“The fuck difference does it make when I’m already sitting?” he asks.
I mean…it’s a fair point.
“You know what they’ll do. They’ll have Dr. Bakerclearme a week early, I’ll serve my time, and I’ll be back on the field when I was supposed to be.” He puts air quotes around the wordclear.
“Is that how they did things in Dallas?” Her eyes study Maverick carefully. “Because in Vegas, that’s not how we operate. You won’t be cleared until you’re medically healthy to play, and then you’ll serve out any sentence deemed appropriate by the team and the league.”
He huffs out a sigh. “It’s not the first time I slugged an asshole who had it coming, and it won’t be the last.”
“It’ll be the last here in Vegas, Maverick,” Ellie warns. “You need to get control of yourself if you want to step foot on that field. I know Jack and Lincoln, and they won’t stand for this kind of behavior.”
“Can I issue the statement?” I ask Ellie.
She nods. “Of course. It might be better coming from you anyway. It’ll explain why you’re by his side all the time. Just the intro to the Vegas media circus you were searching for, right?”
I chuckle, and I see her email pop through, so I format it and send it off to the local outlets while she taps around on her computer and Maverick sits there looking uncomfortable.
Ellie looks up. “I was gifted two tickets to the Hope Gala in LA next Monday. You can attend with Everleigh.”
I glance over at him. I don’t particularly want to attend as his date, but that’s not really what this would be. It would be him taking part in a charity event—and a big one, too. She’s right. Normally he wouldn’t be able to attend an event of this scale, so why not use this time off to our advantage? It’ll show him doing some good for once instead of constantly making thewrongsorts of headlines.
“No,” he says at the same time I say, “Yes.”
Ellie purses her lips and turns to me. “Hotels might be tight since the event is sold out, but it’ll be the perfect place for him to start showing he cares about more than just himself. The mission is to offer hope and opportunities to underserved youth in the greater Los Angeles area,” she says, reading from her screen.
“Thanks, Ellie. It’s a great idea.” I look up the event, find the location, and book a two-bedroom suite at the hotel where the event is being held, and then I book us two plane tickets, too.
If he won’t give me material to work with or ideas for what sorts of ways he can impact the community in a more positive way, Ellie and I will have to work together to create these opportunities for him.
And if he doesn’t like it? Too damn bad.
“You should talk to your publicist back in Dallas and let them know we’re handling things here in Vegas. Too many cooks in the kitchen, you know?” Ellie suggests.
He gives her a death stare, but he taps something out on his phone anyway.
We leave Ellie’s place shortly after that. It felt like a productive morning despite the hell of a time he gave me when I banged on his door at eight o’clock to get him out of bed. I called him first, and when he didn’t answer, I sent Lincoln a text to let him know he wasn’t answering me.
I hate to be a tattletale, but I’m just doing my job.
“I’m not going to Los Angeles with you,” he hisses when we’re in the car. I drove despite his protests, but on the way to Ellie’s, I explained what we were doing while he sipped black coffee from a tumbler. He was clearly not at one hundred percent this morning, and I couldn’t pretend like I wasn’t getting the tiniest bit of joy out of putting the music up to a volume that was just a little higher than background noise.
He seems less hungover now than he was when we drove here, but less hungover apparently means more objectionable and louder.
“I’m sorry to say that in fact you are,” I say as I merge onto the highway.
“I hate this,” he mutters.
“I know. It’s not a walk in the park for me, either.”
He glances over at me. “How’d you end up stuck with me?”
I keep my eyes on the road as I give him my full, honest answer. “I work for a marketing firm in Chicago. I guess Jack Dalton is friends with my boss, and he asked for my boss’s best brand strategist. I gave up thirty-two clients in Chicago for one in Vegas with the hope that I can launch my own branding firm once our term is up.”
“Did you know it was going to be me?”
I shake my head. “In fact, I told my boss I didn’t want to work with an athlete.” My voice is dry as I say it.
“Why not?”
