Chapter Four

 

Shane

 

Joe?

Did she really just say she's Joe's sister? I can't possibly have heard that correctly. Julie shoots a glare at me, and I look into her almond-shaped brown eyes. This is Joe's little sister? The little sister he was so protective of he didn't tell most people that she even existed? Now that I know, I can see it. There's more spark in her now, but she is still mousy and awkward. I remember the last time I saw her, sitting in that ugly-ass throwback chair Mr. Jacobs loved. She wears her light brown hair the same way, hanging straight just above her shoulders, though that last time I saw her, she had a thick hank of it wrapped around her finger and was running it over her lips. Those lips are the part of her I haven't been able to take my focus away from. Plush and pouty, they seem coated with only a swipe of Chapstick, and are turned down at the corners. Even through the angry scowl, though, they have serious potential.

She groans. "Great. Now I'm going to lose my job because of you. You just keep finding creative ways to fuck up my life, don't you?"

Well, that's not exactly the potential I had in mind.

Julie pulls her eyes away from me and starts toward the office with all the enthusiasm of someone headed to the executioner. I follow, unsure if I'm dreading or looking forward to sitting in Mr. Slidell's office again. I don't really want to be in this office anymore, but I think it could be amusing to hear the boss man dress her down for getting in my face. Mr. Slidell is already sitting behind his desk, hands folded on the top, when we walk in.

"Have a seat," he says.

His watery eyes look happier than they have in the many times I've met with him, and his thin lips are curved up into an almost-smile. Julie sits at the very edge of the chair as if preparing herself to make a run for it the second Mr. Slidell starts laying into her. I have no such nervousness. I lean back against the chair, folding my hands expectantly in my lap. He knows exactly how I feel about having a PR rep, but he's not about to let someone as inconsequential as a secretary offend the biggest client his firm has ever had.

"Mr. Slidell –" Julie starts, but he holds up a hand to stop her.

"Julie, let me," he says. She nods reluctantly, and Mr. Slidell lowers his hand. "Both of you know it has been a great… challenge to find the right representative for Mr. Lawson's needs."

"Like I've said," I say. "There isn't a rep here who is cut out to represent me. They aren't prepared for what they'd be facing."

"Maybe they know exactly what they'd be getting into, and that's exactly why they won't work with you," Julie mutters, apparently forgetting the innocent act she put on when she first came in.

"Excuse me?" I say.

"You heard me," she says. "Just like I've heard you every single time you've come into this office and treated every single person you encountered like dirt."

"I'm not going to let people push me around because they think they know what's better for me, and my life, than I do," I snap back.

"Maybe you should," Julie says, turning toward me with fire in her eyes again. "You really need to figure out how to get your shit together and be a real person. One of these reps could do that for you. They might be able to drag you back from the brink of destruction you've managed to get to, especially with what I heard about you today."

I feel the anger in my chest swell more intensely.

"What did you hear?" I ask through gritted teeth even though I already know exactly what she's talking about.

"I don't think you need me to spell it out for you," she says.

"You don't know what you're talking about. It's all a lie."

Mr. Slidell clears his throat.

"Excuse me. If the two of you are finished, there's something I’d like to say."

Julie's eyes snap over to him, and her face reddens, telling me she had completely forgotten he was even in the room with us. I look at him, expecting the smile to have been replaced by a look of anger. Instead, his eyes are almost dancing.

"Mr. Slidell," Julie says again. "I'm sorry. I know I'm out of line in the way I'm talking to him, it's just –"

"You're right," he says, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Normally, you would be absolutely out of line."

"Normally?" I ask.

He looks at me.

"You have worked your way through every one of my reps," he says. "You've refused to work with many of them. Some of them have refused to work with you. I know for a fact this isn't the first firm you've done that in. Actually, that's specifically the reason you're sitting here right now. We're the last firm left. Frankly, I'm not willing to lose out on the money and publicity having you as a client could offer us. So, I'm giving you to Julie."

"What?!"

