“Lemme see.” I cringed a little as Zia made that flapping come-over-here gesture with her hand, mostly 'cause I’d just met her and mostly 'cause I'd always been a little weirded out by overly familiar strangers. I tried to smile when Zia complimented the ring and then made my way over to Paola so she could ogle the diamond too.
“Have you guys set a date?” Paola asked.
“No, not yet,” I replied.
“My man was smart. Locked that shit down real quick.”
I shook my head, laughing a bit. “Shut up, Jules.”
“I’m just saying. I know more than a few boys at the shop who are still jealous.”
“Yeah, yeah. You came all the way down here to shape him up?” Julius had a barbershop up in Harlem. During Michael’s monthly trips to New York he stopped in to get a trim. I usually tagged along, and loved getting to know Julius and the other guys who ran the shop. Michael was one of his favorite customers, but Miami seemed a bit far down I-95 for fifteen minutes worth of work.
“Hell nah. Your newly acquired power forward, Kyrie Willis? That’s my nephew. I was coming down here to visit him when your boy called.”
“Ah okay.”
“I was just telling Michael about everything we have planned over the next few days,” Paola said. Clearly I'd interrupted something. I took the hint and clammed up. I made myself a cup of coffee while Paola went back to rehashing the schedule Ruben had gone over with us during our flight. I made myself comfortable in one of the high chairs next to Zia.
“You’re on social media, right Kayla?” Paola asked out of the blue.
“Um, yeah I’m on Facebook and Instagram. I have a Twitter, but I never use it much.”
“Well we set up accounts for Mr. Bradbury. The fans love interacting with the whole team, including the owner.”
“Oh okay.” I smiled and nodded, keeping my comments on how Wayne’s interactions with fans had landed him in a rather pickle of a jam. “Yeah, he’s not big on using social media for himself, but Ruben and I will show him the ropes.”
“And if not, just let us know. We can have someone handle tweets and posts for him. Whatever you prefer, sir.”
I looked up at Michael as he stood and let Julius sweep the loose hairs off his shoulders. “I think between the three of us, we can handle it.”
Vera served breakfast and once my coffee kicked in, I hopped in Zia’s chair and let her get my face and my hair together. We agreed on lashes. I hate doing them myself, but when someone else has to fiddle with the glue they are totally worth it. After Michael showered and dressed, we said bye to the puppies and Vera and Julius, then piled into the SUVs waiting for us. Zia had apparently been hired to get Michael camera ready, but after he declined anything more than a little anti-shine powder on his forehead, Ruben suggested she stick around to touch up my makeup throughout the day.
Michael was the focus, but if I was going to be with him I would surely end up on camera and a girl’s gotta look her best. After the mist of my morning nap wore off I realized how smart of a move that was. As we got closer to The Continental Hotel, my hands started shaking. Too little sleep, too much caffeine. Oh and Michael had just purchased a basketball team. I’d have mascara all over my cheek if I were left to do it myself.
Knowing Michael needed a few minutes to gather his thoughts, Ruben kept Zia and Paola occupied, asking them about the good spots to eat and clubs we could check out while we were in town. I wondered how long we would be in town. Six months out of the year? Ten? Would it even make sense for us to keep a place in L.A.? Miami seemed cool. Too hot to breathe, but like Malibu, I liked the feel of being on the water. But did I want to live there for good? Did Michael? Another discussion to table for another time.
With those kinds of easy breezy thoughts running through my head, I figured it might be time to check my phone. I had a bunch of messages and comments on Facebook, congratulating us on our engagement, and one annoying “To who??” comment from a girl I hadn’t talked to since middle school. I had a few missed calls and voicemails, and a dozen or so texts. The first was from my dad.
Michael bought The Flames?!? I almost snorted as I sent him a text back.
Yes. Your first grandchild is an NBA franchise. Congrats.
Too old to be a grandpa. I look too good. But good for him. Smart move.
