CHAPTER 6 Everleigh Bradley
A Divisive Asshole
My hands are shaking as we follow Lily to one of the conference rooms.
Is he freaking serious? Maverick has a hell of a lot of nerve telling Jack Dalton that I hit on him the other night. That’s not what I was doing.
I was being nice. Trying to welcome someone new to the town where I’m new, too. My brother’s teammate.
My brother’s enemy. My enemy.
At least that’s the way he’s playing it. We’re not off to a good start here, and I clench and unclench my fists as I follow behind him. I need to be the adult here. It’s why I was hired.
He’s just not going to make it easy.
But Stuart didn’t recommend me—and Jack didn’t hire me—to take on an easy position.
Lily stops at a conference room and opens the door to let us in. “I’ll give you two the room for the next half hour or so, and then I’ll be back to work out scheduling details.”
“Thank you, Lily,” I say, and she closes the door behind me as she leaves.
Maverick doesn’t say a word as he slips into a chair with a sulking expression on his face, and I suck in a deep breath.
I don’t sit.
I’m more comfortable standing. He’s making everything uncomfortable as it is, so I assert what little control I have here by standing.
“I’d like to start by assessing your current reputation. An audit, if you will,” I say.
He huffs something out without responding, and I pull open my tablet. I open a browser and type his name into a search bar, and I scan the results.
“Maverick Jennings, football quarterback,” I murmur, reading from the results page. There’s a host of photos of him: two from the field, one off, and a team headshot where I’m forced to ignore the fact that he looks sexy as hell.
Across the top shows his birth date and age along with his current position, team, and number. We’re the same age.
The next row has an article published six hours ago along with a see also section naming the Cowboys, the Aces, and Lincoln Nash.
Underneath that are recent posts about Maverick on social media, an overview of who he is, and the top recent stories about him.
I flash my screen at him. “This is the section we need to focus on.” I point to the top recent stories.
“These headlines are all about your viral rant about Dex last night. We want positive headlines here, not ones casting you in a negative light.” I point to the article published six hours ago.
“Jennings Causing Division at Aces,” I read. I raise a brow.
“I know what the fucking headlines say,” he hisses.
“Do you understand that this is your brand?” I ask, shaking my tablet screen at him. “This is the image you’re projecting. That you’re a divisive asshole who will sell out a teammate for a headline.”
I nearly slap a hand over my mouth after the words are out. To be perfectly honest, I’m shocked I called him an asshole to his face.
But we have to know what’s broken before we can start to repair it, and right now, we’re assessing.
I scroll down and read some older headlines aloud, and when I’m done, I say, “Not a single one of these paints you in a positive light. What about charity work? Appearances? Family, friends, acquaintances that can vouch as character witnesses?”
He remains silent.
I sigh, and then I give it to him straight. “If you want to play, I need your cooperation. Don’t for a second underestimate me. I’m being paid by the Aces, not by you, so my loyalty is to them.”
He raises a brow. “Do you even want this job?”
“Less now that I know it’s you I’m working with.” It’s another bold statement I shouldn’t be making, but it helps to even the playing field a little.
“Feeling’s mutual. I wouldn’t have liked anyone in this position, but even less that it’s someone related to the asshole who took me out for the first six weeks of the season.
And, you know, the girl who hit on me a couple weeks ago.
” He reaches up with his right hand to brush off his left shoulder in a show of complete and utter egotism.
“Do you really think that’s what I was doing?
” I ask. “Do you think every woman who talks to you is hitting on you?” I emphasize the word woman since he called me a girl a second ago.
Before he can answer, I plow forward. “Because I wasn’t.
I was being nice to the new guy in a new city. That’s all.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that. I still don’t buy it.”
I blow out a breath. This is going to be even harder than I thought. “It doesn’t matter. I work with you now, so regardless of what you believe about that night, anything other than a strictly professional relationship is completely off the table.”
