by Andrea Rose
“Storm of the century!” she shouted, offering me one edge of her New York Times, “and Ariana Maldova forgets to bring an umbrella? Must be a full moon!”
I tucked under the disintegrating shelter, praying I’d have five minutes to run my head beneath a hand dryer before Yuri got in.
Our boss, Yuri Kissinger, sent staff an email at three AM this morning telling us to get in early. I hadn’t any idea what it might be about.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I performed my act of juggling purse, lunch box, stack of papers and lidless Americano while pulling my phone from its pocket.
“You’re gonna get that right now?” KK said, stealing items from my arms to share the load.
“These new phones are supposed to be waterproof…” I replied, pressing the phone to my ear. “Ariana Maldova,” I answered.
“Miss Maldova, Gary Spears. I’m representing Braydon Thatcher in his current the custody case. He told me now would be a good time to call?”
Of course he did.
“The custody…case?” I continued. “You mean the apartment case? I thought we’d postponed that until Summer?” I bit my nails and the line went fuzzy.
“No the…bzzzz….tody…nines…bzzzz.”
“I haven’t received a letter,” I said, recalling the pile of unopened envelopes I’d stuffed in my bag to sort through at lunch.
I stirred around inside the endless pit, finding a crumbled piece stamped Spears & Foster, Attorney at Law.
“Nevermind, I’ve got it here.”
“Good. I’ll leave you to look over it yourself first and you have your team get in touch.”
“Is it about the property? I’m allowed my own time to work on my file and the case.”
“Miss Maldova, we are not Braydon’s property lawyers. I’ll await your call after you’ve read the letter.”
“You’re shaking,” KK said when I hung up.
“I’m wet.”
“You’re panicking. Apartment shit again?”
“Crazy Braydon probably trying to see if he can sue me just a little harder, maybe he’ll ask for my clothes or my dogs this time.”
KK laughed it off with me and smiled out of sympathy. Ever since I’d split with Braydon, my life had become some kind of bad soap opera. I tore open the mystery letter, rain pelting the fancy paper as I tried to read it.
“Need help?!” KK yelled after me.
“No way. See you upstairs! Don’t be late for the meeting!”
The ink on the page started running, and so did I. My heels clicked and slipped through the marbled foyer of my office building toward the elevators.
“Meeting?!” KK yelled but the elevator doors already closed.
I took a second to catch my breath.
My ex-fiancee, Braydon Regan Thatcher, resented me for thriving after our breakup.
After moving out, the creep showed up weekly at my door asking for mail I never received. When I stopped answer the door, he would be waiting outside my office building every other morning to harass me there instead. I started sleeping overnight at the office to avoid him, and next thing I know he had my estranged father sending the police out to do a welfare check because I hadn’t come out of my house in a few days.
And then came the threats…
The court granted me a restraining order of fifty feet and a media blackout. That didn’t stop Braydon, it only made him work even harder. He hired a legal team and they’d been working hard to prove hat Braydon had some right to the apartment I’d lived in since college. The apartment I’d bought and paid for with my own damn hard work and determination!
I fell into my desk, said hi to my desk-mates and took a chance to study the letter.
Braydon was a punishment. I let romance blur my better judgement. I fucked up my 10-Year Plan letting him into my life and I couldn’t make that mistake again. It was enough to make me swear off any romantic daydream I even thought about happening. I needed to find my focus.
“Forget your umbrella this morning, Ariana?”
Yuri Kissinger appeared in her cloud of Chanel No. 5.
“I…Yes, I did.”
“That was fucking silly. Clean up. The meeting is in ten minutes and you know I detest having to stare at ruined mascara.”
I wiped my under-eyes. “Of course. Sorry.”
Three years. That’s how long I’d been fighting with Braydon Thatcher now… I could handle a few more months, right? The sociopath would never have the energy to take things to court. If I played into his bluff long enough, he’d eventually get bored of me and leave me alone.
I snatched up my makeup bag from my desk drawer and jetted off to the bathroom.
KK intercepted me en-route, sewing her hand through my elbow and escorting me in. I tossed my bags and the stupid attorney’s letter down next to the bathroom sink and quickly worked at fixing my makeup. I looked like I’d jumped in a swimming pool on the way to work today…
“So what’s up, babe? You have a meeting with Yuri?”
“I thought we all got the email?” I replied, lacing my fingers through my wet hair and drawing it back into a ponytail.
She checked her phone screen then snatched our stylist. “Not me. Marcus, did you get an email about a meeting?”
He shook his head.
“You think you can manage the workload right now?”
“Obviously.”
I squinted. KK tucked her chin.
“You sure?”
“What workload are we talking about?”
“Yuri wants your help with Tyler King is my guess. You proved yourself with Heston and she wants you on her team again.”
“Who the hell is Tyler King?”
“What’s up with you today, you forget your Adderall? Tyler King! Quarterback for the Lightning! He got shot outside one of those high class brothels on the other side of town. I assume Yuri and her secret weapon are the only ones who can dig him out of the shit he just stepped in.”
