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“Of sorts,” she says vaguely.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“It’s a favor that’ll make you a little extra money. So, I guess it’s more like a job?”
“A job?” Now I’m even more hesitant.
Kelsey is a model. She has wavy, honey-colored hair with the bounce of a freaking shampoo commercial. My hair is straighter, a much lighter shade of blonde and I still haven’t mastered styling it in anything more complex than a ponytail.
She also has vibrant blue eyes, while mine are pale grey. We’re nearly the same height, but I lack the easy grace that is innate to her. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty. But she is gorgeous. Hence, she’s a runway model and I’m a psychologist.
“Not a modeling gig.” She laughs, a cheery tinkling sound.
I brighten a bit. I need a job. Not for the money—I’ve got some savings—but for my sanity. “Tell me more.”
At this point, I’m so sick of staring at the walls that I’m starting to wonder if trying to solve other people’s marital problems was really that bad.
Spoiler alert: It was.
“You know Slater Jones?”
“Nope,” I say as I glance at the television. The commercials are over and a talk show is on. My eyes instantly zero in on the question at the bottom of the screen. Has Slater Jones played his last NFL game? “Actually, they’re talking about him on television right now.”
“Of course they are. After another game-losing interception, he’s the hottest topic in sports. Everyone is trying to comprehend why someone so talented keeps imploding.” I can practically hear the eye roll as she continues, “Cam owes me five bucks. I told him you wouldn’t know who Slater is. Google him and call me back, okay?” She clicks off without waiting for a response.
Cameron Clark is my new brother-in-law. He’s a sports agent. We get along fine, but I’m not fully convinced he’s good enough for my sister. They eloped six weeks after they met. Who does that?
I turn up the television as I pull out my laptop and listen with half an ear as my computer loads relevant websites. Slater has forty million followers on social media. I scroll through a few posts where he is tagged. His followers are either grateful or extremely angry. The angry side is winning. This guy is getting more hate than the president. I click on an article. When I’m done reading it, I watch a grainy YouTube video. I gasp when he punches another football player. He’s got a nasty right hook.
I call Kelsey back.
“Would you consider being his assistant for a couple of weeks?” she asks after a single ring.
“His assistant?” I ask, thoroughly confused.
“I know…it sounds silly. And I know you’re going to find a kick-ass job when you’re ready, but he needs help and you’re available.”
“What would he need me to do?” I ask a little suspiciously.
“Hmm.” She pauses like she’s thinking. “Simple stuff like grocery shopping and getting coffee. Maybe you can monitor his social media or pick things up for him. He’s a celebrity and he has a lot of fans, so it isn’t always easy for him to go out.”
I bite my lip as I consider her words. There’s something she’s not saying. “Kelsey.”
She sighs. “He’s having a hard time. He needs someone to talk to.”
The light clicks on. “I’m not a sports therapist. I have zero experience working with troubled athletes.”
“He isn’t troubled and I’m not asking you to be his therapist. He needs a friend.” She lowers her voice. “Cam’s worried about him. Apparently he’s hiding in his apartment in DC and avoiding everyone.”
“You want me to take a job as his assistant, pretend to be his friend, and trick him into talking to a therapist?”
She makes a grunting noise. “None of the above. I want you to be his friend. You do not need to be his therapist.” She pauses like she expects me to respond. When I don’t, she says, “It’ll be really flexible. You can pick up his dry cleaning. Make him lunch. Whatever he needs. He’ll pay you handsomely.”
“I don’t really need the money.” Not yet at least.
“But you’re bored…I know you are. You hate being idle.”
She isn’t wrong. Logically, I know quitting my job wasn’t a mistake, but I am already bored, and it would be nice to have a distraction. “How does he feel about my profession?”
