Chapter 2 #3
She took a seat in the chair next to mine, crossing those beautiful legs and grabbing a thick packet of paper from her bag.
Quickly, she thumbed through, pausing at a highlighted section.
“Okay, I have to be in court at nine. We have a little over an hour to figure out the best course of action. What do you have in mind?” She held up a finger, signaling to Cami that she had something else to add.
“Just real quick... There’s a minimum fine of fifty thousand for drug use.
If your drug test is positive, you’ll have to pay that.
You’ll also be suspended for seven games and must attend mandatory rehabilitation classes over the duration of your suspension or until management deems it no longer necessary.
” Sloane flipped the thick packet over, slapping it on her lap.
I cleared my throat with a nod, taking a nervous glance at Sloane. “It’ll be negative, Pip. Promise.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “I believe you.”
Something in those three words lifted a massive weight from my chest. For the first time since she picked me up last night, the breath I took filled my lungs completely.
My gaze shifted back to Camille. To the only person (aside from myself) who could make or break my career.
She smiled, sitting back in her chair and sharing an amused look between me and Sloane, who eyed her best friend warily. There was something in her deep brown eyes that terrified us both. My stomach fell to the floor at the way her lips twitched.
“Rhys.” She turned her focus solely on me, raising an eyebrow. “This is an absolute dumpster fire. PR nightmare. Horrible. Catastrophic. The worst.”
My cheeks flamed, but I nodded to move things along—no reason to keep stating the obvious.
“A lot of people are pissed. You’ve been the Bandits’ golden boy for years.
Fans are calling for you to be removed from the team.
They’ve seen enough of your partying over the past year, and even though it somehow doesn’t impact your game, they don’t want someone who, quote, ‘behaves like a frat boy.’”
I took a steadying breath. Maybe I cared a little about how the fans perceived me. “And?”
The other shoe was bound to drop. It just had to. And based on the conniving look in Cami’s eyes, it was going to be one ugly motherfucker.
“So, I’m recommending something that I think will help if you wanna stay on the team, and win back public approval because buddy, it’s not lookin’ good.” She crossed her arms, and her lips twitched again, holding back a smile she so clearly wanted to let loose.
My nerves were back. Not that they’d ever really left in the first place.
“Can you just spit it out, Cam?” Irritation was starting to replace the nerves. I could tell she was dragging it out just for the hell of it.
“A PR relationship. Something to show the people that you’re considering settling down and starting to behave like a real grown-up.” She plastered on a condescending smirk to nail her point in.
I snorted. “No way.”
Cami shrugged, twirling an ink pen in her fingers. “Okay. Say bye-bye to the pros, then.”
Abso-fucking-lutely not. No. There was no way. A PR relationship? No. I could find another team if the Bandits didn’t want me that badly. Convenient? No. But possible.
I was born and raised in Boston. I hated the idea of moving away from my family, from Sloane. But a fake relationship? Absolutely not.
“Not happening. Double the fine. I’ll pay it.”
Sloane held up a finger. “Now, hold on. This could be good. Show your fans the partying is over, and you’re committed to being the best person you can be—on and off the field.
Save that extra fifty thousand, take this girl to a charity event.
Stay sober, and you’ll probably get back into everyone’s good graces before you know it. ”
“And a PR relationship will do that?” I asked incredulously. “Nope. No way. Sign me up for that community service shit. I’ll be benched until it’s over.”
“Rhys—” She turned to face me, clearly annoyed I was dismissing this so quickly.
“No, Pip. I’m not doing it.” Like a petulant toddler, I leaned back against my seat again, crossing my arms over my chest in a childish display of defiance. “Nope.”
“Hear me out, please.”
“Camille. I'm saying no.”
Her expression grew stern, all evidence of playful conversation gone. The woman who sat in front of me was no longer my friend—only a person who was hired to get my life back on track.
“Do not call me by my god-given name to prove a point, Rhys Armstrong. I’m not the one who snorted blow off a booty call’s ass cheek.”
Sloane laughed again, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle the noise when Cami glared in her direction.
“You knew about this?” I asked, my eyes jumping to her as I cocked my brow.
Sloane shook her head. “No, I promise. But she’s got a point, Rhys.”
I weighed my options for a moment. I could do this PR relationship for a few months, get back into everyone’s good graces, prove I didn’t snort anything off anyone, and then move on.
Sloane was something else to consider in all of this. If I were tied up in a relationship, I could probably get away with not being in the same room with her constantly and avoid pissing her off more than I already have.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “With whom?”
My eyes were closed, but I could hear the grin in Cami’s voice. “This is the best part.”
“It would have to be someone who’s perceived well by the public.
Maybe not as high profile as Rhys, but a name the higher-ups would know.
That way, they know he’s being kept grounded.
I’m assuming you have a list of names?” I opened my eyes to see Sloane already staring at me, her blue eyes hopeful.
“It’s a good idea. Especially if she’s a Boston local, and that shouldn’t be too hard. ”
Cami nodded. “Oh, I already have one. I know who it has to be.”
Sloane looked at her expectantly, eyebrows raised. “Who?”
Cami smiled a wicked, mischievous grin. “You, Sloane. It’s gotta be you.”