“Yeah, that’s right. Me.” I bang my fist on my chest. “Iwould endorse their product. Not her.” I once again point to Lillian, who has abandoned her deception. She stares straight at me, stunned as fuck that I’d rather lose a ten-million dollar endorsement deal than work alongside her. “Tell them the deal’s off.”
“I can’t.”
I jackknife back, certain I heard Danny wrong. I didn’t. The truth is all over his face.
“What aren’t you telling me?” My words are minced by the tight grinds of my jaw.
“When we began negotiations—”
“Don’t pussyfoot around, Danny. Get straight to the point.”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he forces out, “If you walk away from this deal, you’ll be liable for any loss in revenue the pharmaceutical company sustains from your failure to uphold your contract.”
“Are you fucking kidding me!” My roar bellows down the corridor. “That’s not the way these things work. I’ve never signed a contract with a clause like that before.”
“That’s because this is the first contract you’ve negotiated since your DUI.”
“What?” I heard what he said; I just want to see if he’s game enough to repeat it.
He is, but not in the manner I expect. “When you went on your bender, you cost a lot of companies a lot of money. No one wanted to touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
“I’ve been sober for two years, Danny.”
He steps closer to me, his eyes watering. “Yes, you have, and I’m very proud of that, but you were a drunk for years longer than that.”
His words hurt to hear, but they’re true, so there’s no point denying them.
“How much are we talking?” I hate that I’m even considering the possibility of doing this, but my contract isn’t due for renewal with the 69ers for another two years, and I’m not getting any younger, so there’s no guarantee they’ll even re-sign me.
Danny shrugs. “I don’t know. Rumors around the water cooler are that they’re looking at tripling their investment, so you’d be close to the figure cited on your contract, if not more.”
“Ten million dollars?! I could possibly have to pay them ten million if I don’t follow through with our arrangement?”
It kills him to do, but Danny nods.
“Fuck!”
I drag my fingers through my hair, adding a few tugs to the pain already rocketing through my head. This is literally my worst nightmare coming true. I can’t do this, but I can’t afford ten million dollars either, so I have no choice. I have to side with the devil.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Willow
Slinging my head back, I peer over my shoulder when a deep voice rumbles down the nearly isolated corridor I’m walking. “Willow, can I see you for a minute?”
I swallow numerous times in a row to relieve my parched throat when I realize who’s requesting to see me. It’s Coach James. This is the first time I’ve seen him since he caught me getting frisky with his star quarterback three nights ago.
“Sure. Just give me a sec to put down my things, then I’ll be right in.”
I don’t even get half an inch down the hall when he grumbles, “Now, Ms. Underwood.”
Pouting like I’m being sent to the principal’s office, I spin on my heels and stomp toward his office, my steps sluggish and slow. Including today, I have only two days left on my internship, but I swear to god, it feels like a thousand. You’d think seeing the light at the end of the tunnel would fill me with eagerness. It did until Thursday. Something is off with Elvis. He’s moody and withdrawn; even our kiss goodbye when he asked Danny to drive me home Thursday afternoon was cold. I know it’s playoff week, which stresses out even the cockiest men in the country, but he seemed to be handling it well.
Wednesday night was magical. We laughed, and danced, and I gave my best performance pretending I’m a fan of football. Well, I can’t really call it a “performance” when it’s true. I’ll eat glass before I ever don the getup Skylar does, but the game is growing on me. . .as is one of its stars.
I stop hunting for clues on what happened between the grinning Elvis who dropped off the textbooks I left at his house to the one who kissed me goodbye two nights ago without a single spark igniting between us when Coach James gestures for me to take a seat in the chair opposite him. I’m truly lost in Elvis’s swift change in composure. It’s like turning thirty-one flipped his personality switch to grumpy. I’ve heard of a midlife crisis, but this is ridiculous. He truly is a grumpy old man.
My worry for Elvis switches to myself when Coach James closes his office door. He only ever closes it during a crisis, and considering most of those calamities are about his players, I’m shitting bricks as to why I’m being given the royal treatment.