Julie's voice overlaps with mine, and I look at her. She hasn't bothered to turn away from Mr. Slidell and is now leaning toward him. Her mouth hangs slightly open, and I see her hands gripping the armrests on her chair. I'd be amused by her stunned reaction if I didn't also feel like I've run headlong into a plate glass door.

"Mr. Lawson has proven himself to be a very challenging client, but I have remained confident in my belief that everyone can be represented. The visibility and money that could come to this firm from his representation is considerable, and I have been trying to find alternatives to him working with any of my current roster of reps. And now I know I do have that option. You, Julie," he says.

"Because you ran out of other people?" she asks.

"No," he continues. "Because you seem to be able to handle him."

"Handle me?"

I don't like how that sounds, not one damn bit.

"Yes. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, and it seems Julie here has a unique ability to stand up to you. It was obvious that the others I've tried to assign you to have been either intimidated or infuriated by you, and that is not the basis for a successful representative relationship."

Julie points to her chest with both hands.

"That's me. I'm infuriated. He infuriates me, too."

"Yes, but you didn't come tell me about it," Mr. Slidell says. "You didn't have to have me there to confront him. All the others have either refused to be in the same room with him, or only told him they wouldn't work with him after they talked to me and were still standing in my office. You didn't need any of that. You were willing to stand up to him, and tell him like it is, and that's what I need in a rep. Maybe not with the language. At least, not in the office, if you can help it."

Julie blinks at him a few times, then shakes her head.

"I can't do that," she says. "I can't be his rep."

"I saw your resume, Julie. I know you were at the top of your class. You've been preparing for this type of career. You can absolutely do this. And in exchange, I'll offer you a raise, and a bonus if you do particularly well."

"You're rewarding her for the way she spoke to me?" I ask incredulously.

"I'm offering her pay commensurate to the work she'll be doing."

"And what if I refuse to work with her?"

"Then I tell your coach, and the owner of the team, and let them handle what they're going to do from there. From what I hear, I'm guessing that will include trading you to another team, so you become their problem. I apologize for being blunt with you, Mr. Lawson, but you must understand, this is really your last opportunity. Your team sent you here with the clear intent of finding a rep who will help you clean up your reputation in time for the new season. Without that, you don't have a future with the Eagles."

 

Julie

 

Is this really happening? Am I actually sitting in my boss's office listening to him tell me I just got my dream job – with my nightmare client?

I walked into this office knowing that I was going to get fired. I felt like I'd be lucky if Mr. Slidell didn't scoop me up along with my desk plant and toss me out the window. Especially after Shane and I laid into each other right in front of him.

But, no. Instead, he seems on the brink of sheer delight at this concept.

My mouth opens and closes a few times, but I can't get any words to come out.

"But I'm your secretary."

All that thinking, and that's what I manage to come up with. Nice, Julie.

"I understand that," Mr. Slidell says. "And I appreciate your apparent concern about the efficiency of how my office runs, but I'm sure I can find someone else to fill this spot for the time being. This is what you wanted, isn't it? You want to be a rep." He narrows his eyes slightly, almost as if scrutinizing me. "Or are you afraid you can’t handle it?"

"Of course, she can't handle it!" Shane snaps from beside me. "She has no experience. She has no idea what she's doing. It would be a total waste of time and energy for her to even try."

Fury coils up in my belly again, breaking through the confusion and momentary panic caused by Mr. Slidell's announcement.

"What do you know about what I’m capable of doing?"

"It doesn't take a tremendous amount of insight to recognize a girl with any actual skill in PR wouldn't be making coffee in two different professional capacities."

"Look," Mr. Slidell says, holding his hands out between us like he's negotiating a peace treaty. "To be honest with you, I am very eager for this situation to be over with, so I'm going to make this as clear as possible. Shane, you must fix your reputation before the season starts, or you will lose your job. Julie, you are going to fix it, or you will lose yours. Am I understood?"

