Page 55 of Jilted

“You sound tired.”

“I am. It’s been nonstop for almost two weeks.”

“I’ll let you go then.”

“Alright, but before we hang up, I wanted to ask a favor. A business one.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m working on getting office space in the city for the management and support staff of the team. But until then, a few people are going to use some space in my father’s building. A floor down from you, starting tomorrow.”

“Oh, wow. Okay.”

“One of the people who’s going to be parked there is my friend Andrew. He’s my in-house counsel. We have a bunch of press releases that have to go out—new player announcements, contracts signed, management hires. They all go through Andrew, but then they usually pass through Millie in my office, who cleans up the wording and fixes the grammar. Andrew graduated top of his class at Yale Law, but he must’ve slept though English in undergrad. Millie went out on early maternity leave today, so I’m hoping maybe you could hook Andrew up with a proofreader or a copy editor he could work with.”

“Oh, I can do it for you.”

“Really?”

“Sure. With one condition.”

“Name it?”

“You have to tell me what the tattoo is on your ass.”

“I’m trying to make a good impression. Don’t make me tell you about a stupid mistake I made.”

“How about if I promise not to hold it against you? I’m dying to know.”

“Does that mean you’ve been thinking about my ass, love?”

“Just tell me.”

He chuckled. “The numbers one, two, and seven. I made a stupid bet against my biggest rival the last year in the league. We lost, and that was the final score of the game. Twelve–seven.”

I covered my mouth. “Oh my God. So you have a losing score tattooed on your ass for the rest of your life?”

“It wasn’t my finest moment. But in my defense, we’d beaten them every single game for nine straight years. It seemed like a no-brainer, and I fancied the idea of leaving that mark on my rival my last year in the league.”

“Seems you got a little ahead of yourself.”

He sighed. “Apparently that’s a habit of mine.”

I laughed. “I’ll stop down when I get in tomorrow to introduce myself to Andrew and pick up the stuff you need proofread.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it. One more thing and then I’ll let you go.”

“What’s that?”

“Are the replays of your shows online right away after your live?”

“Yeah, why?”

He let out a sinister chuckle. “’Night, Cupcake.”

“Hi. Andrew?”

The tall, lanky, clean-cut guy flashed a boyish smile. “I’m guessing you’re Sloane?”

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