Chapter Six The Proposal #2
It was not a question.
“She objected to the fraud. She agreed the transfer was the minimum responsible condition.”
Amy nodded as though this supported her position. I pulled the application printout from my jacket. Her attention snapped to it.
“You printed it.”
“Blake printed it.”
“You brought it.”
“That is how proposals work.”
She took the pages. Her eyes moved across the rules. I waited.
“This requires a relationship history and certification that we are romantic partners,” she said. “False eligibility information means disqualification, lost prizes, and sponsor review.”
“I read it.”
“So we would knowingly sign while ineligible.”
“Yes.”
She turned the page. “Photographs. Social-media content. You have twelve thousand followers.”
“Classes and local fitness.”
“That makes the deception significantly more public.”
“Or more convincing.”
She gave me a look. I spread my hands.
“Just information.”
“What is the deadline?”
“Friday, May thirtieth, at five.”
“It is Saturday, May twenty-fourth.”
“Exactly. Six days for your spreadsheet.”
“Why are you asking now?”
“Because you need time to construct a spreadsheet.”
She looked back at the application. I stayed quiet. Amy needed space to analyze. I had learned that pushing while she thought made her dig deeper into resistance. After two minutes, she set the pages down.
“No.”
I let the refusal stand. “Okay.”
Again, surprise flickered through her.
“You’re accepting that?”
“I asked.”
“You argued extensively.”
“Because I wanted you to understand the option.”
“And now?”
“Now you said no.”
I stood and collected my cup. Disappointment made the empty paper feel heavier, though the rejection was reasonable. I had known it was reasonable before I asked. Amy gathered the application.
“You can leave that,” I said.
She held it under her coffee cup.
“I am reviewing the terms.”
“You said no.”
“I did.”
“You’re taking the application.”
“I may have comments on the competition’s structure.”
“Of course.”
She looked up at me.
“Dani.”
“Yeah?”
“If I changed my mind, it would only be because the arrangement offered clear practical benefits.”
“Obviously.”
“It would not be because of Evelyn.”
“Never.”
“Or attraction.”
“Absolutely not.”
The wind lifted a strand of her hair. I resisted the urge to reach across the table and move it from her cheek. Amy looked at my mouth for half a second. Maybe I imagined it.
“Tuesday,” she said.
“What?”
“We discuss it again Tuesday. After training.”
I smiled.
“That sounds like a maybe.”
“It is a scheduled reconsideration.”
“Very sexy.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
“I am leaving now.”
“See you Tuesday, Price.”
She walked away carrying the application. I watched until she turned the corner. Then I sat down again. Low emotional risk. The category was beginning to look less credible.
Rose was treating a college volleyball player when I arrived at the gym. I waited outside her office until the athlete left. Rose opened the door, took one look at me, and said, “No.”
“I need professional advice.”
“You have proposal face.”
I followed her inside. “I asked Amy to enter the challenge with me. As fake girlfriends.”
Rose removed her glasses. “You asked your marathon client to commit eligibility fraud because you need certification money.”
“When you compress it like that—”
“I am stating it.”
“She is reconsidering. I told her Miguel takes the file before any application. No conditional transfer. No waiting to see whether attraction becomes inconvenient.”
“Has Miguel agreed?”
“He has capacity. Amy still has to meet him and consent.”
“And Blake?”
“Gets a former-client conflict form before the application. They can believe the relationship is real without controlling her training.”
Rose’s expression did not soften. “That is harm reduction. It is not approval.”
“Understood.”
“Did you tell her you have never finished Lake City?”
I stopped. “Not yet.”
“Then you have not discussed trust. You have discussed logistics.”
“My result does not change whether I can coach a beginner.”
“True. It also does not give you permission to let her assume the answer you prefer.”
I paced to the treatment table. “I will tell her before we apply.”
“A date.”
“Thursday.”
Rose put her glasses back on. “Good. No application until Amy has met Miguel, signed the transfer, and received written confirmation that you no longer control the plan.”
“We agreed.”
“Accurate information. Clean transfer. No informal exceptions. No jokes when you are afraid.”
“That last requirement feels personal.”
“It is. I will formalize injury-risk review if Blake and Amy consent. That is harm reduction, not approval.”
“I accept the distinction.”
Rose opened the door. “Tell her Thursday.”
“I will.”
“And Dani?”
I stopped at the door.
“Why Amy?”
The safe answer was that she was reliable. The true answer was that I wanted more time with her.
“Because she is the best fit,” I said.
Rose took off her glasses, which meant she had heard both answers.
Amy arrived Tuesday with a revised copy of the competition rules.
She had annotated them. Of course she had.
We completed my final session as her assigned coach first. Miguel joined for the cool-down, reviewed the current plan, and scheduled a separate intake before leaving us with the paperwork.
Two minutes running, one minute walking, repeated eight times.
Amy maintained the correct pace without racing anyone, though Carol passed us twice and winked at me.
After the final interval, Amy drank water and checked her heart rate.
“Recovery is improving,” she said.
“It is.”
“My average pace was slower.”
“That’s why recovery improved.”
“So the slower pace was intentional.”
“I have been saying that.”
I leaned back in my chair and let the silence ask whether she had heard herself.
“I needed data.”
“You needed to suffer personally before believing me.”
“That is an overstatement.”
“Is it?”
She ignored me and walked toward the consultation room. The annotated rules waited on the table. I sat across from her.
“Scheduled reconsideration,” I said.
“Yes.”
“What did you decide?”
“That the proposal is financially irrational for me but potentially useful for you.”
“Romantic.”
“It is not romantic.”
“Right. Fake romantic.”
She opened a notebook.
“I have conditions.”
“That sounds like a yes.”
“It is conditional interest.” Amy turned the notebook toward me. At the top she had written:
TEMPORARY COMPETITION PARTNERSHIP: RISK AND BOUNDARY FRAMEWORK
I pressed my lips together.
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m moved.”
“Do not be.” She tapped each item as she spoke.
“The arrangement ends after the final challenge. Miguel assumes full coaching authority before we apply. Medical or training conflict means withdrawal. Prize money is divided equally. Tessa and Rose may know; Blake cannot unless disclosure becomes necessary.”
“Romantic.”
“Public affection requires advance agreement. Hand-holding and posed contact are permitted. Kissing requires an immediate threat to the deception.”
“Emergency kissing.”
“A narrow exception. Neither person interferes in the other’s private romantic life. No bed-sharing. Professional questions receive direct answers; privacy cannot create a false professional impression.”
The last condition tightened my body. “Before we submit, I will answer the marathon question.”
“When?”
“Thursday.”
Amy nodded and turned the page. “Behavioral rules.”
“Those were not rules?”
“Those were terms.”
“Of course.”
She wrote six lines: the relationship ends with the competition; training comes first; no unnecessary kissing; no jealousy; no bed-sharing; no genuine romantic feelings.
I tapped the final line. “Should we initial it in blood?”
“No.”
“Notary?”
“Tessa and Rose will witness.”