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“C’mon, babe, you can’t take the word of whoever snapped this pic over me.” Alex does something completely unexpected and drops to his knees, still holding my hand, and looking up at me with those gray-blue eyes that make me melt. “I wouldn’t be here, begging you to hear me out when I have a game in six hours, if I wasn’t telling you the truth. Do you really think I’d jeopardize my career if I was lying?”
He has me there, and now, I’m stunned, unsure of what to say in response. Alex’s incredibly thoughtful and adorable gesture warms my icy heart.
“As your coach, I order you to get back on a plane to Dallas right now.” I raise my hand and point toward the exit of the rink. “Don’t talk to anyone. Just get your ass to that arena before you’re out of a job.” I bend down to meet his height and end up falling flat on my butt. “Ow!”
Alex laughs and moves closer. “That seemed like one hell of a speech you were about to give before you hurt one of your best assets. Want me to rub it all better?”
“Seriously,” Jamie moans. “I’m right here, for fuck’s sake.”
We all burst into laughter, including Jamie, who seems less guarded than before. He’s well aware of my feelings for Alex, whether he likes them or not, and he’d never interfere if he thought that would make me unhappy.
Alex helps me stand because he’s so damn comfortable on skates that it’s as if we were on concrete and wearing sneakers. For the five minutes we were talking, I didn’t notice the entire rink had come to a complete halt, their cameras and cell phones in hand, which almost seems par for the course when it comes to Alex.
Not until I hear people whisper, “Did she say yes?” does it register that not every situation is what it seems.
Like right now, for example.
Coach
“Coach, get your ass in here!” Mickey yells into the intercom on my desk so loud that I can hear his gruff voice travel down the hall from my office. “Right now!”
I haven’t had a taste of Mick the Dick in years, not since we almost lost a major client when I was first starting out and still getting the hang of how things worked in this world. I cross my fingers and say a silent prayer, hoping I’m not being fired.
“I’ll be right there.” I press the button on the phone to end the call before he can get in another word.
This is about Alex and the scene he made at Dilworth Park. Alex has no self-control, allowing his emotions and needs to do all the thinking. While I can understand that not every situation is what it seems, like what happened at the ice-skating rink, that does not excuse him from constantly making an ass out of himself in public. And, now, he’s made an ass out of me. Reputations and appearances matter in this industry.
Placing my palm on the desk, I use it to support my tired body as I rise from the chair. Last night was rough in terms of sleep because I had about an hour of it before the alarm clock went off. I lucked out that Alex went straight to the airport, leaving no time to talk before or after his game.
As soon as I saw the people behind us taking our picture, I knew this relationship was doomed. And, now, I’m doing my death-row walk toward Mickey’s office, on edge and scared for my career, rubbing my clammy hands down the sides of my skirt to wipe off the sweat.
Veronica, Mickey’s assistant, waves me on as I pass her desk without as much as a word with her eyes focused on her computer screen, which scares the shit out of me. Out of all the years we’ve known each other, she’s never given me the treatment that’s usually reserved for employees who are about to get fired.
I’ve watched dozens of employees do their walk of shame out of Mickey’s office and to the elevators. Despite what they showed in the movie Jerry Maguire, no one ever has this sudden epiphany where they try to rally the troops by making long, awkward speeches, and they most definitely aren’t taking the goldfish with them—or, in DMG’s case, the piranhas. I always thought it was pretty fucking convenient that Mickey chose fish with strong jaws and sharp teeth that could tear off an arm. On my way out the door, I will most definitely leave the piranhas.
Mickey drove from our office in New York this morning just to make a special appearance for me. Yep, I’m fucked. He has every right to be pissed about Alex.
When I step through the door, Mickey has his back to me, staring out the window at City Hall. I clear my throat to let him know I’m here, and he turns around, his hands fumbling to loosen the gray-and-white-striped tie dangling around his neck.
Judging by the looks of him, he’s had about as much sleep as I have had lately. We haven’t seen each other in close to two months, and he seems older, more worn down. He’s relied on me more since John’s death.
Will he really fire me over this?
“Take a seat,” he growls, pointing at the conference table to the left of his desk. Disappointment registers first on his face before changing to irritation. He glances down at a stack of newspapers on his desk, his lip quivering in anger as he gathers them.
After everything I’ve worked for and all the years I’ve spent trying to make something of myself, I’ve given it all up for Alex Parker. Granted, it’s been the most amazing sex of my life, and I’ve finally found someone I can connect with, other than Jamie, but is it worth it?
“You know, I’m used to Alex screwing up.” Mickey drops the papers onto the conference table and takes a seat in the chair in front of them. “But I never expected this from you, of all people. Have you read these yet? Have you seen the filth some of these rag mags are spewing about you and me?”
Mickey has yet to look me directly in the eyes. My mouth is so dry that my tongue feels like paste. Leaning close enough to inspect the newspapers, I see similar headlines to what I saw this morning on social media. “From Bunny to Bride” is on most of the papers with different angles and shots of Alex on his knees on the ice, begging for forgiveness.
I was humiliated when I first saw the posts about our secret love affair. Up until yesterday, Alex did everything he could to protect me, but no matter how many times I tried to deny it, none of the reporters I spoke to believed my story.
But there are more than just pictures of Alex and me. They have pictures of me in my Villanova basketball uniform, posing alongside Mickey. There must be at least a dozen different shots of Mickey and me at charity events and championship games. And the newspapers think—
Oh no, this cannot be happening to me…to Mickey. Not after everything he has done for me.
A chill runs through me, and now, I’m the one who’s afraid to make eye contact.
