Chapter 41 Shouldn’t Give Me the Ick #2
I force another smile. “That sounds great. I really appreciate it.” Except for one big problem. Darcy is still not speaking to me, and I can’t picture myself spending any length of time at a Wayfair resort without her. I wouldn’t even want to.
“We’re working with our advertising firm on some concepts,” Mr. Randolph says. “One idea was to do something humorous—like having you use your hockey stick on the putting green.”
“All right, that’s kind of funny.” I like this better than just a thirsty beach shot. “And not just the putting green. How about shuffleboard, too? Or wait—badminton? I could make it work.”
“Yes!” Tessa shrieks, and they both laugh.
“You’re a good sport, Eric,” Mr. Randolph says. “The contract also calls for you to put some sponsored Wayfair content on your own social media accounts. But it doesn’t have to be a hard sell. Just some organic shots of you at our properties.”
I expected that, so I just nod. “The voice would be just, like, ‘another great meal at the Wayfair.’”
“Sure,” Tessa agrees. “Or you could say something about how you always get a good night’s sleep at the Wayfair. A comfortable bed and a hot cup of coffee. That sort of thing.”
“Authenticity is better than a sales pitch,” Mr. Randolph agrees. “Like that marshmallow picture on the beach.”
“Well, not like that one,” Tessa says tightly, and her father’s eyes cut over to her.
“Not exactly like that one,” he says gently. “But the casual vibe is nice.”
The rest of lunch goes well enough. We get onto the topic of fishing, and I don’t have any trouble spending twenty minutes on the merits and risks of using live bait versus lures in saltwater fishing.
And it’s all… fine. I’m not nearly as excited as I expected to be after a guy handed me a seven-figure deal. Not when I still don’t know where Darcy’s head is.
The waiter brings the check, and Tessa excuses herself to visit the ladies’ room.
I know from experience that it’s all the way downstairs.
But still—now I’m only minutes away from escaping this claustrophobic sit-down, and it makes me feel generous.
“Thanks for lunch, Harvey. It’s a pleasure.
And it’s true when I say the Wayfair never lets me down.
” Especially the one in Massachusetts, which will forever be my favorite now.
“The pleasure is ours,” he says, setting a Wayfair-branded credit card down on the bill folder. “Hey—we’ll have to get you one of these.” He taps the card. “And Diamond status, of course.”
“Like Darcy,” I say with a smile.
“Yeah, about Darcy.” He lifts his gaze to mine. “My daughters don’t get along so well, have you noticed?”
“Of course,” I say immediately. It’s not Darcy’s fault, either, but I stop short of saying so.
His eyes flick in the direction where Tessa has gone. “We’re so excited to welcome you to various Wayfair properties over the next couple of years. But it would be better if Darcy didn’t accompany you on any of our photo shoots.”
“Wait, what?”
He studies me with familiar blue-green eyes. “Tessa will be working closely with me. And I feel she’ll be better able to concentrate without her more successful sister around. Tessa gets intimidated.”
“Intimidated,” I repeat slowly.
“Of course.” He smiles. “Darcy is a self-made woman. Just like her dad. Could have been raised by wolves, that one. But Tessa is a sensitive soul and still growing into her power.”
Sensitive? This level of bullshit glitches my brain, and I just scowl at him.
“She’s jealous, Eric.” He glances over his shoulder to make sure his daughter is still out of earshot.
“She’s in a vulnerable place. And the timing is difficult.
To see Darcy pairing up with a guy like you at this delicate moment in Tessa’s own life is just something she’s struggling with. You understand.”
“I understand,” I say numbly. Yeah, I understand a lot of things, and none of them are good. I reach under my chair and find the folder with the contract in it. The satisfying weight of it in my hand is something I’d been looking forward to.
But now I can’t remember why.
I take a slow breath, and then I make a decision. I set the folder down on the table across from Mr. Rudolph. “Thank you for lunch. But I don’t think this is going to be a good fit for me after all.”
He blinks. “Now, hold on—which part?”
“The part where you sacrifice Darcy’s feelings for no good reason.” I push back my chair. “Thank you for the opportunity, sir. But I can’t say yes. If Darcy isn’t welcome on a trip with me to her father’s hotel, then I don’t feel welcome, either. It wouldn’t be authentic.”
“But…” he sputters. “Let’s discuss this. Maybe we can work something out. Tessa can come to some of the shoots, and Darcy to others.”
“No, thank you.” I rise from my chair. “I don’t think we’ll see eye to eye on this. Sorry, sir, but this opportunity just isn’t for me.”
“We were going to pay you three million dollars!” he calls after me.
Heads swivel in my direction, but it means nothing to me. I’ve never felt more secure in any decision I’ve made. Not ever.
I walk right out of the restaurant and into the summer sunshine. Phone in hand, I call my agent as I cross Spring Street.
“How did it go?” Bess asks breathlessly. “This contract isn’t half bad.”
“Tear it up,” I tell her. “Sorry to waste your time, but it’s not a good fit.”
She’s quiet for a long beat. “Eric, brand-wise it was a good fit. And you’ve wanted this kind of splashy sponsorship for such a long time. So what’s the obstacle?”
“It’s the management. I thought I could work with Mr. Randolph, but I don’t think I can.” Then a terrible thought occurs to me. “God, it was a lot of money. The commission you would have made! I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, stop,” she insists. “Don’t be sorry. I need you to feel great about everything you sign. But it would help me to understand the problem with this deal, so we can do better next time.”
“It’s complicated. I might…” I heave a sigh. “I might be a little in love with one of Randolph’s daughters.”
“Oh,” Bess says.
“But maybe it’s even bigger than that. I thought I wanted a big sponsorship. I thought I was supposed to want it. Maybe I was just feeding my ego. I don’t like what it says about me.”
“Hey, sponsorships aren’t just about ego,” she says gently. “Or even money. It’s about expanding your brand. An athlete with a big platform has more choices when retirement inevitably comes around.”
I stop walking and lean against a brick wall.
Looking up, I see a sky that’s impossibly blue.
Retirement feels a long way off, but that’s an illusion.
Bess’s job is to cushion the blow when it comes, and I appreciate that.
“I hear you. I really do. Except you always tell your players that it’s your job to get us what we want, but we have to know what it is first.”
“That’s right.”
“I thought I knew what I wanted, but I was wrong. I was following other people’s playbooks, and it wasn’t right for me. But I think I finally found something I really care about.”
“Is it something I can help you get?” she asks.
I laugh. “Nope. I wish.”