Chapter 469 - Blocked

Chapter 469: Chapter 469 - Blocked

For a brief moment, his expression tightened.

Roxie ignored it.

"You mentioned that communication has been a major focus during the offseason. With some of the younger receivers still adjusting to the system, what specific improvements are you expecting to see once training camp begins?"

Zac looked at her for another moment before answering.

"We’ve been working on timing, route adjustments, and getting everybody comfortable with the offense. There’s still work to do, but we’re making progress."

Roxie nodded, although the answer was almost identical to what he’d said earlier.

"And how would you say the younger receivers are handling those adjustments?"

"They’re doing fine."

She waited, expecting him to elaborate.

Apparently, that was his entire answer.

Of course.

Roxie glanced toward the players seated nearby. "Well, there’s nothing wrong with asking your receivers directly, is there?"

A few reporters chuckled.

Zac looked at her, then leaned back slightly.

"Go ahead."

Oh, that arrogant bastard.

Roxie turned toward the young receiver seated a few chairs away.

"Would you mind answering that? I’d be interested to hear what those adjustments actually look like from your perspective."

The player straightened immediately.

"Yeah, absolutely."

A staff member brought a microphone closer, and the young man introduced himself as Jordan Ellis, one of the team’s newer receivers.

Jordan looked to be in his early twenties, with short curls and an athletic build. He seemed considerably more enthusiastic about answering questions than his quarterback.

"Honestly, it’s been a lot of work," Jordan explained. "We’re learning how to recognize defensive coverage faster, especially when things change right before the snap. You have to understand where the quarterback expects you to be, and if you’re even a little late, the whole play can fall apart."

Roxie nodded.

"So the challenge is making those decisions quickly enough that everybody stays on the same page?"

"Exactly! That’s actually something we’ve been working on almost every day. Zac’s pretty demanding about it."

A few reporters laughed.

Roxie smiled. "Demanding how?"

Jordan glanced toward Zac.

"Let’s just say he notices everything. You run the wrong route once, he’s going to remember it for the rest of practice."

That sounded about right.

Roxie resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Does that make it easier or harder to adjust?"

"Both, probably. He pushes everybody, but it makes you better. You know exactly what’s expected of you."

"That’s helpful. Thank you."

Jordan grinned. "No problem."

Roxie looked down at her notebook, preparing another question. At least she’d gotten something useful out of him.

Then Jordan leaned slightly toward Zac.

"Damn, she’s beautiful."

His voice was low.

Unfortunately, his microphone was still on.

The words carried through the speakers, and for a moment, the room went completely quiet before somebody started laughing.

Jordan froze.

"Oh, shit. Was that on?"

"Every word, man!" a reporter called from the front.

Jordan covered his face with one hand as the laughter spread through the room. Even the media relations staff were laughing.

Roxie couldn’t help joining them. The poor guy looked genuinely horrified, and she almost felt sorry for him.

"Thank you," she said, still laughing. "That’s probably the nicest thing anybody’s said to me at work this week."

That earned another round of laughter.

Jordan looked at her apologetically. "Seriously, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for everybody to hear that."

"It’s fine. I’ve heard worse things on live television."

"At least he was being honest!" a photographer called out.

Jordan laughed nervously, and Roxie shook her head, smiling. Honestly, it was probably the most entertaining thing that had happened to her since joining the sports department.

Then Zac spoke.

"Ellis."

His expression was considerably less amused than everyone else’s.

Jordan immediately straightened, and Roxie almost rolled her eyes. Apparently, the man couldn’t tolerate anyone straying from the script for longer than thirty seconds.

The media relations representative eventually restored order, and the questions returned to football. Roxie asked one more question about the offense before allowing the other reporters to take their turns. Zac answered professionally, although he seemed determined to keep his responses brief whenever she spoke.

Wonderful.

If he thought his attitude would make her uncomfortable, he could think again. She’d interviewed politicians who’d tried considerably harder to avoid answering her questions, and she’d still gotten what she needed.

By the time the media session ended, Roxie had enough material for her report. She reviewed a few clips with her camera operator, discussed which answers would work best, and made notes for the introduction she planned to record before leaving.

The afternoon had gone surprisingly well. She’d asked relevant questions, received useful responses, and even survived an unexpectedly public compliment from a professional football player.