I held my hair under the hand dryer and reached out to grab the letter again as KK played in the mirror.
I’d agreed to say yes if Yuri needed my help with a client again. I didn’t know much about football but it’s nothing a night on Google and ESPN couldn’t fix.
I glanced back down at the letter as if the words might change if I kept reading it.
‘Dear Ms. Maldova. Braydon Thatcher is suing for full custody of two dogs, Dino Maldova and Bentley Maldova.’
My skull shuddered against the tiled wall behind me, the letter scrunching in my hand.
KK caught me in the mirror and paused. “More apartment bullshit?”
“Yeah!” I yelled over the loud whizzing, letting it dry my eyes. “I have to get more documents to them!”
Braydon had taken it to the next level. I’d raised those dogs from puppies long before I met this asshole. He couldn’t be in my life for three years and decide to rip my dogs out from under me! There’s no way a judge would rule against me on this…
“I have to get to the meeting,” I said.
“Hey!” KK caught either side of my face and used her thumbs to clear mascara from under my eyes. “I’m here if you need me. Just ask.”
As I entered the conference room, the faces of La Maison’s top reps all turned to stare at me.
“Yes, we all see you Ariana. Take a damn seat. I’ m sure you’ve all heard the news about Jacquie Coster losing her career over Tyler King’s latest debacle.”
“I thought he died,” someone said.
“He’s alive, but he’s without publicist and that means he might be better off dead. The media is going to destroy Tyler King and right now, there isn’t a damn thing standing in their way. His team manager approached me to see if one of my staff is crazy enough to make a bid for him…”
Dead air filled the room.
Then Yuri stared right at me. “Nobody?”
“If nobody else is going to say it, I will. You’re talking about career suicide,�
� Ricky Fontaine said. “Tyler King can’t be tamed, and he sure as hell isn’t going to get in line. Jacquie Coster was one of the best in the business, and if she’s out a job over this guy, I want nothing to do with him.”
I looked over to Ricky, watching as others around him nodded in agreement. Yuri shut them down with a single stare, then slapped a hand down on the table.
“I’m not here to pretend this is going to be easy. They’re offering triple compensation. Should I go tell Gavin Spiros to try the next company? When exactly did I hire a staff of pusskins?”
The room fell silent again, and I raised my hand slowly.
“Just speak, Ariana. This isn’t preschool.”
“I’ll…I’ll help you?” I said.
“You’ll help? That still doesn’t solve my issue, Ariana. I don’t have time to babysit this client. I don’t need someone to help me, I need one of you to take charge of this client and get him under control,” she replied, waving at the others.
“Well…”
“Spit out the words. Grow the ovaries.”
“He can be…my…first…client?”
“The whole account?”
“Yes?”
“You’re a junior writer!”
I turned up my palm. “Maybe it’s time for a promotion?”
“Career suicide! You heard them, didn’t you? Do you want to risk fucking up your whole career when it has barely begun? You have the gall to come into this meeting and ask to be promoted? Do you believe for even one second that you can handle the entire Tyler King account?”
A few chuckles and laughs went around the room as Yuri shouted at me, but they all went quiet again as they realized she was waiting on an answer.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Yes what?” Yuri asked angrily.
“Yes, I can handle Tyler King.”
Yuri moved herself around the table, reaching down and grabbing my chin with her long fingers.
“Do you see this everyone? This is the face of a tiger,” she replied, turning my head toward the others. “I ask you all to take this client, and a goddamned junior writer is the only one with enough courage to try. If any of you were hoping for a Christmas bonus this year, you can go ahead and scratch that one off your calendar. I want all of you out. Get back to work right now!”
Everyone started to get up as Yuri let go of me. She stepped back around to the head of the table and collapsed into a chair, watching as staff walked out the door. I started to stand up to follow them…
“Giving up already?” Yuri asked.
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to stay…”
“I’m going to give you that promotion, Ariana. And I’m giving you Tyler King.”
There it was… After one hell of a morning, I’d just been given a chance to salvage my 10-Year Plan. Yuri said Tyler King was worth three times the usual fee, and my brain was already spinning with the possibilities opening up in front of me.
“Yuri, I don’t know what to say.”
“I didn’t ask you to say anything. Tyler King… do you know about him?”
I don’t need to know him, I need to fix him.
“And I suppose you have a plan for fixing him?”
“I have…plenty of ideas. A career’s worth. I won’t waste this opportunity.”
“You won’t have much time to catch your breath. This is going to be a 24-7 position for the next few months.”
“I hate breathing and 24-7 are my dream work hours.”
Yuri gave a satisfied nod and stood back up. “In that case, I’m counting on you handling this on your own. You will take full ownership of your success and your failures. Tyler has a lot of face to save.”
I followed her down the corridor towards her office, tapping away notes into my phone. I was already full of ideas on where to take this.
“So… when do I start?” I said after her.
“Do you have something more important that needs your attention?”
I shook my head.
“In that case, you start right now. You’ll be locked in for two years if he signs the deal. I warn you, if you take this on and fail, I will absolutely reevaluate your future at La Maison. I only allow the best to work for me.”
