“Well, I don’t want to put the assistant coaches out of work.”His eyes crinkle, and I laugh.
“I’m Nova, Harlan’s future sister-in-law.”
“Call me Bill.And I know who you are,” he says, eyes sparkling.“I’ve seen you drawing up in the box.”
My gaze flies to Clay, but Coach continues down the row of items for auction.
“You seem to be fitting in well.”
“I’m only here until the wedding.It feels strange to get to know people only to leave them again.”
“Describes nearly every job in the NBA,” he says dryly.
That never occurred to me.“But surely people can build a career in a city if they want to.Harlan’s here to stay—he has a house and an office and five cars.”
“Five, huh?”
Coach laughs, and I blush.Maybe that wasn’t public knowledge.
“From the scouts to the GMs to the players, we drag our asses across the country and around the world for the chance to be a part of this sport we love.The moment you think you have control, you realize you’re at the whim of something bigger.”
I think about Clay’s stress over his injuries, his desire to play where he can make a name for himself.Or build on the one he has.
Everyone on the team wants the same things, but they need to realize it.
I scan the ballroom and send off a text.
Nova: I need your help.
It’s not a minute later when I feel him come up behind me.
“Hello there.”
“Hi.”
I turn and smile up into Clay’s handsome face.In a suit, he looks incredible.
“Coach and I were just talking…”
I turn and gesture to the man behind me, and Clay realizes he’s been caught out.
“He was wondering about this Apple Watch.I figured since you’re so into technology, with your electric car and everything, you could advise him.”
Clay’s eyes narrow.I’m on to you.
I shrug, innocent.What?
But the two men start to talk, and satisfaction rises up in me.I’ve given him the perfect opportunity to mend fences.Maybe even to talk about his future here.
I continue down toward the auction table, proud of my job well done.
My attention locks onto a display of frames.
The contents are intimately familiar, and my heart starts to thud.
“Wait, what are…?”
My drawings.
