Page 17 of Against the Clock

“That’s okay,” he says slowly, grinning at me. “Maybe the company you’re with will be.”

It’s such a bold statement, so flirtatious and out of left field, that I can’t help laughing. Is this guy for real?

“Oh, is that right?” I finally say, taking another huge bite. Damn, it really is delicious.

“That’s right,” he says, but this time, there’s nothing but seriousness in his eyes.

I grab the bag of chips and rip it open, just to give myself something to do. Is he like this with all women? Maybe this is just his schtick. Make them think they’re special, then WHAM! Nothing matters but football.

Didn’t he say that himself?

And if I’m so sure, why does that hurt to think about?

“Are you ready to go on the record?” I ask, my voice brisk and business-like.

“Sure,” he says, leaning back and licking a finger.

My brain short-circuits.

“What did you want to ask me?” he says, and I suspect he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

I clear my throat. My phone is back in the truck, in my purse, but I have no doubt I’ll be able to commit this entire thing to memory. I can use these quotes from Daniel Harrison, QB and Wilmington team captain, to get the others to talk to me. He’ll add weight to my questions.

This is perfect.

“What is your position on the AFL cheerleaders?”

“They’re an important part of the entertainment provided by the AFL.”

I squint at him. “As an AFL and Wilmington Beavers employee, do you believe the cheerleaders should be paid more than minimum wage?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you have to pay for your own uniform?”

He blinks at me like this has surprised him. “No. The cheerleaders have to buy their uniforms?”

I nod. It isn’t even the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the things the American Football League subjects those women to, but it’s a good opener.

“Have you ever received topless photos of cheerleaders from the AFL or team execs?”

His jaw drops. “What? No. I’d… heard rumors, but I thought they were just that. Gossip.”

Got him. My hands clench in my lap, but I force myself to remain calm.

I lean forward slightly, not wanting to appear too eager.

“What kind of gossip have you heard?”

He regards me, and I instantly know that I haven’t fooled him at all. He knows this is what I want, and I know he knows.

“Exactly the kind you just asked me about,” he says carefully. “I thought they were rumors. Guys in suits who wanted to make themselves seem bigger by acting like they had access to the cheerleaders. All kinds of access.”

“Off the record?” I ask. He’s not going to fold. He’s not going to bite the hand that feeds him, and frankly, I get it. The AFL lawyers don’t play around.

“Off the record… I think what you’re doing is right. I say keep digging, and if I knew more, I would help you.”

I sigh, shoulders sagging slightly.

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