9. Willow Delmont
Chapter nine
Willow Delmont
I let out a groan. “Whatever time it is, it’s too early for people.” I scrunch up my nose. My mouth tastes disgusting, and when I move, a dull ache pulses through my ankle. The buzzing sound that awakened me continues on my bedside table.
I snatch my phone and I’m tempted to throw it. The only thing that stops me is the insane amount of notifications. I’ve turned off notifications for the Lions’ accounts so that I don’t get spammed like this, so these all have to be from my personal accounts.
My brows pull together as I unlock my phone. Maybe one of my videos went viral, but that seems unlikely since I haven’t posted in a few days because of Granny’s injury.
Just as I’m about to check my accounts, I get a call. The name Brock Jones appears on my screen, making me frown. Why is a sports agent calling me? I have his number in case I need to talk to him about brand deals or advertisements with the players he represents on the team, but he’s never called me before.
“Hello?” I rasp, then clear my throat. “Hello,” I try again, sounding marginally better.
“Miss Delmont, this is Brock Jones.” He sounds much more formal than I remember.
I rub my eyes, feeling my mascara crumble. “How can I help you?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound as hungover as I feel.
“I’m sure by now you’re aware of the fanfare surrounding you and my client, Jason Kingsley.”
I shoot up in bed. The room spins and I have to grip my blanket to ground myself.
“Fanfare? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I thought with you being a social media manager you would have already seen the photos and videos.” The sound of typing breaks up his words.
“I just woke up,” I say.
“Ah, that makes sense, given your…um…state in the videos. As well as what Jason detailed to me.”
My blood runs cold. “ State ? What do you mean?”
“You were drunk, practically passed out in Jason’s arms.” Brock rips the bandaid right off. “Videos and photos have circulated, along with rumors. I’d like to have a meeting with you and Jason to discuss our options.”
I rake a hand through my hair, but it gets caught in the tangled mop. As if Granny getting hurt and me being deported weren't enough, now there’s footage of me drunk with Jason carrying me running rampant.
“Okay,” I manage to say. “When would you like to meet?”
“I’m currently in North Carolina, but Jason has agreed to set up a video chat in a conference room for us. Can you meet him there in an hour? If you give me your information, I can send you money for an Uber, as I’ve been informed your car is still at Jamal’s.”
My face flames. There’s something about the clinical way he’s explaining things that makes everything sound so much worse. Not that it isn’t bad. It is. But if he could throw in a joke or two, that would be nice.
“I can pay for myself.”
“Jason said you would say that.” The first tinge of amusement comes through. I’m not sure how I feel about the timing. “We can reimburse you if you want later. Does an hour from now work? It would be one of the rooms on your office’s floor.”
“That works,” I say, staring at my beige wall.
“Okay, see you soon.”
He hangs up before I can say anything else. My phone drops into my lap. I’m not sure I want to look at any of the notifications now. But I know I need to be aware of what the story is so that I can help Jason and Brock shape it. I swipe a hand down my face. Why couldn’t it have been another girl? It was foolish of me to get drunk, and even more foolish of me to let the infamous Jason Kingsley carry me for all to see and then drive me home.
Drawing in a breath, I pick up my phone. There’s no use in wallowing. I’ll assess the damage and then find a way to repair it. And if it all goes up in flames…well, I’m leaving the country anyway.
The damage is bad. Like my hair after I tried to bleach it myself in middle school bad. Jason’s reputation is as fried as my ends were. The bad boy of football suddenly looks like a creep who takes home drunk girls. There are plenty of people criticizing me as well, but most of the heat is on him. Though if I see one more ‘so this is how she got the job’ comment I might start writing back to people instead of blocking them. My message would entail some minor–okay, major–threats and a thorough criticism of their lack of grammar skills.
I sigh as I slide out of my car in front of the practice facility. There are plenty of players and staff here prepping for the game tomorrow. There isn’t a practice scheduled today, but I know that a lot of the players meet with physical therapists to ensure they’re in the best condition possible. Hopefully I can avoid talking to people though. I at least want a plan before I have to address this.
