Page 2 of Drop Shot
“I like my job,” Whimsy says, looking between me and Jackson. “I’m perfectly capable of continuing to do my job under the radar if we do this.”
Jackson’s shaking his head before she gets the full sentence out. “People will know.”
I suppose he has a point there. When you’re in constant close quarters with these people they know things.
“So, won’t they know this is fake?” I counter.
“You two will have to act like your lives depend on it,” he says, making eye contact with each of us. “You will be sharing a room—and a bed—because again, people will think it’s weird if you’re staying in a room with two. You’re adults. I think you’re both capable of being mature about this.”
“Jackson,” I gripe. “Do you hear yourself? This is insane. I can make a public apology, maybe do a few interviews, go live a couple of times … whatever … and this will all blow over.”
“That might’ve worked in the past, but you’re too old for this shit. You need to look like you’re settling down.”
I look to Whimsy to see if she’s hearing this shit he’s spewing, but she looks mildly ill.
“Hey.” My voice gentles and I lay my hand on her knee—not on her thigh where I’d most definitely be crossing a line. “Are you okay?”
She gives a tiny nod.
“Look, you’re stressing her out,” Isnap at Jackson.
I slide my chair out and get up, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge in the corner of the office space. The bottle is smaller than my fist, but it’ll do. I take the cap off and hold it out to Whimsy who swipes it quickly and sips carefully at the liquid.
“Look, I’m not trying to stress anyone out. I’m just doing what you pay me to do and that’s clean up the streak of shit you’re determined to leave behind wherever you go.”
I settle back into the chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’ll only do this if Whim is okay with it.”
Whimsy’s head whips in my direction. “Don’t put this decision only on me,” she begs.
I shrug. “It’s up to you.”
Jackson drags a hand down his face. “If it’s not her, it’s someone else. I figured you’d be more agreeable since you already know each other and get along.”
I exchange a look with Whimsy, and she gives a tiny shrug. “How long would we have to do this?”
Jackson’s shoulders relax now that I’m not actively fighting against him. “Minimum six months but we’d prefer a year.”
“A year,” I croak, rubbing my jaw. I turn to the woman at my side. “Think you can handle being my fake girlfriend for that long?”
She gulps and before I have a chance to wonder why she looks so scared over the idea, she says, “Yeah, I can do it.”
“Excellent!” Jackson slams his palm down on the table. “Let me grab the contract.”
He turns, rifling through his bag.
“You already have it?” I blurt.
Jackson’s fingers freeze on a stack of papers. “Of course. Do you think I’d allow you time to try to wiggle your way out of it if you agreed?”
I purse my lips and sit in silence. He has a point.
He slides two separate contracts over to each of us.
Whimsy scans the first page and looks up at him. “Can I have a lawyer take a look over this?”
He sighs like he very much was hoping this question wouldn’t come up.
“Sure,” he replies. He turns to me. “Angus put it together and approves, but feel free to call him to confirm if you’d like.”
