"We go barefoot here?"
I jumped, clutching the shoes to my chest when I saw Noah in the doorway. His eyes were trained on my toes, then they moved slowly, oh, so very slowly up my legs, past the gray pencil skirt, and over the white V-neck shirt to my face.
"You guys were late," I said.
Because that explained everything perfectly.
One eyebrow lifted slowly. "I'm three minutes early. How is that late?"
He was also freshly showered in addition to being three minutes early-which-was-actually-late. I could see it in the dampness of his dark hair and smell the sharp, clean scent of soap that filled the room.
Taking a deep breath, I fought against the urge to fan my hot cheeks. This was already going swimmingly, wasn't it? "It's … whatever. I need to grab some different shoes before everyone else gets here."
"Excellent idea."
Yet he stood there, blocking the exit. Noah looked at me expectantly.
"You don't make a very good open door," I told him.
His head tilted.
"Move, please," I said slowly. "I need to go across the hall."
That jarred him out of his stupor. "Oh, sorry."
He shifted to the side, and when I brushed past him, I heard his slow, steady inhale.
Lord have mercy. If we could get through this first meeting without further incident, I'd be the happiest girl in the world. Down the hallway, I could hear the indistinct chatter of Rick and Marty, the main camera operator. I shoved my feet into my Tieks and met them just outside my office.
With a smile, I held my hand out toward the conference room. "Rick, Marty, good to see you. We're over here."
Noah was waiting in the corner with his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. Rick and Marty introduced themselves, and I watched covertly at how Noah handled himself. I'd yet to see him smile. Each time we'd run into each other—the elevator, the practice field, Beatrice's office, and now—his face had been in the same determined, stony expression.
It was almost like he never removed his helmet, that thick layer designed to protect him from the outside world. How were the cameras supposed to capture Noah Griffin, not just the man in the uniform, but the man as he really was, if that never came off?
We took our seats, and Rick looked at me with a smile.
"Rick," I said, "why don't you start and talk a little bit about what you and your crew will be looking for from Noah? We have some ideas, but it would be helpful to get some direction from you first."
He nodded. I liked Rick. In his late forties, he had shaggy gray hair, a big nose, and an even bigger smile. He was easy to talk to, and that probably made him a natural at making people feel comfortable even though they were being filmed constantly.
"My direction," he said to Noah, and then with a deferential nod at me, "will be to be normal." He shrugged. "Go about your day as you normally would. Practice, watch film, eating boring meat and veggies and no pizza."
We all laughed. Well, except Noah. There was a slight warming behind his eyes, but damn the man, he still didn't crack a smile.
"My life isn't very exciting," Noah admitted. "I still can't understand how this will make for compelling television."
Rick nodded. "You'd be surprised. The business of football is as fascinating to our viewers as the emotional piece. We've found success with this series because it balances both. There are dynamics at play in each arena, the personal and the professional, and it's my job"—he nodded to Marty, the camera operator, who threw up two fingers in a laid-back gesture—"and Marty's job, in my absence, to capture those dynamics, no matter how they play out."
Noah looked at me, then nodded thoughtfully.
Right. My turn. "If you guys look at your folders, I have a tentative schedule laid out, based on when the defense is practicing and when Noah has meetings that you can attend," I said. "This covers the next three weeks, and we've got a few open gaps in that schedule because I think what we're missing is the personal piece." My smile was small because I wasn't trying to beat Noah over the head with why don't you have more friends, give us something to film. "Noah had a great suggestion yesterday that maybe we could tag along when he's house hunting."
"Absolutely," Rick agreed. His pencil flew across the top of the paper. "If you've got someone who can come with you, a parent or a teammate, that's even better."
Noah shifted in his seat, face blank. "Not really."
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Marty shift the camera on his shoulder. Had he been filming this entire time? I guess it made sense if he was. No telling what was worth catching and what wasn't. That was what the editing process was for. Cut the shit and focus on the good stuff.