Page 106 of The Proposal
I pray my instincts are wrong.
“There have been several articles over the past few days questioning the seriousness of our franchise,” he says. “Many people are second-guessing our decision to sign you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You should be. It’s your fault.”
I flinch. “Because I got married? Give me a fucking break.”
“Because a middle-of-the-night wedding to a woman no one knew you were even seeing—in Las Vegas, of all places—looks a little suspect. And with your history, a lot of people are wondering if this is where Renn Brewer goes off the deep end. Again.”
Stay calm. I force myself to breathe. “What can I say? I’m sorry clairvoyants are moonlighting as journalists.”
“May I remind you that you signed a clause guaranteeing this franchise your cooperation in protecting our image?”
I stare at him, willing myself to stay quiet.
“Don’t think that concerns haven’t been raised that you married a woman who caused waves in this industry a few years ago,” he says.
Nope. “We can talk about me all day long. But my wife is off-limits.”
“If only it were that easy.”
“Make it that easy.”
He holds my gaze. “Let’s also note, for the sake of it, that not only did you marry a problematic—”
“Watch your fucking mouth.”
“Woman in Vegas, but that woman was also your teammate’s sister. Don’t you see the problem with that? Do you not expect tension in the locker room?”
I stare him down. “Not any more than is in this room right now.”
He looks away.
He stands, slipping off his jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair. He pours a drink from a sideboard beneath the window that overlooks Nashville. “Would you like one? Water? Gin and tonic?”
“I’m good.”
“Here’s the thing, Renn. It’s my job as the GM of this organization to ensure we are best positioned to make money. A part of that equation is securing the best players.” He looks at me over the rim of his glass. “And another part is maintaining a good image.”
He takes a long slug of whatever he’s drinking like he’s giving me time to squirm.
It’s not the words he’s saying. None of this is news to me.It’s the tone he’s using that’s grating my nerves.
I expected him to try to use this as leverage. Honestly, I didn’t care that much. Getting fucked by businesses is routine for me; I bring my own lube.
But what surprises me, what crawls under my skin and makes me uncomfortable, is the angle he’s taking. And if it’s the path I think he’s going down, there will be fireworks.
I sit back. “I thought we were cutting to the chase.”
He sets the glass down with a thud. “Okay. Let’s cut to the chase. We would like to incorporate you and your wife into a marketing campaign for—”
“What?” I hold up a hand.He did not just go there. “Back up. What did you just say?”
“Marketing has a series of commercials they’ll be rolling out this fall, angled at bringing more families into the stadium. We’re trying to expand our fan base, and we feel that if you and Miss Evans—”
“Mrs. Brewer.”
