I nod. “Dexter, I'm so sorry for your loss.”
He clears his throat, picks up his coffee mug and takes a long sip before looking back in my eyes much more determined now.
“I’m proud of Braxton. He’s a bright, adorable, and sweet two-year-old with a cute accent. But I can’t let it get out that I have a child. This isn't me being worried about my reputation or image anymore. I don’t give a shit about that. People already think I’m a player. A pregnancy and a surprise child wouldn’t be all that shocking to the media. It’s about Braxton. I want him to have the chance to grow up and live a normal life. It's what Mara would have wanted. I’m still sending checks to her sister, and they are extremely generous. My manager is lining up a house for them to live in that I’ll buy so that they will have more space and not be living in a place that constantly reminds him of his mom. I’ll do anything for him; I just don’t want people to find out that he’s mine. Not now. Not like this. Not when the wound is so fresh from Mara's passing.”
I understand more than he realizes. When Elsie was born, I’d been worried about the attention that the media would place on her, as her father, a rookie, had just been picked up by the Texan Thunderhawk’s and the media had been relentless abouthis suspected drug use and partying. Thankfully, once Vance lost his contract and spiraled, eventually disappearing from the world of football, no one seemed to care anymore about the family he left behind.
“So, you can see now why I think you could help me,” he says.
“I understand better now. But Dexter, the only way to get ahead of this is for you to control the narrative.”
A big smile spreads across his face as he sits back on the couch. “See, I knew I hired you for a reason.”
“You’re okay with a press release announcing you have a child?” I ask, surprised.
"More than okay," he replies. "We just need to divert their attention away from London. Maybe even craft a fabricated story about who the child is, their age and where they are located. Honestly, I don't care about the details. What matters is keeping Braxton's life from being turned upside down. At least, not until I retire in a few years. The lifespan of players in this game is short—they burn out faster than they emerge. I understand that. But until then, I need to protect and shield him."
I nod, my mind already hard at work as I conjure a plan for how we could announce to the world that the country’s star quarterback, a ladies’ man and family favorite, has a child with a woman he really cared about at one time privately without revealing Braxton's identity. This is personal now, there’s a little boy on the line whose life will be affected if we don’t do this right.
“I can see the wheels turning, and I like it. Imagine how thrown off the media will be when they receive this announcement from a no name publicist. I'm hoping that distracts some of the attention away from the story," he says.
I laugh. “So, you're hoping that by having me drop this story, they’ll dig into my past instead?"
He shrugs. "Change your name before we make the announcement. They won't know who you are and where to look. Plus, wouldn't you prefer to not be tethered to that loser Vance anymore anyhow?"
I think for a moment and then nod my head. I’ve been determined to sever all ties with Vance Jones since the moment I realized who he really was, and changing my last name might be the final thread to cut myself loose.
"Let’s eat and brainstorm for our plan of attack,” Dexter says, leaning forward to grab some fruit from one of the plates.
“Wait,” I put my hands up to stop him. “I’m willing to help you, but I want to talk compensation.”
“Go for it.”
“I want three things as part of this agreement.”
“Lay 'em on me.” He grins as he shovels a handful of blueberries into his mouth.
My mind spins, trying to figure out a way to make this work in me and Elsie’s favor so that I don’t ever have to return to my casino job. "One, you just got me fired from my job, so after this gig is done, I’m still unemployed. I want you to pay for the startup costs for me to open my own sports PR firm, the first three months’ rent at the location of my choosing, any licensing costs and anything else that goes into getting this business running. I can handle the legal side of things with my education, but the location and startup costs are on you.”
“Done,” he says so simply as if money was never a consideration in this discussion. “What’s next?”
“How much are you going to pay me for this gig?”
“How much do you want?”
I try to think of a number that will set Elsie and me up for at least the next year, but I come up empty. I’m not even sure what a PR firm would charge for something like this, and I don’t want tolowball myself or aim too high.
“How much were you going to pay a firm?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.
“You’re a master negotiator already. I like it,” Dexter says, leaning back with a grin. “I was prepared to pay $20,000 a month to a top PR firm. You’re new, so here’s the deal: impress me. Make this story disappear in one month, and I’ll pay you a flat $50,000—and help you start your own firm.”
My jaw drops. Okay, I told myself I’d play it cool, but hearing that number leaves me reeling. For someone who just quit her job and has been scraping by since being cut off from her wealthy family, fifty grand would be life changing.
“Okay…” I manage to squeak out, trying not to look like I’m about to jump out of my skin with excitement. Spoiler: I’m failing miserably, and he notices.
His smirk deepens, clearly amused. “Does that meet your standards?”
I nod quickly, maybe too quickly. “I… Yeah. That’s fine.”
