Josh walked out of the board room of the Bobcats home office as if he’d been run over by an eighteen-wheeler that had backed up and did it again for good measure. Physically, he was fine. It was his soul that had died a little. Simon Poehler, their media manager, followed him out. “You’ve improved a ton. You’re really looking good in there. I’m impressed.” “Yeah.” Josh rubbed at the back of his neck. It wasn’t failing the job itself that was weighing so heavily on him. It was the rush he’d felt during. That sense of accomplishment, of being noticed, of liking the attention. As if the attention was the end goal for him, and not the win on the field, the final hike of the ball. That wasn’t good. He knew himself, knew his own personality. Knew that attention went straight to his head. That he could very easily become a super-dick if he wasn’t careful. Man, this was a lot easier when nobody gave a shit what he said or how he said it.
