Page 61 of Nash

Fuck a duck.

“Hello, Mr. McClaren,” I answer.

“Hey, Reese,” he says, sounding casual enough.

But this is the owner. I highly doubt he’s calling to give me another ego boost like he did in our last meeting with Coach.

“What can I do for you?” I ask.

“I just got a call from our public relations manager,” he says. “She was bringing me up to speed on the progression of the videos you’ve been doing for us.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Looks like a recent one is getting some negative comments?”

My shoulders drop. I get why the PR rep would talk to Crossland about it because she works more closely with him than I do, but damn, she could’ve given me a heads-up.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s from the video I posted today. I’ve actually been reading the comments for the last few hours. I flagged several, but I feel there are more good ones than bad and that the attention Daniel is getting outweighs the negative right now.”

“I trust your judgment,” he says, which is a small relief. “I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page. The way you’ve grown our audience is amazing and no one can contest that. Ticket sales are up and there are new fans, which is awesome, but the last thing we need is a PR scandal right now. Especially during round two of the playoffs with conference finals in our sights.”

“Of course,” I say. “That’s the last thing I want too. I promise. I’m going to post a tamer video tonight and hope that helps draw the negative focus enough to move forward without having to take any videos down or stop my highlight of Daniel. He really does deserve the spotlight.”

“That sounds good,” he says. “Let me know how that goes. You can email me the updates or text at this number. I want you to know that you have my full support, I just like to be in the loop.”

“Got it,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Talk soon,” he says before hanging up, and I set down my phone again.

I rake my fingers through my hair, my mind racing with a whole new load of work I need to do for the evening. I don’t havea tame video of Daniel, and the four I have left are the same eye-catching style we’ve been working with the past few months, but I can create something from the extra footage I have of him.

I take a huge gulp of water, then head into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, knowing this long night will require caffeine.

By the time I’ve poured myself a cup, my phone is buzzing again.

Jesus, what now?

I see Nash’s picture on my screen and relax a little as I swipe it open. “Hey, Nash,” I say, sinking into my office chair.

“Hey, Reese’s Pieces,” he says, his tone laced with joy, no doubt still flying high after tonight’s win. “What are you up to?”

“I’m at my desk,” I say, taking a sip of coffee.

“Working? Still? It’s been a few hours, I thought you’d be done.”

“I thought I would too,” I say. “But I have to create an edit from scratch with a different angle, so it’s going to take me a while.”

“Oh, damn,” he says. “I was hoping I could come over and we could celebrate.”

A pang of guilt hits me. “I would love that?—”

“Then why don’t I just grab some snacks and head over? I can support you while you work.”

I laugh. “We both know the last thing you’ll be doing is supporting me,” I tease. “Distraction might be your middle name.”

“I thought you loved my distractions,” he says in a pouty voice.

“I do,” I say, sighing. The stress in my chest mounts. I hate telling him no, but I really have to get this done. “This is just important.”

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