Page 22 of Single Dad Dilemma
The yellow background had me lifting my eyebrow at Wren. “Yellow, huh?”
Bridget smiled. “I know everything.”
I gave my assistant a dry look. “I’m aware.” I glanced back down at the proposal.
Midfield with Maggie—a recurring social media series featuring Maggie King, an informal question-and-answer segment featuring three to four players each week.
Pearl cleared her throat. “It’s a good idea,” she said. The diamonds on her rings sparkled, and I had to wonder if the jewelry she had around her fingers and neck and ears were worth more than my house. “It gets your kids involved.”
“Bridget’s already planning to blackmail me for more money if she has to watch them again.”
Bridget pursed her lips. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“More than once, actually.”
“In my defense,” she sighed, “Maggie was showing me how she learned to forge your signature, and I didn’t particularly feel like having that knowledge inside my head. She would love something like this,” she pointed out, giving me one of those stern looks that didn’t leave me much room in the way of arguing.
“So let them be here more,” Pearl said. “You think I’d walk all the way down here for a shitty idea, King?”
“No, ma’am.”
“All our competitors will be jealous they didn’t think of it, and I love making people jealous. You gonna deny an old lady what few pleasures she has left in life?”
Bridget smothered a smile. Wren bit down on her bottom lip, and I cleared my throat.
It didn’t seem like a great time to remind her that she was a billionaire who could buy whatever pleasures she wanted.
“No, ma’am.”
She waved her hand. “Would you quit calling mema’am? Makes me sound old.”
Bridget widened her eyes meaningfully, flicking them over to the clock.
Five minutes.
I tapped my thumb against the table and stared down at the logo.
“And if the narrative shifts in a way I don’t like?” I asked. At any given moment, I could conjure two dozen headlines that lingered painfully long after they were published ... the ones that had pitted me and my brother against each other, had made my divorce tabloid fodder. The thought of my daughter risking any of that was worth pissing off the boss.
“Then we stop,” Wren said. “Right now, it’s something fun and lighthearted. And if Maggie stops having fun, if you have any concerns that the marketing team doesn’t notice first, we’re done. No questions asked.” She looked to Pearl, who gave a short nod. “We’re just doing this as a test run.”
I was so used to having eyes on me, dissecting things like how often I smiled on the sidelines, when I got visibly angry during a game, if I was making the right moves as a coach. But this wasn’t that, and I didn’t want to be the kind of father who applied my own shit to my kids’ lives.
My daughter would perish from excitement. I gave them a weary nod. “Fine.”
Wren smiled widely. “Thank you. We’ll do one feature before the end of the season and see how it lands. If it does what I think it will, we’ll run it maybe once a month during the regular season so it doesn’t take up too much time during practice.”
“During practice?” I asked incredulously.
“What do you thinkmidfieldmeans?” Pearl barked.
“End of practice,” I countered.
Wren looked a lot tougher now that she’d gotten her way, crossing her arms and lifting an eyebrow. “Last thirty minutes. I want chaos in the background; that’s what will make it even funnier. Players will spend less than a minute with her for each rapid-fire round. If we get to the point where it’s too much, we’ll schedule separate filming.”
I slicked my tongue over the edge of my teeth. “Fine.”
Pearl reached out, patting Wren’s arm. “I told you he’d come around.”
