kitchen, dining, and living, came the intensified hollering.
"Molly! We're under attack, go! Go! Go!"
Flattening against the wall, I reached an arm out to snag the small body that hurtled past me across the wooden floor. "Slow your roll, soldier," I said into my nephew's hair as I gave him a quick kiss. "Who's attacking us?"
Emmett peered up at me, his blue eyes huge in his face and his cheeks flushed from running. "The zombies," he whispered dramatically. "They already got Dad. He's dead on the couch."
My heart squeezed at his serious delivery, the kind that only an eight-year-old boy could muster for an imaginary zombie attack. "Ahh, okay. Well, I put on my anti-zombie spray before I came in, so am I safe to proceed?"
His skinny arms squeezed me in a tight hug before he took off again. "Yup!" he called over his shoulder, then tore around the corner and out of sight.
My brother, Logan, popped up off the couch when I came into the family room, dropping a kiss on the top of my head, the same way I'd kissed his son, who was really more like my little brother than my nephew. "How'd it go? What's she like?"
I grimaced. "I need wine before this story."
"That good?"
"Just ... unexpected."
He eyed me, more astute than I wanted him to be. But that wasn't a surprise. Logan had been my constant since day one. When I was born, Logan was nineteen years old. That was the kind of sibling age gap you had when our dad married a woman a couple of decades younger than him later in life.
Fast forward fourteen years—our dad had passed away from a heart attack, and my mom realized that being a young widow of four girls just wasn't the funnest life choice she could make. So she decided not to anymore. The Eat Pray Love option suited her better than parenthood, so Logan became our father figure in the legal sense even though he'd had that role for far longer.
"You'd tell me if I need to step in and talk to someone, right?"
I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the irritating flush of embarrassment. His comment was exactly why Beatrice was wary of
me. "Yes, Coach."
He bumped shoulders with me as we walked into the kitchen.
"How was your day?" I asked him. "I heard chitchat about some roster changes, but I was too busy with Beatrice starting to really pay attention."
My job was typically pretty far removed from dealing with the players anyway, so it didn't affect me too much.
Or it used to be far removed from the players, I thought, reminded again just how very unhappy Logan would be with this.
Paige, his wife of nine years and the coolest person on the planet, was stirring a boiling pot of pasta. She smiled at me as I poured a glass of white. "How'd it go?"
"Shouldn't I just wait until the other three get here so I don't have to repeat this?"
"No," they answered.
I sank into a stool and took a slow sip of my wine. "She's ... different than Ava. Very …" I searched for the right word that wouldn't make them hate her right away. "She's no-nonsense. Reminds me of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada but like, at seventy-five percent. Not all the way intimidating, but close."
Paige hummed. "Yes, yes, I'm following."
"I'm not," Logan said, folding his arms over his chest. "Who's the devil?"
"We've made you watch it at least three times," I told him. "The fashion internship movie."
"Absolutely would've blocked that from my subconscious. It's been wiped away by Captain Underpants and Transformers."
We all laughed about Emmett's current obsessions. Somewhere in the distance, he roared about defeating the undead.
"Do we like her?" Paige asked.
"I think we might," I answered, glancing back and forth between them. "She's actually giving me a promotion. Or the chance at one, if I want it."
Focused Page 1