I feel my stomach drop. I can't stand the thought of having to be in the same room with Shane for even a minute longer, much less having to actually work with him. But I don't have much of a choice. Either I accept the raise and bonus by throwing myself into the lion's den, or I refuse and let my hurt, anger, and general distaste for Shane take away the little bit of footing I've found here. Sending me right back to where I started. Working a dead-end job at a coffee shop.

"This really is futile," Shane says. "Even if she does accept, she's going to give up in a few weeks."

Lion's den it is, then.

"I'll do it," I say, my eyes locked on Mr. Slidell.

I've been told too many times, by too many people, that I can't do something, or that I was going to fail as soon as I left home. Like my parents' death was the end of any prospects or possibilities for me. I might have started to believe it a little in the last few weeks, but I'm not going to show it. And it’s certainly not going to be Shane freaking Lawson who drags me down.

"Good," my boss says, the tension that had formed on his face during our conversation softening. "The coach tells me final roster reduction for the team is September first. You have until then to fix Shane's reputation and make him the Golden Boy again. If you don't, he will be one of the names off the roster."

Shane hops sharply to his feet beside me.

"What do you mean by that?" he asks. "The coach said ownership was considering trading me. Didn't say anything about cutting me from the roster."

"I know," Mr. Slidell said. "We discussed it when he first came to me. He said he hopes he’d be able to convince ownership to maintain the original plan of trading you, but with your recent antics, and how uncooperative you've been about improving your reputation, he's not sure that's an option. It's getting to the point where just cutting you from the team and using another player for the trade they've been planning might be the better option."

I look over at Shane and notice his face has darkened. His wide, strong jaw is tense, a thick band of muscle twitching along the side of his neck. Hands clenched into fists by his side, he takes a step toward the desk.

"They can't cut me," he says. "I'm the backbone of the team. I'm the face of the damn organization."

"You used to be," Mr. Slidell says. "That's the point they're trying to get through to you. You used to be their best investment. Over the last couple of years, though, your popularity, and frankly your contribution to the team on the field, has dropped. Unless you can prove otherwise, you're not an asset to them anymore."

"What should I do?" I ask. "What needs to be done to get his reputation back on track?"

"That's up to you," Mr. Slidell says. "That's your responsibility. You figure out how you can make the public love him again. In fact, take the rest of the day off. Spend it getting to know each other and making plans. You only have a few months. I suggest you buckle down and focus. Both of your jobs rely on it."

He turns to his computer and starts wiggling the mouse around. I'm fairly certain he's not actually doing anything, but I take this as a cue the meeting is over. I stand and walk out of the office, pausing at my former desk only long enough to gather my bag. I'm still leaning over and picking it up when I hear Shane stomp past, grumbling under his breath. I follow him, just managing to slip through the gap in the elevator doors before they smash into me.

"What do you think you're doing?" I ask.

"I'm going home," he says. "I've had enough of today, and enough of this bullshit."

"No, you're not," I say as the doors open and we both stalk out into the lobby.

"You don't get to tell me what to do," he says.

"Yes, I do," I point out. "Let me remind you, your asinine behavior has put both of our jobs on the line. You might think you're so amazing that no one will let you get away, and that you're always going to fall in a soft spot, but that's not how it is for me. I need this job. I'm not going to let you not take this seriously and screw me over the way you did Joe."

We've just made it out of the lobby when he whirls around to face me. I skid to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk before running into his chest.

"I didn't do anything to screw over your brother," he says.

"Of course, you did. How can you say that? You dropped him as soon as you thought you were going to make something of yourself. He did everything for you, and you just left him behind. Do you have any idea what that did to him?"

"Joe was never good enough to keep up with me," he says. "That's not my fault."

"That's a lie, and you know it. The only reason you even learned to play was because of him. You wouldn't have even made it on to the high school team if he hadn't spent so much time helping you."

"He might have helped me run through a few drills, and given me a couple of tips, but I'm the one who worked as hard as I did to get here. I took the opportunities that I had in front of me, and I made something of myself. If your brother didn't do that, that's his problem. I'm not responsible for anyone’s life but my own. Especially not someone I used to know in high school and college, and his little sister."

