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I fight the déjà vu as I walk into the kitchen to find Emberleigh at the table, laptop in front of her, though this time, there’s a notepad full of scribbles. Where does the time go? Has it already been three days since she took me on as a project?
In the place I sat last time is a blank pad and pen, a cup of coffee and a glass of water. The closed laptop with my phone perched on top is off the top right, past the water.
“This is what I imagine it’s like to get fired in corporate America.”
“Nah. That’s having a cardboard box of your things and letting a guard to escort you out the building.”
“You know this from experience?”
“Me? Being escorted by a guard? Only behind stanchions.”
“Touché.” I sit and sip the coffee. I tip my head to her notepad. “What’s the damage?”
“You Rangers are a full-time job, that’s for sure.”
“We Rangers.”
“Yes, you Rangers.”
“No. We Rangers. You’re just as much a Ranger as the rest of us. Unless you’re going to pull a runner, in which case, I need my phone back so I can call Brax.”
She rolls her eyes. “I got through all your emails and texts. Those I printed and eventually shredded since I needed to see all the data in one place. Certain ones needed to be addressed immediately, which I did. Others need a more measured response.”
I nod and take another sip. Emberleigh Carrington is in control, and she’s good at what she does. Meanwhile, I don’t want to touch my phone, and I’m damn well not going to pen an eloquent email to any-fucking-body, so she can knock herself out.
“I have limited the most immediate needs to five things we’ll address today. The tier two and tier three things we can hold on or I can move forward. Is that okay?”
I take another sip of coffee and look around the table. “No cobbler today? You were buttering me up last time, weren’t you?”
“Yup.” She pops the p at the end of the word. “But there’s pineapple upside down cake after we get through the first five.”
“Ah, the claws have come out.”
“Here we go. In no particular order, here is what we need to game plan. Excel. The team’s medical requests. Insurance and litigation. Your homes. Rehabilitation.”
Ice runs through my veins at the last one. However, I can get out of that conversation with enough time on the others.
“Let’s go in order, but I’m going to need that cake.”
She hops up and slides a pre-plated slice from the microwave, complete with fork, on the table at my right hand.
“Let’s go.”
We volley back and forth on the contract. One that I have broken in so much that I haven’t been seen in their clothes, much less after a victory or a play-off game. I’m not interested in repping them anymore, but nor am I interested in losing the revenue.
“I have an idea. I don’t know that you’ll like it, but it links with number five, and I think it’s foolproof.”
“And that is?”
“You doing your rehab in their gear. Documenting the progress in a series of posts after you’re back in fighting shape. Nothing on daily social channels. But a story thatwetell when you’re ready.”
“What if I’m never ready?”
“We’d cross that bridge when the time comes. But it keeps the revenue in your account. It defers any decision on your part until the appropriate time and it saves them the hassle of looking heartless, which they surely would if I unleashed a campaign against them. A big-name sponsor doesn’t want to tuck tail and run when the chips are down. Their brand is about strength and resiliency. It won’t appear that way if they decide they really only mean that when it’s easy.”
“That’s diabolical and genius. But—” I hedge. “I can’t imagine I’ll ever be back to full strength.” I don’t see a time when I won’t be in pain. Why would I want to document that for the world?
She lifts her chin and stares until my eyes meet hers. “You are in the driver’s seat, Layton. You set the calendar and the clock. And I have no doubts—hear me, zero—that you’ll be able to do this. So there’s no reason not to force their hand in the meantime.”
