“I fucking care.”
For some reason tonight those three words rattle me. Maybe it’s because this is such a huge night for Coop, and I’m feeling a little sentimental, or maybe it’s because I know I’m going to be quitting soon and I feel a little guilty.
Wait a minute though. I know better than to be shaken by his empty declaration. This isn’t about him genuinelycaring, or desiring my company, or giving me the chance to enjoy a night that I spent a lot of time making happen. This is solely about him not wanting to show up to the biggest night of his career alone.
It’s been almost six weeks since Coop dumped his latest flavor of the month, Megan Ross. I didn’t think the woman had much substance, but I guess good conversation doesn’t matter when you’re a popular Instagram model with a huge butt, fake breasts, and over five million followers. In fact, I’m pretty sure that the two of them didn’t do too much talking at all.
I’ve attended public events with Coop before, but we’ve never strolled the red carpet together. It’s clear though that he’s dragging me along as his “date” to show Megan or maybe even to show the world that he’s fine without her. In my opinion, he’s trying too hard. Everyone knows he doesn’t do anything serious.
“You’re doing too much,” I say.
“What did you say to me?” he asks in a steely cold voice. Once upon a time that voice used to make me shiver and shake in fear, but that’s no longer the case. I’ve since learned that it’s just one of Coop’s many strategic tools to keep people at a distance or to control them.
He uses his size, his voice, and sometimes his coldness to intimidate his opponents on the field and in business, but it doesn’t work anymore on this girl here. I know better.
“Isaidthat you’re going through an awful lot to prove that you’re over some woman thatyoudumped by the way. It’s pitiful. If you miss Megan so much, just tell her you made a mistake. Get back together. I’m sure she’ll jump at the chance.”
“You think this is about Megan?”
“What else would it be about?”
“We were never serious. This isn’t about her.”
“Of course, it wasn’t serious, but whatever this is about, I think it would be smarter if I didn’t walk the red carpet with you. Just so there won’t be any misunderstandings.”
“Such as?”
“Such as Megan and whoever else thinking that I’m actuallywithyou tonight. This is a big night for you. Other than the Super Bowl, I’d say that it’s the biggest night. Some people might jump to the wrong conclusions.”
I’ve been able to be mostly anonymous the entire time I’ve worked for Coop. The woman behind the man. I really don’t want any permanent reminders of me being connected to this night on camera, on tape, or anywhere. I want a clean break.
“You’ve been working for me for three years and have been to every game, every publicity event, and every interview I’ve ever agreed to. The people that matter already know that you’re just my assistant.”
Just.
I hate that word.
It’s fine though. I just have to hang in there a little longer, and then I’m done with all of this.
“Exactly,” I say brightly, shaking off his condescending remark. “We’re basically saying the same thing. Everybody knows that I’m not your real date, so why do we need to walk in together and make it appear as if we are?”
Coop lazily looks me up and then down, and then his eyes settle on my cleavage—what little of it there is—for a moment before he speaks.
“The red looks good on you, Owens.”
I stumble to come back with a quick response. Coopneverpays me a compliment. Tito notices it too. He’s smirking up front and seems to be taking an unusual pleasure in our exchange tonight. I’ll have to speak to him later about doing a better job of minding his own business.
I swallow the lump in my throat and manage to retort with a respectful, “Thank you, Coop.”
“Tito, let’s stop at the next pharmacy and get a first aid kit. We should always have one in the car anyway. We’ll wait for Owenstorepair her ankle, and then we’ll walk the carpet together as planned.”
“Gotcha, boss.”
“But—” I protest.
“You know I don’t like talking to every sports journalist and blogger on the planet. That’s your job. It’s my job to put on some shades, look good, and pose for a few photos.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