I shook my head as I clicked over to a text from my cousin. He just wanted to make sure the guy I brought to Thanksgiving was the same guy who just bought Miami. I assured him they were one and the same.
The smile on my face faded when I saw the next text was from my old roommate, Adler. We’d still be friends if she hadn't groped Michael and tried to get between us.
I looked at her Congrats. I'm really happy for you guys. Seriously for a few long moments before moving on to my email. Gordo sent me a virtual bouquet of flowers and then demanded that we get together as soon as possible so he could grill me. I also got a sweet email from Monica at Arrangements, expressing her excitement at our ultimate love connection. She was one of the few people who actually knew that Michael had started off as my Sugar Daddy. Hopefully she’d continue to keep that information to herself. There was an e-card from my first college roommate, and Daniella emailed over links to hideous bridesmaids dresses under the subject line LET US NOT. And then there was an email from Sarah McNamara with an attachment. I knew it was stupid, but that feeling came back, that vile feeling that made me want to tug at my own skin. I signed the thing. Michael signed the thing. Why was she emailing me? I cringed as I opened it.
Good morning Ms. Davis, attached is a copy of the prenuptial agreement between you and Mr. Michael Bradbury. A hard copy, signed by both parties will be delivered to your Malibu residence later today. Please feel free to contact me with any further questions.
And please congratulate Mr. Bradbury on his recent acquisition. My husband is a big fan.
Under different circumstances I would probably like Sarah McNamara. I didn't touch the attachment. I told myself there was no need to. We’d been engaged for eight whole minutes and had spent maybe thirty-seven seconds of that eight minutes acknowledging the good news to each other as a couple. There was no way I was going to spend another moment thinking about what would happen if we got divorced. I locked my phone instead and dropped it into my purse. Then I decided comparing the difference between Florida palm trees and California palm trees was a great way to keep myself preoccupied while Michael silently rehearsed his remarks.
When we got to The Continental, there was a tiny swarm of paparazzi waiting by the front entrance. Paola hopped out of the SUV and led the way through the chaos. Michael took my hand and I followed him through the barrage of flashes and questions about the charges against the former owner. Inside we were ushered toward some conference rooms and that's when we were separated. Michael was handed off to some other member of the team’s staff. He kissed me quickly on the temple then disappeared through another set of doors with Zia on his heels. Paola took Ruben and I to a green room where we could watch the press conference.
Two monitors were set up opposite a large sitting area. A few other people buzzed around the room, but ignored us as we sat down. The feed was already live, showing the table draped with the Miami banner, which was set up with five mics and a half podium. You could see the tops of the heads of members of the press as they chatted amongst themselves and took their seats.
I thought we’d have a second to breathe before it started, but I was wrong. The door swung open as soon as we sat down.
“Where is the Mrs. To-Be!?” A plain-faced, but spectacularly dressed white woman with brown hair nearly shrieked as she entered the room. She was carrying a giant basket loaded down with Miami Flames stuff, and she had a white gift bag stuffed full with green tissue paper dangling from her fingers.
Ruben and I looked at each other. I frowned and then it hit us both.
“You might be looking for me?”
“The future Mrs. Bradbury? Hi! I'm Kate. O
n behalf of the whole Miami Flames organization, I’d like to say welcome to Miami.”
“Thank you.”
“Come on over here. Let me show you what we got.”
I gave Ruben the look, you know the one, then followed Kate over to the table where they'd laid out some refreshments. Quick on her feet, Paola jumped up and moved a tray of bagel halves over before Kate accidentally knocked them on the floor. I thanked her before facing the basket.
Kate started pointing out all sorts of stuff with the Flames logo on it. Mugs, a teddy bear that I knew the dogs would destroy if they got their paws on it. But then Kate pointed out a little bag of dog biscuits and two rubber bones, because of course she'd heard we had two new puppies. Flames cellphone cases and two tins of Flames mints. There were t-shirts, two hoodies, a fleece throw blanket, and a small envelope filled with coupons to spas and restaurants around town. There were free movie passes in there too.
