McKendrick held the door open, bowing dramatically. "After you."
I climbed in, scooting to the far side while he joined me. Once the door was shut, I said, "There will be a video of that too and the owners are going to love it."
He snickered as he sank into his seat, his legs open at an obtuse angle and his hands folded behind his head. "Did you leave your doctor-man to tell me that?"
I glanced out the window to get a sense of the traffic. Storrow Drive seemed clear but the Massachusetts Pike was always a gamble. "As a matter of fact, I did," I replied. "When my client gets into a fistfight at The Liberty and refuses to vacate the premises with anyone other than me, yeah, I leave the doctor-man." I turned back to him, shrugged. "You didn't give me much choice tonight."
"Nah," he drawled, long and loud. "That's made-up drama. Fake news."
My phone buzzed, drawing my attention down to a message from Flinn. No text, only social media screenshots. McKendrick and Whitelock drinking, arguing, throwing punches. McKendrick's bloody lip, Whitelock's black eye. McKendrick following me through the lobby, pushing the security guard, holding the car door open for me. In certain images, we appeared to be walking side-by-side, our shoulders nearly touching. It was a trick of the angle—but it still looked like we were together.
I prayed Cal didn't see any of these images.
I held up my phone, showing my client the photo of his fist connecting with Whitelock's face. "This is what not to do."
"But it's Saturday night," he wailed. "Gettin' in fights and bein' wild is my thing."
"Unless you want to be finished with the relief pitcher thing, those cannot be your things."
McKendrick huffed out a groan. "You should've stayed with your man. I don't need you pickin' me up and tuckin' me in at night."
I laughed at that, a full-on laugh that shook my shoulders and brought a tear to my eye. It wasn't funny. It was fucking exasperating. I'd done everything in my power to avoid picking him up and tucking him in tonight. I'd wanted one night off from fixing and managing and juggling. I wanted one night where I could be the girl in the empty bedroom, the one who didn't get called away and didn't get lost in the definition of her relationships.
"Iamhysterical," he said, his chin lifting with pride. "It's about time someone noticed."
He was a major pain in my ass and the only hysterical thing about this was the shortage of dick in my life right now but I wasn't telling him that. He needed the praise, even if it was hollow.
20
Stella
I loved my job.I mean, Ilovedmy job. I loved it when it was stressful and annoying. I loved it after a messy night that turned into a morning of bad press. I loved it when I didn't think I loved it at all.
But goddamn, I hated being in the office on a Sunday. Working in professional sports meant the weekends weren't my own but I wasn't usually tucked behind my desk during the brunch rush.
"How should we deal with the noise about you and Lulu?" Flinn held up his tablet, tapped the screen showing McKendrick's arm around my shoulders. "We know it's bullshit but we also know the bloggers and gossip columnists have a mind of their own."
"And they've decided it's legit," Tatum added.
"Ignore," I replied with a quick shake of my head. "Can't whack all the moles."
"Hmm. That's folksier than your usual," Tatum replied. "And it's not going to put out any fires or decrease McKendrick's visibility right now. In case you haven't noticed, people are always interested in knowing who is hooking up."
Flinn snickered at that, shielded his face with the tablet.
"No more than refuting it," I argued. "Acknowledging a rumor means we care enough to comment and we'd only care if it was within a shade of the truth."
"And if we field inquiries about your relationship status?" Tatum asked.
"Ignore," I repeated. "Not a topic up for discussion. I'm not a public figure."
"Question for you, boss." Flinn pointed his pen at me while staring down at his tablet. "What's the deal with your quartet of men?"
I took a second to sit back in my chair, fold my hands in my lap. "I beg your pardon?"
He looked up, waved the pen in a small circle. "Your men. Stephen, Leif, Harry, and Cal. We've noticed you deleting individual appointments but you haven't deleted the recurring events."
Tatum bumped his forearm with her elbow, shaking her head. "Cal's not on there. By itself, that's an interesting point to consider."