“I can do this. You can count on me.”
“We’ll see. I’ve seen potential in you. Prove me right, and I’ll give you the world.”
That was music to my ears.
At long last, this was a job with enough work to keep my busybody brain satisfied. If I could win over Tyler King as a client, I’d be a full time La Maison rep. No more admin work, no more inhaling the smell of photocopier for hours and no more booking trips for other employees to far flung parts of the world that I could only dream of visiting. I’d be the one flying high instead of the girl filing paperwork down in the basement.
And it meant so much more… With this kind of pay, I could afford to fight Braydon in court while still paying my mortgage. He couldn’t hold his privledged asshole money over my head if I had La Maison rep money hitting my bank account every month.
“I’ll let whatserface sort you out with whatever you need,” Yuri gestured at her poor assistant, Annie. “You have full access to everything the other reps do. Use those tools wisely.”
“I will. Oh my God. Thank you.”
“Oh! Gavin Spiros is expecting you at Belgraves Hospital tomorrow. I expect you to show up there ready to show him your plans.”
“Tomorrow?” I said.
“The longer Mr. King lays on that hospital bed, the closer usurpers get to his throne.”
3
A distant clock - tick, tick, tick…
Fluorescent blue blinded me as I blinked open my eyes. Everything appeared foggy. I felt numb. I hated the silence— The almost silence…
…Tick…
…Tick…
…Tick…
I rolled to one side, no fucking clue where I was. Not that I cared. I’d been too busy allowing the sad reality sink in I wasn’t dead after all.
“Hmph…!” Every movement beyond blinking or groaning sent me into neanderthal-like sobs.
You fucked it up good this time, King.
More Caveman speak as I glanced down to my veiny arms full of tubes then to the room piled with flowers, stuffed toys and lightning bolt shaped balloons.
You fucked it up real good.
I leaned over to press the ATTENTION button hanging off what I soon knew to be a long-stay hospital bed—A career sportsman’s nightmare.
A young nurse leaned in the door, hearing my call. She cupped her hand to her mouth when she recognized its resident.
“Tyler…Tyler King?!” a messy-haired nurse shouted into the room. “You’re awake…How are you feeling?”
“How’re you, darlin’?” my raw throat croaked. “What’s your name?”
My hand wiped the bedsheet, expecting to be soon shaking a hand or signing an autograph.
“C—Catherine,” she said. Her hands fumbled trying to switch off the ATTENTION call.
I cringed in pain. “Nurse, I appreciate it but I’m a little tender. You got some of the good stuff?”
“Maybe,” the nurse said. “Hey, I know this is isn’t a great time but can I get a photo with you? I’m a huge fan.”
Before I could answer, the girl from England half fell on top of me and lifted her selfie arm.
“Catherine,” I breathed, staying dead still to keep her ripping the IV out my vein as her head lay on my pillow beside me. “Do you mind?”
Her phone flashed once then once again as she rested her free hand on my cheek and she gave me a quick kiss.
I didn’t exactly stop her.
But I didn’t like it either.
“I think now’s about the time you should get the fuck out of here.”
She looked mortified as she leapt off the bed.
“Hey!” I shouted when she fled the room and disappeared. “I still need something for the pain!”
“A l
ittle pain never killed anybody,” A new voice proclaimed as a doctor stepped into the room trailed by the last person on this planet that I wanted to see.
Gavin fucking Spiros. My manager.
“It’ll do you some good, you short-sighted prick!”
He gave the bed frame a nice hard kick as he approached, sending another shot of pain rolling through me.
The doctor lifted a polite hand to stop him. “If we can all keep calm. Added stress won’t help with the healing. You’re at Belgraves Hospital, Mr. King. I’m Doctor Ashcroft. I assume you know this man?”
“You smiling at me right now, kid?” Gavin said.
“Mr. King, do you know this man? We have a family only visitor policy.”
Gavin mouthed ‘step-father’ to me. I couldn’t hide my smile but I tried. Hell, he looked like a goddamn cartoon any time he got mad, eyes bulging and ears ready to blow steam.
“He’s family, Doc.”
“Good. How are you feeling today?”
“Can’t feel anything but pain.”
“Do you remember what happened to you?”
“Oh, I remember, but I think I’d be doing a little better if I didn’t. Bring on the morphine.”
“You in money trouble I don’t know about?” Gavin said. “Who the fuck wanted to kick your ass this bad aside from me?”
The ache inside me was only getting worse with every passing minute. I needed to sleep off these wounds quickly and get back on a football field where none of this bullshit mattered. If someone didn’t get me some medicine soon, I’d get out of this damn bed and get it myself.
“Where is the pain specifically?”
“Head, wound, wrist, vision’s cloudy, breathing hurts, lip’s swollen and I can’t feel my legs…”
Shit…I jolted so hard the heart rate machine woke up from standby mode.
My legs were insured for ten million each. That blessing between them might as well have been. I threw down the sheets half expecting to find three stubs.
“Relax, Mr. King,” the doctor said calmly. “The feeling should return in a few days.”