Dex

“That went well,” Eric said.

We were in the offices of his agency, on the sixtieth floor of a building on Madison and Fifty-Second, with all of New York sprawled out beneath us. I was in an expensive leather chair in the agency’s expensive boardroom, sitting at a large, expensive table. Someone had put a glass of expensive bottled water in front of me, the little bubbles traveling up the glass. I sank back in my chair, crossed one ankle over the other knee, and pulled my baseball hat lower on my head. “If you say so,” I said.

“The press conference was great, great.” This was one of Eric’s agency partners, a guy named Nathaniel. He had a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair and a three-piece suit. “The apology was the first part of our strategy, and it couldn’t have gone better.”

It had sucked. A lot. But now that it was over, I felt there was something right about it, and not because of the strategy. I really had owed everyone an apology. The World Cup final had been played last night, and as I’d predicted, Argentina had won. It was over, and my team was done, maybe partly because I’d fucked up so badly. They didn’t deserve that.

So yeah, I was sorry. It was a start.

“Now we move to the next phase,” Eric said. “Applying to the League for your reinstatement. We have a strategy for that, too. Michelle?”

He turned to the other person at the table, a young woman with shiny dark hair and red lips, wearing a designer skirt and jacket. She was one of the associates, or something. She smiled on cue and picked up a remote from the table in front of her, pressing a button. A TV screen rose from the end of the table, probably installed for presentations. She smiled at me again.

Pretty, I thought, but not as pretty as Sophie.

I wondered where Sophie was right now, whether she had seen the press conference. What she’d thought about it. I had the sudden urge to leave the room, call her, and ask her.

But Eric was talking, and a video had come up on the TV screen. Footage from my last match. “Seriously,” I said, turning The Stare on my agent. “I don’t need to fucking watch this.”

“No, wait, wait.” He nodded at the woman—Michelle—and she pressed a button. Was that why she had been called into this meeting, I wondered? To press Eric’s remote button?

“See here,” Eric said, pointing to the screen. “See what Sebastian Santos is doing?”

I looked. It was paused about five minutes before I’d thrown my punch. Santos was on the sidelines, a ref at his shoulder. He said something in the ref’s ear and walked away.

“See that?” Eric said. “And this.” He nodded at Michelle again.

Now the footage paused a minute or so later, with Santos jogging across the field. He made eye contact with the same ref as before, slowed down, said something, then jogged off again.

“This is huge,” Nathaniel said. “Really huge.”

I frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“This is ref interference,” Eric said. He was practically radiating his glee. “We can go to the International League and make a case that what you did was provoked, because Sebastian Santos was interfering with the ref’s calls. With this video evidence and a good pitch, we can get you reinstated.”

I stared at all of them. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I’d been on that field—Santos hadn’t interfered with any ref. The calls had all been good. “We can’t say that. It’s a lie.”

“Look at him,” Eric said, pointing to the screen again. “He says something to the ref.”

“So did a lot of other players. So did I, probably.” I shook my head. “We talk to each other all the time on the field.” We yelled insults, trash talk, good-natured shit, pointless exclamations. If you’ve ever watched guys run around a field playing a sport, you get the idea. We don’t play in silence. “It happens all the time. It doesn’t mean he was interfering with the calls. If he was, the ref would have said something.”

“Maybe the ref was intimidated. We can make a case, Dex,” Eric said. “This is your ticket. Your way back into the game.”

“Ref interference is against the rules,” I said. “If we convince them, then it isn’t me that gets banned, its Santos.”

“Then he shouldn’t have talked to the ref during game play,” Nathaniel replied. “Isn’t that right?”

I looked at all of them. I couldn’t believe this was the choice they were offering me: Throw Sebastian Santos under the bus to save my own skin. Jesus, I’d already broken the guy’s nose.

“No,” I said. “I won’t do it.”

Eric and Nathaniel exchanged a look. Michelle, who was still holding the remote, looked really uncomfortable.

“Dex,” Nathaniel said. “I don’t think you understand the stakes here.”

“The stakes are that I get banned from the sport,” I said. “That’s already done. I’m not undoing it by telling lies about another player.”

“This should be investigated,” Eric said.

“Should it?” I looked at him. Eric had been a good agent to me for a long time, but I’d never had any illusions that we were friends. I was business to him. And now, I was potentially lost business. “What’s this about, Eric?” I said. “My career, or yours?”

“We’re doing what’s best for you,” Eric said, angry.

I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward in my chair. I looked across the table at Michelle, giving her The Stare. “Michelle,” I said. “What’s your opinion?”

There was a beat of stunned silence, as if I’d just talked to one of the chairs. Michelle’s mouth dropped open, but I gave her credit. She stared back at me and didn’t drop her gaze.

“Um,” she said.

“I’m not being an asshole,” I said to her. “I really want to know. What is your opinion of that?” I pointed to the still frame on the TV screen.

Her gaze darted to the screen, then back to me. “I think, ah, that it should be investigated,” she said.

She was lying. Her eyes told me so. She thought it was bullshit. But I couldn’t fault her for saying what her bosses wanted her to say. “Okay,” I said to her. “I just like to hear the opinion of everyone in the room.”

“Dex, this is ridiculous.” Nathaniel was getting angry, too. “Her opinion isn’t relevant here. Can we get back to business so you can come to your senses?”

I watched those words hit her. She dropped her gaze, but didn’t speak. Eric blathered on, oblivious.

“Nathaniel is right,” he said. “You need to see reality. This is your only chance. You’ve got everything on the line right now.”

“I’ve already said I’m not doing it,” I told them. “You know what that means? It means I’m not doing it. Come up with something else, but not this. This conversation is over. I’m done.”

We ended the meeting in strained silence, and they made Michelle walk me out, as if I didn’t know the way. When we were almost to the elevators, she said in a voice so low I almost didn’t hear her: “Sorry, but this is a good job.”

“I know,” I said. “But you saw what happened in there, right? These guys are never going to promote you. You should trade up and find someone who will.”

She pressed the elevator button and looked at me. She looked surprised and confused at the same time. For a second she reminded me of Sophie. Not in attractiveness—there was no comparison—but she made me imagine Sophie being called into some boardroom to look pretty and work a remote, and the image made me mad.

Fuck, I missed her. She’d texted me last night, and I’d pictured her drunk and a little goofy, lying on her bed. I’d had today’s press conference on my mind, and I’d been so convinced I didn’t deserve her that I’d told her to go to sleep. I was losing my damned mind.

“I have to admit, Mr. Carter,” Michelle said finally. “I thought you were going to be a jerk.”

“I know,” I said as I walked into the elevator and the doors closed. “I’m working on it.”