Perhaps sports journalism wasn’t going to be so terrible after all.

She watched as the players began leaving the room, some stopping to answer additional questions while others headed straight toward the hallway. Zac was already walking with two members of the Giants’ media staff, looking at something on his phone.

Roxie glanced at her notebook.

She should let him leave.

She had her report to finish, and the last thing she wanted was another unpleasant conversation with Zac Prescott. She’d managed to get through the entire media session without embarrassing herself, which was already an accomplishment.

But then she remembered the journalists who’d spent months trying to secure an interview with him. The photographers who’d waited for hours, the attention he’d received the moment he entered the room, and Mason’s irritating suggestion over dinner.

Fuck.

She looked toward the hallway again. Zac had stopped to speak with someone, and she could probably catch him if she hurried.

Her feet remained where they were.

God, this was ridiculous. She’d confronted politicians accused of corruption and businessmen involved in fraud, yet here she was hesitating to approach a football player.

Except that football player was Zac Prescott.

The same man who’d accused her of easily finding someone else after their breakup and then walked out of her hotel room like she’d meant absolutely nothing to him.

What would he think if she suddenly approached him for help?

He’d probably look at her with that irritating expression and ask what she wanted. Worse, if he agreed, she’d have to thank him.

Roxie tightened her grip on the notebook.

She hated that possibility. After ten years of building her own career, winning awards, and establishing herself as a respected journalist, she was seriously considering asking her ex-boyfriend to help save a show she’d been forced to accept.

But her first episode had barely reached four thousand views, and she had five more opportunities to convince Crestline that her program deserved to exist.

Zac could attract more viewers with one interview than she’d managed with weeks of preparation.

And he was walking away.

Roxie adjusted her handbag, checked her phone for absolutely no reason, then finally started toward the hallway.

"Fuck it."

Unfortunately, by the time she reached the entrance, security personnel had already cleared a path for the players. One of them politely directed the remaining reporters away from the restricted area, leaving her watching as Zac disappeared around the corner.

Well, that settled it.

She stood there for a moment, feeling an embarrassing amount of relief. She’d made an effort, and circumstances had prevented her from speaking to him. She could return to Crestline and tell herself she’d tried.

Except she’d barely tried at all.

Roxie sighed and glanced around until she spotted one of the men who’d accompanied Zac into the media room.

Fine. She could submit an official request like any other journalist. That would be considerably less humiliating than approaching him personally.

She waited until the man finished speaking with a member of the event staff before introducing herself.

"Excuse me. Are you with Mr. Prescott’s management team?"

"Yes. Can I help you?"

"Roxie Jones, Crestline News." She showed him her press credential and managed a professional smile. "I’m producing a celebrity interview series for our digital platform, and I’d like to arrange an exclusive interview with Zac Prescott."

The man smiled politely.

"Certainly. You can send the request to our media office."

"I was hoping to discuss his availability."

"We receive quite a few interview requests, Ms. Jones. There’s a waiting list, and we’re already reviewing opportunities for the coming months."

Of course there was.

"How long is the waiting list?"

"That depends on the type of interview and Mr. Prescott’s schedule."

"Well, this would be a longer conversation about his football career and his life outside the NFL. Around forty minutes to an hour."

He nodded.

"That sounds interesting. Send us the proposal, and we’ll take a look."

Roxie resisted the urge to sigh. She knew that answer. She’d heard it from publicists and celebrity representatives countless times. It was the professional equivalent of telling someone to get lost without actually saying it.

"All right. Thank you."

She handed him her business card, which he slipped into his folder.

At least she’d made a proper attempt. Her producer could follow up through official channels, and if Zac’s management rejected the request, she’d find somebody else.

That was probably for the best.

She’d barely taken a few steps when the man’s phone rang.

"Excuse me," he said, looking at the screen.

Roxie nodded and continued toward her camera operator. She could hear him speaking behind her, but she’d already begun thinking about the footage she needed to review.

"Ms. Jones?"

She turned.

"Yes?"

"Could you come back for a moment?"

Roxie frowned and approached him again. The man glanced at her business card before looking up.

"Roxie Jones, correct?"

"Yes."

"Do you know Zac personally?"

Her stomach tightened.

What?

"Why?"

"He said you know each other."

Roxie glanced toward the hallway.

Zac?

Had that bastard been watching her?