And then she held up the white gift bag. “This is for you.” She waggled her eyebrows at me and I was suddenly terrified to stick my hand in the bag. Luckily, just as I thanked her, Paola saved the day.
“Oh they're about to start. Thank you, Kate.”
“No problem!” She finger waved, then did this sort of odd sideways, backward shuffle out the door.
I brought the gift bag back over to the couch and shoved my hand inside. Now that Kate was gone I wouldn't have to temper my reaction. My knuckles hit what turned out to be a pink glittery bath bomb. There was a gift certificate for a free in-home massage and mani/pedi and a Tiffany bracelet with a heart charm engraved with “MRS.” Rolled to the side was a black Flames jersey. I pulled it out of the bag and looked at the back. MRS. BRADBURY and the number two were stitched in white lettering into the black fabric. I didn’t have to look at the tag to confirm that something was very wrong, but I rotated it anyway and looked at the XS staring back at me.
Ruben covered his mouth and just barely hid his cackle. I stared back at him.
“Did nobody tell these people how fat I am?”
“Oh my god, stop. We’ll get you one that's the right size.”
“Fuck that. I'm wearing this and a g-string on our honeymoon. It's just enough fabric to cover my nipples.”
“I'm sure he’ll love that. Can we have this stuff sent to the house?” Ruben asked Paola.
“Of course.
“Thank you,” I said to him.
“What? Were you supposed to carry that big ass thing around all day?” he said, pointing to the gift basket.
“Kate seems to think so.”
Finally someone I actually knew appeared on the screen. Richard Sands, from the commissioner’s office, came out to the podium and introduced himself, then explained how the presser would go. He would introduce Michael, who would have a few minutes to say what he wanted to say and then they would hear from a few of the players and the coach. There would be a Q&A, but they would take absolutely no questions about the ongoing investigation. The team co-captains Kevin Mal and Derek Chekovick, Coach Bata and the general manager, Rick Chase, came out first and then Michael. My stomach fluttered for him. He was cool as could be, but I was filled with secondhand anxiety.
Coach Bata didn't have much to say, but Kevin and Derek said some very nice things about Michael coming in and basically saving the day. There were some jokes about him passing the criminal background check. Then it was Michael’s turn to speak. I watched his every movement as he moved his mic closer. All the exhaustion and introspection that had hung all over him during the ride over was gone.
“I'd like to thank Richard and the commissioner’s office for looking the other way on some of the more shady items on that background check.” And of course everyone laughed.
“They love him,” Ruben said under his breath.
“No, we’ve found ourselves in a very unique situation. I'm thankful for the opportunity to support this organization and these players. This was all very sudden and unexpected—” Kevin Mal said something, but was out of range of the mic. Everyone within earshot of the first two rows laughed though.
“Yeah, this wasn't planned,” Michael went on. “But this is life, you know. Horrible things happen and sometimes all you can do is move on, hopefully with better, stronger pieces in place. I'm looking forward to getting to know the guys and supporting them through the end of their season. And I'm looking forward to working with Rick and Coach Bata as they prepare for next season. What's important now is that the team doesn't lose their momentum. I want them to finish strong and not have to worry about what's going on in the owner’s box.”
“God, how is he so calm,” I muttered. “I'd be shaking.”
“You know him. He lives for this shit. Not the on-camera shit, but he lives for the art of the deal and they just made it so much sweeter by throwing basketball into the mix.”
“I know, but still. I have no idea how he's so cool under pressure. It drives me crazy.”
The Q&A was relatively short since the focus was on just introducing Michael. Paola explained that Kevin and Derek would be back in front of the cameras the following night after the game to talk more about the team. Kevin presented Michael with a Flames jersey with BRADBURY and the number one on the back. From the look of things he'd be able to fit that jersey over his torso. Richard wrapped things up and it was over. I finally let out the breath I’d been holding in my stomach.
“God, that was awful. I feel like I was nervous for the both of us.”
