My brain is mostly operational, but there’s some sludgy goop left slowing things down.
Which is why I stare stupidly at my boss while I process what he said.
“Daddie,” I whisper.
Fuck.
Duncan had talked to the Thrusters PR team already.
He knew.
He knew before he ever showed up at my apartment this morning.
Tripp clears his throat. “We would make all official announcements using both of your names individually and separated by enough lines to not imply anything.”
“You don’t want a player?” I ask. “From our team, I mean.”
“We were leaning toward Diego, but it’s impossible to deny the extra press boost that you’d bring instead.”
“Because Duncan bid over a hundred grand for me and it’s making people lose their minds.”
“That was…a very large bid.”
“There was no fine print. Just because he bid that high doesn’t mean it comes with a blow job.”
Mother. Fucker.
I just said that to my boss.
Thank the baseball gods, he snorts in amusement, though he’s clearly trying to stifle it.
“We won’t put that in any officialorunofficial announcements unless we have to,” Denise says dryly.
“Thank you, Denise,” I reply. “Let’s make sure we don’t have to.”
“Agreed.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Tripp says to me. “You already do more community outreach than anyone else on the coaching staff. Officially and unofficially. No one will hold it against you if you’d rather sit this out. And it won’t impact your evaluations as we go forward with interviews for Santiago’s job.”
This is a terrible idea.
I don’t know if Duncan was nice to me this morning because he knew about the community outreach program and how the auction last night would affect who he was partnered with from the Fireballs, or if he truly just wanted to check on me.
I know he wasn’t happy to see me last week.
Or last night.
But something changed since we ran into each other at the start of the auction.
Question is, is this change permanent, or is it temporary so that he can get through working with me in public?
Until last week, I would’ve told you the same thing I told Tripp—he’s a nice guy.
And I would’ve meant it.
Istillmean it.
I can acknowledge he’s a nice guy—and that there’s a part of me that likes him—and also acknowledge that our lives don’t mesh.
