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Okay, that might’ve been a bit of a lost cause, but still. The important thing was that I’d won, and as a one month veteran of the whole marriage thing, I’d say that was enough.
After Chris left his team, they’d gone on to lose four games straight. And they hadn’t just lost by a little. They’d been blowouts. Fans of the team were calling for Coach Mackie’s head for mismanaging Chris’ situation, and now he seemed to realize the only way to save his job was to beg for Chris to come back.
I tugged on his lapels, straightening him out a little. I even tried licking my finger and attacking his hair, but it popped right back out of place as soon as I’d pushed it down.
Chris shrugged, then gestured for me to enter when he opened Coach Mackie’s door.
Mackie was slumped at his desk, looking deflated and pissed to see us at the same time. Good.
“Why is she here?” he asked Chris.
“She is my negotiator. She’s here to make sure you get this apology right.”
“Apology? Don’t hold your breath, Rose. I’m simply going to make you an offer and you’ll do the smart thing and take it. I’m not going to kiss your ass.”
“Then we’re done here,” I said. I got up and started toward the door. Chris followed me, and we only stopped when Mackie said “wait” in a hilariously hoarse voice.
“Wait,” he said again, his head hanging even more now. “Sit the fuck down.”
“Someone is forgetting the magic word,” I said, not taking my hand from the doorknob.
I thought his eyes were about to pop out of his head. His face had gone a purply shade of red, but he finally moved his fleshy lips. “Please. Sit back down.”
Chris and I took our seats again.
“You can present your offer now.” I’d been coached up by Damon when the three of us hatched this plan. I knew what rough range to expect, and I knew what was too low to accept. Frankly, I didn’t particularly care if he gave us the best offer any QB in history had gotten. I wanted the man to squirm before he got his relief.
He slid a napkin across the table with a number on it. “Thirty million per year, four years guaranteed,” he said.
“Why’d you write it on the napkin if you were going to just say it?” Chris asked.
I had to stifle a laugh, but Mackie’s face got even more red. “Do you take it or not?”
I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, then lifted my palm up. My eyes never left Mackie’s. It was hard not to burst out laughing, especially when I saw Chris trying not to crack up beside me. He’d told me many times how hot it was watching me squeeze more money out of Damon in his office when they’d tried to convince me to play the role of fake wife. It was why both of them insisted I do this with Chris today, and I had to admit it was fun.
Mackie’s eyes were bulging. “Thirty one.”
I got up again, shortly followed by Chris. “We’re done here,” I said.
“Sit back down!” Mackie called out.
This time we got the door halfway open before he croaked “Please”.
I shared a small smile with Chris, then we both went back down to sit. “Look,” I said, threading my fingers on his desk and leaning forward. “I’m going to level with you. Thirty two million would be enough. But you’re going to need to get on your knees and kiss Chris’ ring. Then you’ll tell him you missed him and you’ll never do him dirty like that again.”
Chris’ face was on the verge of breaking. He put his hand over his mouth, lowered his eyes, and shook a little with quiet laughter.
Mackie just slid his bulging eyes between the two of us. “No. It’s not happening. You can have thirty two, but I’m not—”
After five more minutes of Chris and I getting up, threatening to leave, and drawing more concessions from Coach Mackie, we finally reached a deal.
Chris stood in the center of the room while his coach grudgingly got up from his chair like he was walking to his own execution. He shuffled toward Chris, paused several long seconds, then got on one knee.
“I do,” Chris whispered. “I do, you beautiful little bastard.”
“Chris,” I said. “Don’t distract him.”
Coach Mackie stared at Chris’ extended hand with absolute disgust. He finally puckered his lips and kissed Chris’ ring. “I missed you.”
“Baby,” I mouthed.
He glared at me. “I missed you, baby. And I won’t do you like that again.”
Chris bent down and scooped the small man up, spinning him in a circle before letting him down. “You had me at sit the fuck down, you grumpy little bastard.”
I smiled at the two of them, wondering how long Chris’ coach was going to survive of the four year contract before some sort of Chris induced heart attack took him out.
