Page 18 of Truth or Tequila (Grand Slam 1)

He doesn’t smile back. “I think you misunderstood what I said. It wasn’t meant as an insult. I have gay friends and Cuban friends. Roman’s both, and I consider him a good friend.”

“It doesn’t matter if you have friends—”

“Sorry I’m late, Dad.” I turn around to see Gentry Randall sauntering into the office. He’s a little taller than his dad, but he has the same aggressively receding hairline. He has on madras-plaid shorts, a white T-shirt with an enormous Balenciaga logo on the chest, and flip-flops. He stops dead in his tracks when I stand up.

“Well hello, Sophia Banks,” he says, slowly looking down the length of my body. “Dad didn’t tell me you were going to look like this. Nice to have some eye candy in this place finally.”

“Good Lord.” I fall back into my chair, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Gentry, that’s completely inappropriate to say in a business setting—really, in any setting.”

He has the confused look on his face that every entitled man has when you challenge him.

“What?” He laughs as he falls into a chair beside me.

“Miz-z-z-z Banks,” Gary says, drawing out the Ms. title like it’s an insult, “I hired you to root out a problem that we have within our clubhouse, not to put a microscope onmyfamily.”

“No,” I say, turning toward him. “You hired me to improve your team’s image. That involves correcting problems within the entire organization.”

He leans forward on his elbows. “It involves what I say it involves.”

I take a deep breath. It makes me feel like I’m going to throw up again. “Mr. Randall, we agreed that today’s meeting was to determine if we’re on the same page. If we’re not, I’m happy to show myself out.”

In fact, I’m more than happy to do that. There’s nothing I want more than to be curled up in bed again.

“Your reputation is that you’re the best in the business,” he says, glaring at me. “Maybe we can start again, and please call me Gary.”

Gary turns to Gentry. “Apologize to Ms. Banks.”

Gentry looks like his dog just died. “I’m sorry,” he says, still looking at his dad. “I just meant, uh, that you wear your clothes well.”

Gary’s head flips back to me to see if I’m going to let that one slide. I’m not.

“Okay, Gentry,” I say, patting the arm of his chair. “Here’s a trick I use with some of my other clients. WSM—white straight male.”

“Hey, that’s me!” Gentry points to himself proudly.

“Yes, very good,” I say, trying to keep my voice from being too condescending. “So this should be easy for you. The trick is: before you say something to anyone, think to yourself, ‘Would I say this to a WSM—white straight male?’ If you wouldn’t, then you shouldn’t say it to the person in front of you either. For instance, if I had been a white straight male, would you have referred to me as ‘eye candy’ or told me that I wear my clothes well? I can see by the look on your face that you wouldn’t have, so now you know you shouldn’t have said it to me either.”

He looks confused. I turn back to Gary. He’s still scowling at me.

“Would you like to get started or should I show myself out?” I’m hoping he’ll tell me to leave.

He seethes for a good minute before he finally says, “Roman said you spoke your mind, but I don’t think I expected all of this.”

“It can be a lot,” I say, nodding, “but it’s the quickest way to accomplish our goals.”

“Hmm.” He’s not convinced, and from the look on his face, I think he’d like to slap me. “Why don’t we test each other out for a few days and see how we feel after that? My attorney said you signed the non-disclosure agreement.”

“I did.” I settle back in my chair. The adrenaline that’s now surging through my body is making me feel a little better.

“Then let’s get started. The short version of the story is that our PR department banned Liza Murray from the team’s clubhouse for a few days. She started making a fuss all over town that we did it because she was the only female reporter covering the team.”

“Was that the reason?”

“I can’t get a straight answer as to why it happened. My PR guy, Ken, says he did it because she left the newspaper and started a blog. He said her blog wasn’t accredited media.”

“Butshe’saccredited media,” I say. “She’s been working in this market for five-plus years.”

“As I said, I didn’t get a good answer.” He stops to take a long swig of his Diet Coke. “Her feeling is that one of the players asked that she be banned, but she won’t say who she suspects.”

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