Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Because a middle-of-the-night wedding to a woman no one knew you were even seeing—in Las Vegas, of all places—looks a little suspect. And with your history, a lot of people are wondering if this is where Renn Brewer goes off the deep end. Again.”
Stay calm. I force myself to breathe. “What can I say? I’m sorry clairvoyants are moonlighting as journalists.”
“May I remind you that you signed a clause guaranteeing this franchise your cooperation in protecting our image?”
I stare at him, willing myself to stay quiet.
“Don’t think that concerns haven’t been raised that you married a woman who caused waves in this industry a few years ago,” he says.
Nope. “We can talk about me all day long. But my wife is off-limits.”
“If only it were that easy.”
“Make it that easy.”
He holds my gaze. “Let’s also note, for the sake of it, that not only did you marry a problematic—”
“Watch your fucking mouth.”
“Woman in Vegas, but that woman was also your teammate’s sister. Don’t you see the problem with that? Do you not expect tension in the locker room?”
I stare him down. “Not any more than is in this room right now.”
He looks away.
He stands, slipping off his jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair. He pours a drink from a sideboard beneath the window that overlooks Nashville. “Would you like one? Water? Gin and tonic?”
“I’m good.”
“Here’s the thing, Renn. It’s my job as the GM of this organization to ensure we are best positioned to make money. A part of that equation is securing the best players.” He looks at me over the rim of his glass. “And another part is maintaining a good image.”
He takes a long slug of whatever he’s drinking like he’s giving me time to squirm.
It’s not the words he’s saying. None of this is news to me. It’s the tone he’s using that’s grating my nerves.
I expected him to try to use this as leverage. Honestly, I didn’t care that much. Getting fucked by businesses is routine for me; I bring my own lube.
But what surprises me, what crawls under my skin and makes me uncomfortable, is the angle he’s taking. And if it’s the path I think he’s going down, there will be fireworks.
I sit back. “I thought we were cutting to the chase.”
He sets the glass down with a thud. “Okay. Let’s cut to the chase. We would like to incorporate you and your wife into a marketing campaign for—”
“What?” I hold up a hand. He did not just go there. “Back up. What did you just say?”
“Marketing has a series of commercials they’ll be rolling out this fall, angled at bringing more families into the stadium. We’re trying to expand our fan base, and we feel that if you and Miss Evans—”
“Mrs. Brewer.”
He smirks. “My mistake. If you and Mrs. Brewer would take part, we could launch a promo with the two of you leading into the series. The optics would be great. She’s very marketable, and everyone loves a rags-to-riches story. Additionally, we could shut down a lot of this chatter and twist the narrative to fit our needs.”
I think my eyes might bulge out of my head. He has to be kidding.
“Nothing major,” he says, sitting again. “Just something to show—”
“No.”
He lifts a brow.
“This is absolutely not happening.”
“I’d like you to reconsider.”
I run my palms down my pants. “I really don’t give a fuck.”
My brain imagines what Blakely would say if I even suggested such a thing—not that I would ever bring it up. There’s no way I’m exploiting what we have for anything, least of all the Royals.
The last thing she wants is her name in print. The whole reason she married me was to stop that from happening. And now Galecki wants to intentionally put her name into the world? To put her up for discussion—us up for evaluation?
No way.
“I’m not saying I know a thing about marketing,” I say. “But if your issue with my marriage is people talking, why would you want to give them something to talk about? Why draw attention to it? Doesn’t make much sense to me.”
“This is bad for business the way it stands. It can be good for business with some … slight modifications.”
“Not my problem.”
“Oh, but it is your problem. Your contract says it’s your problem.”
My blood boils. “My contract says that I won’t cause you problems. It doesn’t say I have to jump through whatever hoop you put before me to make you a little extra cash.”
“Let me be blunt. We own you.”
“No one owns me.”
He licks his lips. “You’ll do it, or we’ll sue you for breach of contract.”
My teeth grind together as I stare at Galecki and his self-satisfied grin. Fuck you.
“Do it,” I say. “Sue me for refusing to have my wife exploited. That’s going to look real good in the papers.”