Thankfully, my family isn’t on social media much. I’ve gotten some messages from people I knew in college and even high school. All of which I’ve ignored. It’s one thing to say ‘no comment’ to a reporter–several of which I’ve gotten emails from today–but it’s another to say it to someone you used to share geometry notes with. I’m sure Brock will have a plan ready to go and we can do our best to salvage both Jason’s and my reputation.
I walk into the practice facility. My ankle is sore, but it’s not as bad as last night. I won’t be taking the stairs today, though, that’s for sure, so I head to the elevators. The offices are situated on the second floor above the indoor field and lockers. I manage to make it onto one without seeing anyone, but I know that’s liable to change as soon as I step out onto the second floor. While the players might be busy, the office gossips aren’t.
My stomach rolls when I hear the ding signaling the doors are about to open. Just breathe and get to the conference room.
I draw in a shaky breath as the doors slide. A few people’s heads turn as I walk past. None of them say anything, but I can feel their judgmental stares. I straighten my spine, though it’s difficult under the weight of their eyes on me. One embarrassing moment isn’t going to define me, even if that moment is plastered all over the internet. It’ll die down, and it’s not like I have to worry about these people’s opinions anyway. I’ll be in Canada in less than two months.
I swallow down the emotion that rises with the thought of leaving behind all that I've worked for. The Lions’ social media was abysmal before I showed up. I built it from nothing and convinced the manager and owner that social media could be a powerful tool for the team. Now my legacy will be that I got carried out of a party by the bad boy of football.
Said bad boy is currently sitting in conference room C, drumming his fingertips on the table. This is one of those times that I wish the rooms here had blinds or drapes. I don’t want everyone spying on us. Though I suppose if they tried to, they’d get caught because we can see them too. But I doubt that will stop them.
I walk in and Jason’s head pops up. He gives me a half-hearted smile that doesn’t match his usual flirty demeanor.
“How’s your morning going?” he asks and I huff out a laugh as I close the door behind me.
“About as well as yours.”
“And your ankle?”
“It’s better.”
“Good, that’s good.”
He gestures to the seat closest to him. I hesitate, but decide to sit where he suggests. He’s at the end of the conference table and I’m on the right side, with my back to the windows. It’s probably for the best that I can’t see the office.
I glance to the left at the projector screen. It’s not even turned on.
“When is Brock supposed to call?” I ask, turning back to Jason.
He rubs the back of his neck. “We’re going to call him when we’re ready. I had something I wanted to talk to you about first.”
I shift in my seat. Why does he seem so nervous? In the months I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Jason nervous. I did an interview series the week leading up to the Super Bowl, and the entire interview Jason cracked jokes and talked about it like it was a breeze instead of the biggest night of his career.
“Did something else come out? I haven’t responded to any messages, so if they said I made a statement, I didn’t,” I tell him.
He shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. “No, nothing else came out. I just have something to ask you that I thought I’d be asking under much different circumstances.”
My brow furrows. What on earth could that mean? I stay silent, waiting for him to elaborate.
He clears his throat. “Last night you said you were being deported,” he begins and I blanch. In the chaos of the morning, I’d forgotten about that confession.
“You haven’t told anyone, have you? No one knows.” His brows lift in surprise. “I found out the day of the party.”
“You came to a birthday party after finding that out?” he asks, incredulous.
“I thought it might be one of the last ones for a while,” I say, sounding more pathetic than I’d like.
His features soften. “Well, hopefully it won’t be. I have a solution to propose.”
“What?” I try to wrack my brain for a way he could help and the only thing that comes to mind is bribery. “I don’t want to go to jail because you’re trying to bribe the government. Also, I wouldn’t take your money. You don’t have to do this because you feel bad about the publicity.”
“This is going worse than I thought.” He sighs, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black velvet box. His large hand slides it over in front of me. “The solution I’m proposing is…a marriage proposal.”
