“What is?”
She folds her arms again. “It’s not sensational enough.”
“Neither are other documentaries on real athletes in real sports,” Fisher argues, and I make a mental note to thank him on our ride of shame home, or to prison because that still isn’t off the table.
The sunlight is streaming into her office and it's making me hot when I'm already sweating this meeting that I forced on her. Patrice has her eyes locked on mine. "A puck bunny, a drug problem, a gambling problem, a disenchanted ex-wife. That's all part of the game too. Your family is, in fact, Royalty. I actually grew up watching hockey, occasionally, thanks to a sports-addicted dad."
She comes around to our side of the desk. She’s a very skinny woman and I’m thinking that latte cup on her desk is likely all she’s consumed today. “I can admire the Garrisons, and all they’ve achieved, and the Westwoods, especially Avery Westwood, but he was cleaner than a monk’s drug test when he was in the league. Yawn.”
I do not know what to do with that. My urge is to apologize for some insane reason. Apologizing for my friends and family being model citizens is ridiculous. “I had a whole episode arc on concussions planned. And I can probably talk to someone about getting Landon Casco involved. He has leukemia and it might be good to see that… because these men aren’t invincible.”
I feel kind of shitty saying that. Landon is fighting for his life. I know his cousin Declan and they swear he’s going to come out on the other side of this, but still. I’m using his illness as a bargaining chip and that makes me reconsider ever walking into this office. Maybe I just have to accept the death of my dream before saving it costs me my morals.
I sigh because she doesn’t look very moved by my words. “Okay. Well, I’m sorry this didn’t work out.”
I step forward and offer her my hand. Behind me, I hear Fisher say my name, in shock, like he can't believe I'm giving up. "I would appreciate it if you guys would release the rights."
“Not going to happen.” She doesn’t even sound apologetic about it. “But we may air it one day. This isn’t a loss, Ms. Garrison.”
The hell it isn’t. But I just smile, sort of, and turn to the door. I’m about to walk through it when I hear Fisher say, “She’s secretly married to a player. Is that sensational enough for you?”
Chapter 4
Tenley
I don’t move. Everything in me grows icy, the sweat that was accumulating between my breasts under my fancy blouse and at the nape of my neck now feels like droplets of ice water.
“What? Who? Ms. Garrison?”
“Yeah. Tenley is married to Nash Westwood,” Fisher explains and I finally find the ability to move, spinning back to face them.
“Fisher!” I hiss out his name. He doesn’t even look at me.
“Avery Westwood might have been a saint but the twins aren’t. We interviewed Crew Westwood’s ex-wife and got some juicy tidbits from her too.”
"Fisher!" I don't hiss this time, I yell—so loud Patrice jumps a little in her Louboutin's. Finally, Fisher looks at me, his big brown eyes blank. Like he has no idea what the hell he's just done. "We signed an NDA about that footage and Crew Westwood did not sign off on any of it so whatever that ex said is hearsay and could get us sued."
“Leave the law stuff up to our team,” Patrice advises. She looks at me with the first spark of interest I’ve seen in her. “Are you really secretly married to Nash Westwood?”
“Maybe.” I feel sick giving her that much information. “It’s a personal matter. It’s being dissolved as we speak.”
She walks closer to me and smiles, but there is nothing friendly about it. She reminds me of a viper suddenly. “I’ll put your show on the air in September, of this year. Guaranteed. If you agree to include your own marriage and start filming during the playoffs, not in the summer.”
“The playoffs? These playoffs? But that starts this week.”
“I’ll have a crew ready.”
I look at Fisher who looks like he just won the Super Bowl. By the time I’m done with him, after this meeting, I’m going to make sure he feels like his cat just died. Turning back to Patrice, I explain, “I don’t want to be on camera. I want to be behind it. I’m the producer and the director. I went to school for that—not to be a WAG. Hell, I could have done that right out of high school.”
"Well sometimes in this business, Tenley, you have to do the things you don't want to get the things you do want," she says like L.A.'s version of a botoxed Buddha. The excited glow in her eyes dims a little. "It's not like he's hard on the eyes. Both those twins are hotter than a wildfire."
Gross analogy.
“So, are you up for it? Or do I toss you and your documentary back onto the shelf?”
I swallow but there is no saliva left in my mouth. "I need forty-eight hours. I'm not the only one in this… marriage." Oh God, I hate that word. "And I would have to get Nash's consent, obviously."
“Obviously,” she agrees. “You have twenty-four hours. Have a good day.”