"Well, yes," she admitted reluctantly. "We know each other."

The man nodded. "That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Mr. Prescott said you should contact him directly about the interview. He’d prefer that you discuss it with him rather than submit a request through our office."

For a moment, Roxie could only stare at him.

Zac had called his representative.

About her.

A small smile threatened to appear on her face.

Well, well, well.

Dozens of journalists had been trying to secure an interview with him for months, and she was being told to contact him personally.

Apparently, she still mattered enough for Zac Prescott to take notice.

The realization pleased her considerably more than she wanted to admit. Maybe he’d decided to help her after all. Maybe he understood what an interview could mean for her career.

Then she remembered their last conversation in Italy.

You’ve never had much trouble finding another guy.

Her smile disappeared.

Oh, fuck him.

If he wanted to discuss the interview, why couldn’t he have spoken to her himself? He’d been standing in the same room for the past fifteen minutes. He could have approached her, asked what she wanted, or at least given his representative a proper answer.

Instead, he’d called somebody else and instructed them to tell her to contact him.

As though she needed an appointment to speak with the same man who’d once spent entire afternoons bothering her because she was studying instead of paying attention to him.

The nerve of that bastard.

"Did he say whether he was interested?" Roxie asked, forcing her voice to remain casual.

"He didn’t confirm anything. You’ll have to discuss that with him."

Of course.

Now she would have to approach him personally and explain why she wanted the interview. She could already imagine his expression when he realized how badly her show was struggling.

And the worst part was that she couldn’t even afford to refuse.

She’d spent years proving she could succeed without relying on anyone else. Now she needed something from Zac, and he’d somehow managed to arrange things so that she’d have to ask him herself.

God, he was going to enjoy this.

Or perhaps he’d make her explain everything before refusing anyway. After their argument in Italy, she wouldn’t put it past him.

"Ms. Jones?"

Roxie blinked.

The representative was watching her.

"Oh. Sorry."

He smiled.

"I assume you have his contact information?"

She opened her mouth.

Then closed it.

Fuck.

For a moment, she considered asking for his current number. But she’d just admitted they knew each other personally. How embarrassing would it be to explain that she’d blocked his number ten years ago and hadn’t bothered unblocking it, even after everything that happened in Italy?

"Yes," she answered automatically. "Of course."

"Great. Then you can arrange everything with him. If he agrees, our office can handle the scheduling and other details."

"Right. Thank you."

Roxie managed a polite smile before turning away.

As she walked toward her camera operator, she couldn’t help feeling a little pleased with herself again. She’d somehow gotten past the waiting list, and while Zac hadn’t agreed to anything, he was at least willing to discuss the possibility.

She could already imagine telling her producer. An exclusive interview with Zac Prescott could finally give their struggling show the attention it needed.

Then she reached into her handbag for her phone.

Wait.

Contact him directly?

Roxie stopped walking.

How the fuck was she supposed to do that?

The last number she had for Zac Prescott was the one she’d blocked ten years ago. She’d deleted their messages, removed his photographs, and made a rather dramatic effort to erase every reminder of him after their breakup.

She hadn’t thought about that number in years.

What if he still used it? What if he’d changed it? And what if she unblocked him, sent a message, and he simply ignored her?

She stared at her phone, remembering all the times she’d waited for him to call when they were younger. She’d promised herself she would never put herself through that again.

How fucking embarrassing.

Wait. She could ask Mason for his number.

Roxie immediately dismissed the idea. If she called him now asking for Zac’s number, she’d never hear the end of it. And knowing Mason, he’d probably tell Karen before she even finished explaining herself.

Roxie slipped the phone back into her handbag.

She wanted that interview. She wanted to prove Graham Voss wrong, give her producer something worth promoting, and show Crestline that she could make their ridiculous YouTube program successful.

But she hated the thought of Zac knowing how badly she needed him.

And she hated herself a little for how happy she’d felt when his representative said Zac wanted her to contact him.

She glanced toward the hallway one last time.

The bastard could have given her his current number. He could have sent her a message himself or simply told his representative whether he was interested.

Instead, he’d left her with an invitation she couldn’t even figure out how to accept.

Roxie sighed and headed back toward her camera operator.

Goddammit, Zac Prescott.

Even after ten years, he was still finding ways to make her life difficult.