“It was from the beginning anyway. I don’t do relationships.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you don’t. It’s the hallmark of every bad boy football player.”
That must press on a nerve because he pushes to a stand, fists resting on the table as he leans forward to try to be intimidating.
It might work on other people, but I grew up with five brothers. It doesn’t work on me.
“You don’t know the first goddamn thing about me, so don’t judge me with your stereotypes,” he hisses.
I hold up both hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Care to explain why you don’t do relationships?”
He sits back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. “Not to you.”
“Fair enough.” It’ll just take a little digging on my part to figure him out.
I finally take the seat across from him.
“Okay, let’s dig into this. I’ve been hired for the next year, and that means we have time to assess, plan, and execute.
Typically when I have a year to rebrand a client, I like to spend the first quarter laying the groundwork for what comes next, and that means we’re going to look at your current image and figure out what our new branding is going to look like.
In the second quarter, we’ll start implementation and use on-field performance.
We’ll work on your media interactions, including not just what you say, but how you say it.
Body language. All of it. And then in the third and fourth quarters, we’ll capitalize on what we’ve built with further community engagement and partnerships that reflect your new image.
But you’re in a unique situation because your coach and team owner want to start implementation immediately.
That means I’ll work out a plan, and we’ll hit the ground running. Any questions so far?”
“Yeah, just one.”
I raise my brows.
“Why the fuck do I have to do this?”
I blow out a breath. Again. This dude is as frustrating as they come. “Because you’re acting like a child, and your big boss man said you have to.” I offer a sugary sweet smile at the end.
He remains quiet as I launch into some more details about what I’m here to do, and Lily joins us and gives me all the team information I need so I can join any and all activities that Maverick will be attending—including practice, where I can observe him interacting with other players, access that’s fairly rare in this business.
But since the Aces hired me, they have the power to allow me in at practices.
Jack may have said I’m not a babysitter, but it’s starting to feel like that’s exactly what I am.
Before Lily leaves, she turns to Maverick. “Mr. Dalton would like you to stop by Dr. Baker’s exam room before you head out for an update. He’d like Ms. Bradley to attend with you.”
Maverick grimaces. He must really love this game if he’s not just walking out.
He pushes to a stand. “We’re done here.”
I laugh. “We’re not done for the next year, Hotshot.”
He raises a brow. “Hotshot?”
I press my lips into a fake smile, and I nod toward the door to indicate that he should go.
And wouldn’t you know it? We run smack into my brother on the way down to the exam room. He likely just arrived for practice, and he spots Maverick first since he has a big body that’s blocking me from view.
“The fuck you thinking running your mouth about me last night?” Dex demands.
Maverick doesn’t say anything, and I peek out from behind him to wave at my brother.
“We’re working it out,” I say to Dex, and he pulls me into a hug.
“Ev! What are you doing here?”
I’m not really sure how Jack wants me to handle explaining away my role here, so I simply say, “The Aces hired me for some branding work.”
“That’s amazing! Was that the big, secret client?”
I nod.
“I’m so glad to have you here. Hope you don’t have to work with that asshole Jennings,” he says, nodding at that asshole’s retreating figure.
When he hears the bat signal, he turns around and snarls a little.
“Oh, she’ll be working with me,” he says smoothly.
He raises a brow, and it’s so very clear that he’s just trying to get under my brother’s skin.
“You know she hit on me the other night. I declined, but I would’ve banged her into next week had I known she was your sister. ”
My jaw drops, and Dex looks like he’s about to punch the guy. His fists are balled up, and I need to do something to stop this trainwreck from taking place right here in the lobby of the Aces’ practice facility.
“Come on, Maverick. Let’s get you down to the exam room.” I say the words tightly, and it’s clearly a reminder of why we’re here—why Maverick isn’t playing. It’s Dex’s fault, and there’s no two ways about that.
Still, Maverick throwing nasty words at my brother won’t fix his broken rib. It’s just going to give me more work to do.