10. Willow Delmont
Chapter ten
Willow Delmont
I don’t really want to go to my office after my meeting with Jason, but I need to. I should sit down and write out the shot list for tomorrow’s game for the photographers, and make sure I have a plan in place for all of the video content. Fans seem to love behind-the-scenes content the most, so filming the travel day on the team bus would be an easy way to boost engagement. Riding with the guys is usually a blast, but I’m not sure how it will be after this whole fiasco.
I grip the black velvet box in the pocket of my hoodie with one hand as I open my office door with the other. My brow shoots up in surprise when I notice a large popcorn bucket on my desk. As I get closer, I see that it’s filled to the brim with supplies for the perfect movie night. Diet Coke, watermelon Twizzlers, microwave popcorn packs, a Lions blanket, and a few sheet masks. Tucked into the basket is a pink note card with familiar handwriting.
Willow, I heard about your family emergency. I hope everything is okay. I thought a movie night would cheer you up when you get back. Don’t worry, I won’t ask to join you (though this would be a smooth way to ask, don’t you think?) and you can pretend that you hate the gift. Anyway, let me know if you ever need anything. The whole team has your back.
–Jason
I huff out a laugh at his jokes, though tears sting my eyes. I don’t understand him. A part of me thinks I should feel bad for everything I’ve said and done over the time we’ve worked together, but the other can’t stop thinking of how Jason made me feel like the only girl in the world only to not remember me when we met for the second time. Not to mention the fact that, though he’s slowed down his excessive partying, he is rarely without a girl on his arm. And half of what he says to me is some kind of line. It makes it difficult to know how I should feel about him.
Even though his past is ridden with tabloid articles and PR disasters, this was a kind thing to do. I’ll need to thank him for it. He must have done this before the party last night, considering his note has nothing to do with our current predicament. So this can’t be misconstrued as some sort of bribe, which is a shame. Makes it really difficult to hate it…and him.
I pull my phone out of my hoodie pocket, along with the paper with his number on it. His handwriting is much too nice for someone with such a casual personality. It’s one of the things that’s bothered me about all the notes he’s left me with the Twizzler packs. His handwriting is infuriatingly aesthetic, as if he practices calligraphy during off season or something.
Willow: Thank you for the gift basket. I appreciate it. Everything in it is very thoughtful.
I press send without attaching my name to the text. I gave him my number two years ago, so there’s a part of me that wonders if it's in his phone. Though I suppose he could simply guess that it’s me. Unless he sends gift baskets to women often. I wouldn’t put it past him.
Jason: You’re welcome. I meant to ask, how’s your granny doing?
There he goes again, being thoughtful and kind. Two qualities that make for a good husband…I shake my head. What am I thinking? I can’t consider his offer. This gift and his helping me yesterday might be enough to push me toward forgiving his slight from all those months ago, but it’s not going to sway me into marrying him.
Willow: She’s doing well, thanks for asking.
My answer is generic at best, but it’s not like we’re friends. He’s just being polite.
Jason: Sorry, I shouldn’t pry. It’s not like my proposal makes us friends or anything. We’re acquaintances at best.
I smile despite my earlier thoughts.
Willow: Don’t sell yourself short. We’re at least work colleagues.
Jason: Wow, I’m honored. Colleague is much better than archnemesis.
I laugh, pressing a hand over my lips to stifle the sound.
Willow: I've never thought about you enough to make you an archnemesis.
My text is a lie. I’ve thought about him much too often. He makes it difficult not to, what with the flirty remarks and his gifting me my favorite candy all the time.
Jason: That ruins my mental image of you conjuring plans for my demise when you can’t sleep at night.
Willow: Sorry, that’s never happened.
Jason: Too bad, it was a nice image.
My face heats. There he goes with the lines again. No man has ever made me blush the way he does, and I hate it. I feel so out of control. Like a foolish school girl with a crush on the star quarterback.
I set my phone down, but as soon as I do I get a call. It’s from the home health nurse who’s working for Granny Mae.
“Hello?” I quickly answer.
“Miss Willow,” the woman’s kindly southern voice drawls in greeting. “I was calling because you requested I let you know when the insurance payment for your grandmother’s care came through.”
“Oh.” I breathe easier. Everything’s okay. “Yes, thank you for calling, Louellen. If you could let me know the difference and not inform my grandmother, I’d really appreciate it. I don’t want her to worry about this sort of thing.”
“Yes, ma’am, of course.” She pauses, and an uneasy feeling slithers down my spine. “But I did want to warn you that the insurance didn’t cover as much of the cost as we’d discussed before.”
My stomach drops. Not another thing. I can’t handle this too.
“What’s the difference?” I ask.
“Maybe you should come by and we can discuss payment plans,” she suggests.
I start to feel sick.
“What is the difference?” I repeat my question in a soft tone.
“$13,435,” she says, her tone sympathetic.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and will myself not to break down again. Insurance was supposed to cover so much more of that expense. There’s no way I can afford that on top of the hospital bill and physical therapy appointments. I’d move in with her to take care of her myself, but I can’t do that if I’m in Canada. My parents can help with some of the costs, but not enough to make a difference. And I don’t want them to worry about this on top of worrying about Granny’s health. My dad has been stressed enough since Granddaddy died, he doesn’t need another reason.
“Miss Willow?” the woman asks in a gentle tone.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I was just thinking. I will look at some options and get back to you.”
“Okay, that sounds good.” She sounds as unsure as I feel.
I hang up, my stomach in knots. When I look back down at my phone, I see the texts between me and Jason. After checking to see if anyone is looking through my office window, I slide out the ring box and open it in my lap. The diamond somehow manages to sparkle even beneath the shade of my desk. A ring like this…it tells everyone the woman wearing it has money . The kind of money that doesn’t bat an eye at medical bills. Thirteen thousand dollars is nothing to Jason. It’s the equivalent of grabbing a coffee before work. He wouldn’t even notice it leaving his account.
I slowly pull the ring out of the cushion and slide it onto my finger. It’s a touch big, just enough that I can easily twist it around, but not so much that it’s in danger of falling off.
I flex my fingers, shifting my hand so that the light catches the gem at different angles.
Could I really marry Jason Kingsley?
I swallow.
Do I have another choice?
I grab my phone and type out another text.
Willow: I don’t know how to ask this, but I just found out that my granny has some medical bills that insurance won’t cover. Would you be able to help with that if we were married?
My face flames as embarrassment overwhelms me. I’m not a fan of asking for help in general, but this is so much worse. I know that this deal helps him too. Without me, it’s going to take a lot to rebuild his reputation. Even if I make a statement saying things aren’t what they look like, people are liable to see it as him bribing me for my compliance like so many players in the league have done in the past. But knowing that doesn’t ease the sting of the facts. I’d be marrying him for all the wrong reasons.
Jason: Of course. What’s mine would be yours.
I press my lips together as a strange sense of relief washes over me. I’m still embarrassed over the situation, but there’s a way to fix it. I could stay in the country, keep my job, clear my name, and take care of my granny. How could I ever turn something like that down? Even Jason’s sordid past can’t tip the scale on this decision.
Willow: Okay, I’m in. Let’s get married.
My nausea returns, and I bounce my leg in nervous anticipation.
Jason: I’ll let Brock know. We should probably meet tonight to discuss what we’re telling everyone. We’re bound to get a ton of questions. How about I pick you up after you get done with work? We can get dinner somewhere quiet.
Willow: Sounds good.
It doesn’t sound good, though, it sounds terrifying .
Jason: Okay, it’s a date.
A date. I place a hand over my mouth in shock. I’m going on a date with Jason Kingsley, my future husband .