“I’m glad you guys met. You’re so good for him,” Ruben said as he gave my hand a light squeeze. “Are you excited?”
“In theory. I can't really think about it.” I flicked my wrist, motioning around the room. “More pressing things and what not.”
“I understand. He’ll get a break soon. I'll make sure I schedule it in.”
“Thank you.”
A few moments later, Michael came back in the green room. He handed the jersey to Ruben. “I have to head upstairs. Come on.”
The rest of the morning was a weird repetitive blur. We moved from room to room, Team Bradbury and his entourage, while Michael was interviewed one on one by various news outlets. Michael charmed the pants off everyone, even the one ass who asked several times in various ways how someone who made their fortune in dating websites was qualified to own a team. Michael shot back, rattling off several instances of owners who owned movie theater chains and casinos.
“The thing we all have in common is people. I'm here for the players and fans, to anticipate their needs and to help fix the things that aren't working. That's how I made my billions. That's why I'm qualified.”
Ruben pressed his lips to my shoulder to keep his “Yaasssss bitch” under control. I clenched both my lips between my teeth.
We broke for lunch around one. I was able to steal one kiss before Michael and Ruben spent the next thirty minutes going over all the emails that had come through over the course of the morning. Only half of them had to do with basketball. Paola seemed to be catching up on work of her own as her fingers moved across her phone. Daniella texted me though, giving me a sense of purpose once again.
Just got to the office and Lili found this. There was a link and a laughing smiley face. I clicked the url to the popular gossip site, TheDish.com.
I laughed at the headline: MIAMI FLAMES HAVE A NEW OWNER AND HE’S FREAKING HOT
Michael and Ruben both glanced up at me, but I waved them off. I scrolled down and read through the hilarious article talking about how Michael’s “daddy good looks” would do wonders for the team and the NBA overall. He was exactly what the league needed for female and gay fans alike to take the game seriously again.
And then they included what looked like every picture they could find of Michael with captions like “This is the ruggedly sexy beard of a man who makes sound business decisions” and “These eyes, the color of a bottomless lagoon, are the eyes of a man who increases your profit margins.” I recognized a few of the more candid pictures
mostly because I'd been cropped out of them, but I didn't care. It was still pretty funny. She sent me a few more links 'cause the Internet takes like five seconds to scent eligible bachelor chum in the water, but I didn't get to look at all of them.
Michael had two more interviews before he got a short break, but I knew he would take that time to change and regroup before he went out to dinner with Coach Bata and company.
He sat down with a feature writer from FirstQuarter.Com. The first thing out of her mouth threw us all off, all of us but Michael.
“Let me start by saying congratulations. I heard that you were recently engaged.”
I leaned back in my chair, a little stunned, but Michael just smiled like he’d been waiting for the question all day. “Ah yes. Thank you. Her name’s Kayla and she's actually with us right now.” The reporter turned around and looked at Paola who was sitting beside me. And then she looked at Zia who was standing by the door.
I threw her a bone and gave a little wave. My whole face was heating up. “Hi.”
“Oh, hi! Congrats!” She didn't hide the surprise in her voice very well.
“Thank you,” I said, trying not to hurl. She spared me any further embarrassment and got back to the interview at hand. As they talked some about the growth in Michael’s career and why team ownership was even on his radar, Daniella shot me another text.
Welp that didn't take very long. With it she sent me the link to a tweet from The Dish.
Noooo! @MichaelBrd_bury is engaged!
There was a gif of Carlton from Fresh Prince screaming. Then another text popped up from Daniella.
Is your Instagram set to private?
The hurl. It was rising.
Seven
A girl from the twins’ school sold me out. Some boys on the bus were talking about the team changing ownership. Some girl overheard and looked up the story online while she was talking to a friend of Kiara’s who also happened to be friends with me on Facebook and Instagram 'cause I’d known her since she was five and she was sweet and she always helped the twins with their chores so they could get back to hanging out faster.
SO RIGHT: A Sugar Baby Novella Page 7