My head rears back as I start to piece together what he’s saying. “Are you–you can’t be–” I glare at him. “This is not a time for jokes, Jason. Your public image is in shambles and I don’t want my reputation to suffer even if I’m moving.”
“I’m not joking. Open the box.” He gestures to it.
I jerk it open, intent on throwing whatever fake dollar store ring he’s planted in there at his stupid face. Then I freeze. Inside is one of the most beautiful diamond rings I’ve ever seen. A large teardrop diamond sparkles atop a gold band. It could be fake, but something tells me it’s real. And expensive .
“You’re serious,” I whisper, not daring to meet his gaze. Instead, I stare at the ring as it casts tiny rainbows all around it as the sunlight hits it.
“The only way for you to stay in the country is to be married,” he says, his voice low and gentle. As if he knows I’m on the edge of a breakdown. “And an easy way for me to salvage my image is by us being engaged. If I was carrying my future wife out of a party because she hurt her ankle…”
“You’d be a hero instead of a creep,” I finish for him. “But this is marriage . We’d have to convince everyone it’s real. We don’t even like each other.”
I finally gather enough courage to look at him. There’s darkness beneath his green eyes, adding to the sadness I find there.
“I’ve never said I didn’t like you, Willow.” His words pierce me. “You don’t like me though, so yes, that’s something to consider.”
My heart sinks. He’s right. I’ve been the one who’s pushed him away and insulted him. “If you know that, then why do you want to marry me? Is it just to save your reputation? When we divorce it could tank again.”
He rakes a hand through his hair, mussing the dirty blond locks. “I want to help you for the same reason I said last night. You’re a part of the team. And by the time divorce is an option, I’ll have worked to rebuild my reputation enough that it can withstand an amicable separation.”
Jason makes a face like he hates everything he’s saying. That makes two of us. I’ve always dreamt of a marriage like my parents' and my grandparents'. Long-lasting, full of love, a true vow to be there for the other person no matter what. Not a sham marriage to stay in the country.
“I don’t think it’s worth it to me,” I say and he winces. “Marrying you isn’t that bad. I don’t hate you,” I explain, feeling bad for hurting him while he’s trying to help. “I just don’t want to marry someone I’m not in love with. Even if it solves both of our problems. We’ll have to come up with another way to help you.”
“And what about you?”
I shrug. “I’ll have to hope that everyone here likes me enough to give me a recommendation letter for a new job in Canada. My family lives there; I won’t be alone.”
The words don’t sit well with me. Sure, I miss my parents, and I’d love to see them more. But I made a home here, and I’ll be devastated to leave my friends and even more so, Granny. Marrying Jason isn’t the solution though. Even if I was okay with the idea of marrying for a green card, I couldn’t fake a relationship with him. Not with the shadow of our first meeting looming over me like an angry rain cloud.
“Can you do me a favor and give it the night to think it over? You can text me your decision tomorrow morning.”
“Sure,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I can do that.”
“Thanks. We can discuss the plan with Brock after that. I’ll let him know that we’re waiting. For now, just try not to discuss it with anyone. Your decision will make a difference in how we handle things.”
“Okay, sounds good,” I tell him, even though I want to say we should just move forward with the non-marriage plan. All this will do is create more chaos because neither of us is making a statement. But it’s the least I can do after turning him down like this. He was willing to marry me, after all.
I look down again at the box in front of me. I can’t believe he bought a ring. It’s a beautiful one, too. The kind of ring I’d proudly wear if the man I loved gave it to me.
“Take the ring with you,” he says, drawing my eyes up to him. “You can give it back if your answer is still no, but if it’s yes, you should wear it to the game.”
My stomach flips at the mere thought of doing something like that.
“Okay,” I say, sounding as numb as I feel.
He slides over a scrap of paper with his number on it and stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you,” I say as he walks behind me and out the door.
Jason Kingsley just proposed to me. How is this my life?