It has clean lines and a smart design, sleek and cool without being cold.
“I’ll pop back in ten, get you up to speed, and help you settle in,” Riley says, giving me a quick hug. “Oh my God, I’m so happyyou’re going to be working here. We’re going to have so much fun, girl.”
I smirk as she heads for the door. “Okay, thanks. Oh, can I grab a coffee from anywhere?”
“I’ll get you one and bring it in with me,” she calls as she’s already halfway out.
The door clicks shut behind her.
I turn in a slow circle and take in my new lair.Vegas Aces, welcome to the era of Cassy McCullum.
I sink down into the sleek, ridiculously ergonomic chair behind my desk and rest my palms against the cool surface, exhaling slowly.
It feels like I’m sitting in the calm before a category five media hurricane, and I am one hundred percent wearing lip gloss to the storm.
On the corner of the desk sits a neat stack of media passes, each one clipped and labeled, like someone actually believes I’ll stay this organized past Wednesday. Nestled beside it, a small white envelope has my name written in black Sharpie. PR handwriting. Precise. Assertive. So, I pick it up and flip it open.
Welcome, Cassy!
We’re so excited to have you on board. The energy and expertise you bring are already making waves (in the best way).
Bullshit. They don’t even know me.
I carry on reading.
Don't hesitate to reach out to anyone on the team—we're here to support you.
P.S. Coffee runs are competitive. First one to the kitchen gets dibs on the hazelnut creamer.
—The PR Wolves (we're not calling ourselves that, but we might)
I smirk, fold it, and toss it gently onto the corner of the desk.
I slide open the drawer and place the stack of media passes inside like they’re top-secret credentials, because, let’s be honest, they kind of are, then shut the drawer with a soft click.
I’m just about to hit the power button on the monitor when—knock knock.
“Come in.”
The door swings open, and in walks Riley, holding a Vegas Aces coffee mug like it’s sacred cargo.
She sets it down in front of me. “Okay. First things first—I’ll show you how to log in. Then in about…” she glances at the wall clock behind me. “Thirty-five minutes, we’ve got a meeting with the coaching staff. Then, after that, another meeting with the rest of the Media and Communications Department.”
“Okay,” I say flatly. “Do I get a medal for surviving my first one?”
“You get coffee,” she says. “And a department laptop. So, you know. Same thing.”
She walks around the desk and leans over slightly, clearly enjoying her ‘tech guru’ moment, and types in a few things like she’s hacking into the Pentagon.
“What’s the meeting about?” I sip the coffee. It’s perfect. Of course, it is, Riley wouldn’t dare bring me anything less than espresso excellence.
“Let’s just say it's a deep dive into media strategies for the season,” she says. “Plus, a good chance to meet everyone. Press staff, social team, analytics people, there’s even a guy whose entire job is tracking emoji engagement.”
“God, I love this place.”
“Right. How to log in.” She turns the monitor toward me. “Username is your email without the domain, password is temporary, change it or suffer the wrath of IT.”
I tap it all in, nodding.