By now, people have noticed the little spectacle we've created. I hear his name muttered a few times, and noticed people reaching into their pockets for their phones. Fantastic. My first act as his PR rep is to get video of him growling at me in the middle of a sidewalk plastered all over social media. That's going to do wonders for his reputation.

I stretch a big smile across my face, loop my arm through his, and turn him back into the lobby. As soon as we are out of sight in the coffee shop, I shake away from him.

"Is that seriously what you think of him?" I ask. "He's just someone you used to know in high school and college? Joe was your best friend. The two of you were inseparable. He dragged you behind him to make sure you got the practice you needed to get on the team, and the grades to keep you there. He did everything possible to help you out, no matter what situation you got yourself in. Then as soon as he needed you, you were gone."

"We drifted apart because he was envious of me," Shane says. "He couldn't stand the fact that I got the future he always dreamed about."

I hear something smash on the floor, and I look over to see Bindi holding several shards of a broken mug, setting them on the counter. I see the shocked look on her face, and she meets my eyes. She's trying to mouth something to me, but before I can figure out what she is saying, two men walk in. Their paint-splattered jeans, scuffed boots, and unkempt hair tell me they probably aren't from the offices overhead. Instead, they likely wandered in from one of the renovation projects happening on the block.

"We need to go," I say when I see the way they look at Shane.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says. "I don't need some little girl telling me how to manage my career."

"That's the second time you've called me a girl today," I say under my breath, not wanting the men who just come in to hear me. "I suggest you make it your last."

I'm shaking, and I can feel heat creeping up the back of my neck. I hope Shane doesn't notice how much he's affecting me.

"Are you all right, Miss?"

I look over my shoulder to see one of the men approaching. His eyes are locked on Shane, rather than me, and the slight accent in his voice reminds me of home. I nod.

"I'm fine," I say. "Thank you."

"Is he bothering you?"

"No," I say.

"You better be careful, Lawson," he says. "This lady here seems feistier than that other girl. We all know how you like to fight with your women. This one seems like she might not keep her mouth closed as long as the other one did."

"What did you just say?" Shane growls.

"I appreciate your concern, sir," I say. "But I'm perfectly alright. I'm not Mister Lawson's... woman. As a matter of fact, I am his PR rep, and I would like to take this opportunity to reassure you what you might have heard about him is untrue, and we will be going to the fullest extent of our efforts to prove that. Thank you very much for checking on me, I appreciate it. I'm sure Mr. Lawson would appreciate your support as well."

The man looks me up and down, then does the same to Shane. It's unclear whether he's buying what I'm saying, but he nods and takes a step back.

"We'll see," he says.

"You have a nice day," I say.

I grab onto Shane and lead him out of the shop.

"What the hell was he talking about?" he asks.

"You know very well what he was talking about," I say. "That's exactly what Mr. Slidell was trying to get you to see. That man is your target audience, and he doesn't trust you as far as he could throw you. He was coming to my rescue because he thought you were going to attack me. Is that the way you want your fans thinking about you?"

I see Shane's expression shift. The anger flashing in his sapphire blue eyes now seems more concerned, and his posture becomes more defensive than aggressive.

"This is really fucking serious, isn't it?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say. "It is. And if you don't want it to get worse, and still be able to play football this fall, you need to hear me out. We need to sit down and talk about this."

I see a devilish gleam form in his eyes.

"Your place or mine?" he asks.

I step back, holding a hand up.

"Don't even try pulling that with me," I say. "This is about saving your ass, not getting you some."

"Heartbreaking," he says sarcastically. "Unless you haven't noticed, you're not exactly my type, secretary."

I choose not to point out the fact that he is the one who made the comment. He's not lashing out at other people, and I have him standing here listening to me, so I'm going to take that as a victory and run with it.

"Well, it's pretty obvious we're not going to be able to have this conversation in any public place, and with the rumors swirling around, I can only imagine the swarm of paparazzi camping out in front of your house. The last thing we need is to give them any more story fodder by showing up there."

"So where does that leave us?" he asks.

Damn it.