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From ten feet away, someone’s green-brown eyes narrowed. “What else would you call someone—“
My eye went full speed twitching and before I thought twice, I cut him off. “That purposely swept an opponent’s leg harder than necessary?” I shrugged. “You tell me.”
My throat clogged instantly and the twitching in my eyelid got worse once the words were out. I’d done it. Jesus Christ. I’d insinuated he was an imbecile but hinting at it wasn’t the same thing as outright calling him one, right?
Sheena let out a low, ringing laugh that had ‘awkward’ written all over it. “Okay, I’m sure we can avoid the name-calling, yes?” She didn’t wait for an answer from either one of us before going on. “I have an idea, and I don’t see why it wouldn’t work to calm things down a little. I spoke to Mr. Kulti’s publicist a week ago and he made it clear to me that his party has been receiving some similar messages, but we were hoping things would calm down eventually. Since they’re not, let’s do this: Sal, we’ll release your part of the press conference we had a few weeks ago—“
My jaw dropped and I’m pretty positive that my heart skipped a single beat. I choked, loud and clear on my saliva.
The PR employee shot me a look. She’d been there. She’d seen what an ass I made of myself. “I’ll make sure it’s edited. We have videographers coming in to film some of the practices for the website, and I’m sure they can catch some footage of the two of you getting along. There are also some promo shots coming up, and with some easy placement,” she grinned and waggled her fingers like she hadn’t just spouted out one of the worst ideas I’d ever heard, “problem solved for both of you.”
I chewed on my thoughts for a minute, glancing at the German sitting four feet away. Mouthing and discarding the curse words that ran through a loop in my head.
The press conference video? No. Hell no.
The filming? I glanced at Kulti again and almost snorted, remembering how he had yet to speak to anyone that wasn’t on staff besides Grace. So the likelihood of that happening? Ha.
The pictures? Those were doable.
But…
The press conference. A shiver used its spindly legs to crawl up the length of my spine. I made a hocking noise in my throat.
“Sheena,” I said steadily, hoping that I wasn’t going to sound like a bitch. She was trying; I knew and appreciated the effort she was putting in. “That video…” I tried to remember the words I was capable of, but all I could do was settle for a shake of my head. Then, just to make sure she really got my point, I shook my head really quickly, too adamantly maybe. “Maybe not the best idea, don’t you think?”
Gardner didn’t even bother to try and mute his laugh. He just went for it.
“It will be fine. I won’t let them use any of the parts you’re worried about. I promise.”
Taking my silence for exactly what it was—wariness and distrust—Sheena said, “I promise, Sal. It’ll be fine. Trust me.”
Trust her? I had this rule about trusting people until they gave me a reason not to. When you play soccer with strangers on a regular basis, leaving your health and safety in the hands of others out of need, being too cynical doesn’t work for anyone. Was it a little intimidating? Yes. But in the words of my sister, ‘you only live once.’
“All right,” I ground out, though some part of my consciousness called me an idiot for not fighting harder.
The smile she gave me in response was wide and bright.
I smiled back at her.Idiot, idiot, idiot.
“Mr. Kulti are you onboard too?” the nice woman asked.
Eventually he nodded. His lightly tanned face didn’t exactly look like he was jumping for joy, but he didn’t tell her to fuck-off like I would have bet my life on him doing years ago. I wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or not.
“We’ll get this all sorted out in no time, Sal. No need to worry,” Sheena added.
What she didn’t know was that telling me not to worry was like telling me not to breathe.
Ihad beenasleep for at least an hour when my phone rang. For a couple of rings, I considered not answering it. Because, really? Who the hell would be calling at almost midnight during the week? It was pretty common knowledge that I had an early bedtime.
Marc’s name flashed across the screen and I narrowed my sleepy eyes. He wasn’t usually a drunk-dialer, so what if it was an emergency?
“Salamander?” This man that was more my friend than my boss spoke. We’d grown up together. He’d been friends with Eric for as long as I could remember and somehow transitioned from being his friend, to being a brother figure and a great friend to me. He’d moved to Houston to get his doctorate, and once I moved too, he’d said, ‘Why don’t we start our own business?’ For two people with insane schedules and my degree and experience to help us out, it worked as an easy way to make our own money and not have a boss who didn’t understand we had other things that came first.
I yawned. “Hey, everything all right?” I answered tentatively.
“Salami,” he hissed, sounding just a little drunk while the sound of loud voices filled the background, making it really hard to hear what he was saying.
“Hey, it’s me. What’s going on?”
