Breaking the Playbook [COMPLETED]

Chapter 20

LOLO'S POV

The office feels colder than usual, the walls closing in as I sit at my desk, staring blankly at the computer screen. The news alert that just popped up feels like a punch to the gut. I'd been bracing myself for this, but it's no less jarring now that it's real. My hands shake as I reach for the coffee mug, trying to steady myself. The bold headline on the screen reads: "NFL Team Executive Under Fire for Conflict of Interest."

It's not just any conflict of interest. It's about me. The media has linked my involvement with Brooks to questionable decisions regarding the team, suggesting that my relationship with him could be influencing my professional judgment. It's a fucking nightmare.

The room is filled with the soft hum of my computer and the occasional shuffle of papers, but it feels deafeningly quiet. I take a deep breath, trying to control the rising panic. The implications of this are massive—potentially jeopardizing my position and putting Brooks in a precarious spot with his team.

My phone buzzes, and I glance at it, half-expecting it to be another headline or a barrage of texts from people wanting updates. Instead, it's a message from Brooks. I open it, hoping for something comforting, but all it says is, "Can we talk?"

I typed a quick reply, agreeing to meet up later. The thought of seeing him is both comforting and nerve-wracking. I need to explain what's happening and figure out how we're going to handle this together. The stress of the situation has me on edge, and I'm struggling to keep it together.

Every decision I make today feels monumental. I need to address this with the board and prepare for a potentially grueling meeting. The thought of them questioning my integrity, of them assuming that my personal life is affecting my work, makes my stomach churn. I've always taken pride in my professionalism, and now it feels like it's being called into question.

I try to focus on the tasks at hand, but my mind keeps drifting back to Brooks. I remember the last time we were together and the way he looked at me with so much love and support. But now, everything feels tainted. I'm worried that this mess could ruin everything we've built together.

The hours drag on, and each tick of the clock feels like a reminder of the mounting pressure. My colleagues avoid eye contact; the tension in the office is palpable. I know they're talking and speculating about the scandal and the potential fallout. I try to ignore it and focus on my work, but it's impossible to shut out the whispers and the pointed glances.

The meeting with the board is set for the late afternoon. I've prepared my notes and my arguments, but I feel like I'm walking into a lion's den. I just hope I can defend my position and prove that my relationship with Brooks hasn't compromised my professionalism.

As the clock approaches the time for the meeting, I can feel my nerves escalating. I head to the boardroom, taking a deep breath before I walk in. The room is filled with the usual faces, but today they seem more stern and judgmental. I sit down, my heart pounding, as I prepare to face the scrutiny.

The meeting begins, and I launch into my prepared statements, trying to stay composed. I address the concerns about the conflict of interest head-on, providing evidence of my commitment to maintaining professional standards. The questions come fast and hard, each probing deeper into my personal and professional life.

I answer them as best I can, but the strain of the situation is taking its toll. My responses feel clipped, and my voice lacks the usual confidence. I can see the doubt in the board members' eyes, and it makes me second-guess every word I say. The pressure is immense, and I'm trying to hold it together.

By the end of the meeting, I'm emotionally drained. The board hasn't made any immediate decisions, but they've left me with a sense of uncertainty. The tension in the room was suffocating, and I feel like I've been through a battle.

I leave the boardroom, feeling like a weight has been lifted but also like I'm carrying an even heavier burden. The implications of today's events are far from over, and I need to find a way to cope with the fallout.

BROOKS' POV

The day has been a whirlwind, with the team's struggles becoming a front-page topic. Our performance is under scrutiny, and the media has turned its attention to the team's dynamics. It feels like I'm constantly on the edge, trying to navigate through a storm of headlines and speculation.

I'm in the locker room, trying to stay focused on practice, but my mind keeps drifting to Lolo. The messages and the news articles have been relentless, and I'm worried about how it's affecting her. I know she's under immense pressure, and I can't help but feel responsible for some of it.

The text from Lolo earlier today was brief but clear—she needs to talk. I'm anxious to see her, to offer whatever support I can. But there's a nagging feeling that the situation is affecting us both more than we'd like to admit. The media attention, the pressure from the team—it's taking its toll on our relationship.

I finish up at the facility, feeling the exhaustion of both the physical and emotional strain. My thoughts are consumed by the upcoming conversation with Lolo. I want to be there for her, to offer a sense of stability, but I'm not sure how to navigate the complexities of the situation.

I arrive at the café where we've agreed to meet, finding a quiet corner away from prying eyes. The place is cozy, a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world. I sit down, my heart pounding, as I wait for Lolo. I want to make this meeting count to ensure she knows she's not alone in this.

When she walks in, looking exhausted and worn, my heart aches. I can see the strain on her face, the weight of the day's events reflected in her eyes. She sits down across from me, and the silence between us is heavy with unspoken words.

"Hey," I say softly, trying to offer a comforting smile. "How are you holding up?"

She looks at me, her eyes filled with a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "It's been a rough day. The meeting didn't go as well as I'd hoped. The board's questioning my integrity, and it's... it's just a lot."

I reach out, taking her hand in mine. "I'm sorry you're going through this. I know it's been tough."

She nods, squeezing my hand. "I just don't know how to fix this. I feel like I'm fighting an uphill battle. And on top of that, the media's still relentless. It's like everything I do is under a microscope."

I can feel her pain, her frustration. It's like a mirror reflecting my own worries. "We'll get through this," I say, trying to offer reassurance. "We have to."

She looks at me, her eyes searching for something—hope, perhaps, or just a sense of solidarity. "I want to believe that," she says quietly. "But right now, everything feels so overwhelming."

The conversation continues, a mix of frustration and determination. We talk about the challenges we're facing, the impact on our relationship, and our fears for the future. It's raw and honest, and it feels like a step towards understanding what we need to do next.

As we talk, the intimacy of the moment becomes palpable. The emotional weight between us is heavy, but there's also a deep connection that grounds us. I can see the strain in her eyes, and it's clear that the challenges we're facing are affecting both of us more than we'd like to admit.

The conversation turns to what we can do moving forward. We discuss strategies, potential solutions, and how to cope with the media and the team's scrutiny. It's a difficult conversation, but it feels necessary. We need to find a way to navigate this together.

As the evening progresses, the café becomes quieter, and the atmosphere becomes more intimate. The stress of the day feels momentarily lifted as we focus on each other. The connection between us is undeniable, and it's clear that, despite the challenges, we still have a strong bond. When it's time to leave, I walk her to her car, feeling the weight of the day lift slightly.