Page 3 of Drop Shot
“I will.” I spin my chair to Whimsy and gives her a light kick to get her attention. “You don’t have to do this.”
Whimsy looks away from the tiny black text on the bright white printer page. “If we don’t do this, then what?” She addresses the question to Jackson.
He shoves his fingers through his hair. I doubt he realizes that it’s not sticking up in every direction.
“I can’t very well make you do anything, but I can promise you’ll be well-compensated.” He slides another piece of paper across the table to Whimsy.
She takes one look at it and blanches. Her French-tipped nails tremble at the edges of the paper. “That’s way more than what I make now. Who’s paying that?”
“The payment will be divided between Elias and us.” By us he means the PR firm.
I snort and take the document from her. “I haven’t agreed to pay anything.”
“You will,” Jackson says with surety.
I take a look at the amount and slide it back to Whimsy.
“You’ll be paid in installments, a large sum upon agreement and smaller payments for things like dates and interviews and any paparazzi shots we set up, and then another large sum at the end of the year. If you only make it six months then this amount is cut in half.”
Her lips pinch and blue eyes glance my way. I desperately wish I knew what she was thinking. She looks back at the document, then at me.
“What are you thinking?” My curiosity wins out.
“I’ll do whatever you want.”
With a sigh, I look across the table at Jackson.
I don’t want to force Whimsy to do anything she isn’t comfortable with. “Whim?” I prompt, forcing her to look at me. “Do you want time to think about this?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’ll do it.”
“Perfect,” Jackson says, flipping our documents open and pointing out where we need to initial and sign.
Perhaps dumb of both of us, but we both sign and hand them back.
He smiles as he tucks the signed documents into the manila folder.
“Starting now, you’re no longer his assistant and you’re no longer her boss. Remember, you’re a couple now. We’re going to do a soft launch the day of your first match in Miami.”
“I think that’s a hard launch,” I correct.
“Whatever.” He waves a dismissive hand. “We want to start getting the word out there. Remember, you’re in love. Smile at each other. Hold hands. Kiss. Do your thing.”
He shoos us out the door of his office and closes it behind us.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I ask Whimsy.
Her little blond head bobs with a nod. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s not what I expected going in there at all. I don’t want you think I knew. I’m sorry.”
“I know you didn’t, Whim. Don’t worry.”
“You’re going to have to get a new assistant now. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her as we head down the hall to catch the elevator. “I’ll survive.”
“I’m s?—”
“Whimsy.” I push the button to call the elevator. “If you say you’re sorry one more time I’m going to … I don’t know what I’m going to do, but it’ll be something.”
