Page 48 of Pucked and Pregnant

her, she looked me dead in the eyes and

admitted that she and her brother were having

an affair.”

That’s right, dear reader, this city’s current obsession

doesn’t just share a love nest. They also share genetics

and a predisposition toward violence.

“I said to her, ‘this isn’t right. You need

professional help.’ She started screaming obscenities

at me. I knew I had to leave before she got

physically violent.”

I think I can speak for us all when I say these are

two very sick individuals and management needs to…

Gee,I wonder who that inside source could possibly be?

I don’t think Travis is stupid enough to take my sarcasm at face value. In fact, I don’t think he’s stupid at all.

I think he’s smart enough and vindictive enough to take what I said and twist it to further his agenda and that’s precisely what he did.

If I become miserable enough from the media hounding me, I just might quit.

If I quit, that senior analyst position is wide open again. And since he’s been so loyal and steadfast through two of his partners cracking under the pressure, they’ll surely see his worth and give him the job now.

That tactic was what broke Alice. He assumes it will also break me.

There’s just one flaw in his plan. I’ve got the stubbornness of a retired Marine First Sergeant thanks to Dad and the burning rage of, well, myself.

That doesn’t mean it’s not hard to deal with.

Travis’s bullshit interview inspired every girl who hated me in high school to come out of the woodwork and give their perspective to any media outlet willing to listen. None of their quotes were flattering, but at least they had the balls to puttheir names on the statements. There was no anonymous source nonsense from them.

Interestingly enough, each of the women used me in high school to get close to Max, and they absolutely lost it when he rejected them. One of them even broke into our house.

Those interviews dumped a truckload of lighter fluid onto the fire Travis had already started. My trash was rifled through and several reporters had tried to break into my apartment building to get to me.

The morning the “anonymous source” interview came out, I tried to leave for work like usual. I didn’t even make it two steps outside before a horde of reporters were sticking microphones and cameras in my face. When I refused to give a comment, they got in my personal space, shouting at me and trying to bait me into losing my temper.

I could work from home but come Sunday I’ll be in Vegas doing a color commentary and a press conference. Scott and I came up with a plan to squash the story during the conference, but I’m still dreading it.

Before all this mess happened, I always thought the guys were being overly dramatic or exaggerating when they would complain about the media. Yes, it sucked, but they also knew what they were getting into when they started playing in the pros.

Everybody knows that the media follows celebrities around, so it was hard for me to have a lot of sympathy for them, especially when they were making at least three times my salary.

From my perspective, they had seemed like bratty toddlers wanting to have their cake and eat it too. Now that I’m on my third day of being a prisoner in my own home, I don't feel that way anymore.

It’s been so stressful that I can hardly keep any food down. I wake up nauseated and I’m more exhausted than I've ever been in my life.

I can’t even open my curtains to get a drop of sunlight. The second they even twitch, an army of drones rises up and heads straight for my apartment windows.

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