“It’s an emergency case,” I lie, before ending the call. Some might think it’s rude to essentially hang up on my mother, but she’s been doing it to me for years. I began doing the same a few years ago, and when she never commented on it, I continued. While a little juvenile, I don’t care. I’m giving her the energy she gives to me. It’s only fair.
For just a minute, I let myself dream about moving away from Denver. From the only city I’ve ever known. Moving somewhere I’m not a Carrington. Where I’m Audrey, or Doctor Audrey. A place I’m valued for me, and not a placeholder for someone my parents want to add to their empire when they marry me off.
I fantasize about meeting someone who actually likes me, and isn’t there because he is forced to be. A man who sees my value, likes me with all of my quirks, and doesn’t let my parents steamroll over him. A man who won’t expect me to turn a blindeye to his lifestyle like my sister and her husband, or one who ignores me for who I am.
I’m so tired of being ignored, and expected to be less. Expected to be invisible.
As my best friend Chelsea always tells me: I’m a fucking delight, and the right man will come along and see all of my quirks as strengths. Easy coming from my office manager, as she’s a petite beauty with all-American good looks of blonde hair and bright blue eyes. But she’s right.
The right man will come along, and accept me for me.
A brilliant veterinarian with zero game, somewhat lacking social skills, and borderline crippling anxiety.
And also autism.
“The foundation wantsyou to take a bigger role at the next event,” my agent, Troy Brown, tells me. We’re meeting over lunch at one of my favorite hole-in-the-wall taco places. I’ve never been one to lean toward five-star cuisine or trendy places. Give me comfort and anonymity any day. Fortunately, Troy is used to my choices, and doesn’t give me any lip. Frankly, that’s what I pay him for.
“What does that mean?” I ask warily, picking up my fourth barbacoa street taco. I’ll probably eat seven or eight total. Fuckers are tiny, but delicious.
“The last event only raised half of the previous year’s revenue, and the board members are nervous. Costs are rising, and they’re afraid they’ll have to make some cuts to funding.”
Shit.
Playful Paws was a dream of mine from childhood. My grandmother used to tell me she thought I was the animal whisperer, because animals always seemed to show up wherever I was. I began volunteering in an animal shelter in high school, and continued in college whenever I could. As soon as I got myfirst contract with the NFL, I started the process of creating the charity.
“If we announced you as part of the board, and the one who founded the charity, I bet we’d get a massive increase in donations,” Troy says nonchalantly. “People have to know already. You slipped that one time and mentioned the charity by name in an interview.”
“I know,” I snap. I felt awful afterward, like I’d just dropped a major bomb on my own damn life. “I don’t want to be the face of the charity. You know this.”
“What about if you just participated this year? Like a special guest. It would gain more exposure, but still keep the foundation covered.”
I hesitate, thinking about the option. I’m incredibly private. Probably more than needed. But I want people towantto donate to a good cause. I hate knowing they’d do it just because they want to meet me. Who wouldn’t donate to a charity helping animals? Now you’re going to do it just because I’m connected to it? Fuck right off with that bullshit.
“What’s the event this year? Hoity-toity gala? Silent auction? Car wash for the rich and famous?” I ask, irritated.
Troy chuckles awkwardly. “They’ve thrown out a couple of ideas. One is a celebrity calendar with adoptable animals —”
“All male athletes, I bet.”
“That detail hasn’t come up yet. They’ve discussed doing an old-school telethon as well.”
“I don’t know one person who would watch something like that. It’s a waste of money and resources,” I reply.
“I agree. I suggested having a hybrid event for everything.”
“How would that work?”
I see the glint in Troy’s eye when he realizes he’s hooked me. “It would be a somewhat formal event where celebrities could mingle. Maybe each person would walk around with theiradoptable animal. They’ve also brought up the concept of a win-a-date auction —”
“Absolutely the hell not!” I shout.
Troy’s face reddens as multiple tables of patrons turn to stare at me. “Jesus, Jamie. I didn’t say you had to participate. I mentioned I’d talk to you about being the MC.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “You know I can’t — no. I’d have no control over who might bid, and it would end so fucking badly. Jax talked me into going home with this woman the other night, and Jesus, it was awful.”
“You can’t trust Jax with anything, man. He’s a lovesick puppy who only sees sunshine and rainbows,” Troy says with a laugh. He’s not wrong.
“Is the board set on anything right now?” I ask.
