THE HARDEST YARDS (A BAD BOY FOOTBALL ROMANCE)

by Andrea Rose

  “Lets just say I didn’t wait for your approval to get this plan started,” I replied, smiling mischievously.

  “What did you do Ariana?”

  “I .”

  “The public think I’m dating someone now?”

  “Yep.”

  He gave a nonchalant grin. “They think you and me are an item now?” He laughed and threw his bedsheets off him. “Oh, come on. You had me believing you had a real plan. You’re telling me all they have for proof is a photo of me and you together? How’s that supposed to save this shit?”

  A lump sat in my throat. Time to fess up.

  “It’s not me and you,” I said.

  “Don’t get upset, Ariana. I just think I could handle my own shit better than my PR girls do.”

  “I’m not a PR girl,” I snapped to blur the waves of nausea and frustration. “I needed the most efficient and most aggressive strategy to save face for you. Once I found it, I didn’t have time to run it by you. Forgiveness over permission, that’s how I do things.”

  “You’re not setting me up with someone, the media don’t think me and you are dating, so what’s your big idea?”

  My throat tweaked. I didn’t want to say it.

  “I will always be transparent with you,” I stalled. “Hence the binder so you know what I have planned for you. I’ll never make you do anything you disagree with.” I bared my teeth in a careful cringe, testing the waters. “Except this…You have to do this because it’s already done…I’m sorry.”

  Tyler readjusted himself in his bed and sat up higher, filing quickly through the binder. “It’s all spelled out in here?” he said. “This code supposed to make sense to me?”

  “I’ll explain what it all means.”

  I shook out the rush of adrenaline. This could be it— The minute I lose Tyler King and my entire sad career. I had to approach him carefully…So, so carefully.

  “Why is your Execution Strategy dated two months before now?” Tyler accused. “I knew it.”

  Edge of the bed, fingers writhing.

  “Jacquie planned all this behind my back. They hired you months ago. I knew she was up to something. I fucking knew it.”

  I slid forward to read whatever he was. “W—What? I don’t know Jacquie. Tyler, I…” I felt a turning in my stomach. My nerves got the better of me. I had to throw up. I had to throw up now. “Oh, God. Excuse me.”

  I rushed to Tyler’s ensuite bathroom, falling over the toilet retching loudly. My lunch met porcelain.

  A hand rested on my back and my arm swooped for the handle.

  I flushed down my brightly colored shame—Bad idea having a green smoothie this morning.

  “Hey, I’m sorry to stress you out,” Tyler said. “If a conspiracy isn’t it then spit it out.”

  “Think I just did,” I sniffed.

  He helped me stand back up and steadied himself against the door frame, wiping away his smirk.

  “What did you do? Use words.”

  “You need to understand, I did this because something had to be done early to make this not look like a PR stunt.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “So,” I croaked. “I’m not planning on setting you up with someone,” I wiped my mouth on a cloth he’d handed me. “I already have. I’ve made the public believe you knew her way before the accident to avoid it looking like a stunt.”

  His soft, breathy laugh relented the instant he knew I wasn’t kidding.

  8

  “I’m not doing this, dating a girl I’ve never met.”

  “You kinda already are and see how easy it’s been? You didn’t even have to leave your bed. Nothing’s changed, really,” I tried and failed to lighten the mood. “I just need you to go on a few dates with her, be friendly together until the off-season…”

  I chased Tyler down the corridor—Another escape attempt.

  I had the impossible mission of averting my eyes from the muscular bare ass peaking out through that gown at me as it made big strides ahead. His bandages only made him look tougher.

  Goddamn hormones. Relax.

  “Mr. King,” a security guard yelled after us. “I can’t let you leave right now. The media outside is too much a risk on your health.”

  I’d laughed at Gavin when he hired extra muscle after Tyler’s escape the other night. Guess I owed him an apology. I needed the assistance. If big guy made it outside, the press would get to him and his wayward mouth could topple the careful house of cards I’d built.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy. I’m really good at this job. If you’d calm down a sec, I can explain why I had to do it this way.”

  Tyler gestured widely, waiting for an elevator and an answer.

  I looked twice at the guard who hadn’t signed a non-disclosure yet and lowered my voice. “You’ve never tried this before. Loads of celebrities do it and loads will continue to. It’s a proven strategy.”

  “Ari, baby, their publicists don’t go behind their injured clients’ back to arrange them. I was trapped in a hospital bed and doped out on morphine.”

  “Those publicists don’t have the gift at spinning that I do, nor do they have Tyler King as their client. Let’s not forget the fact that on a day you were needed at practice and press junkets, you were stumbling drunk, high and bloody out a whorehouse.”

  “I got shot. And like fuck I was high. Forgive me for being a little off balance while bleeding to death.”

  “The reports mentioned a foil wrap in your pocket, heroin.”

  He threw me a stern look.

  “Heroin? I’d never touch that shit.”

  “I know that. But Jacquie slipped it into the press release, stuff about you and denying your addiction issues.”

  “I ain’t listening to this.” He rapidly pressed the elevator call button again.

  “That’s why you need me. I know what’s real and what’s bullshit. I had three days to salvage what I could from that incident and out of Jacquie’s meltdown. I’m sorry it had to be this but…that’s the way it is.”

  “Lying to save my job?”

  “Think of it as live theatre. It’s pretend…and necessary.”

  “Forget it. That’s why this shit went down in the first place—I’m real, Ariana. This world I live in isn’t. We’re not a good fit.”

  “Let me explain to you before you give up on this. It’s all in the binder.”

  Tyler spun into the opening elevator doors. “Oh, the binder,” he mocked. “I’ll have Chrissy read it and make notes. Sweetheart, I have somewhere I have to be if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Don’t be stupid. You’re in a hospital gown with no wallet and Gavin’s got security at every door.”

  “Getting by large dudes is why I’m perfect for my job and trust me you’ve solidified why you’re perfect for yours, too. Good luck, sweetheart. I know you’ll go far in this industry.”

  I stayed back as the elevator doors bing-bonged between us.

  The security guard, busy lifting a soda from the machine, caught Tyler making the escape.

  “Wait, Mr. King,” he yelled. “You can’t!”

  He hadn’t signed anything binding. Come tomorrow not only would I not be Tyler King’s rep, I might not have a job at all.

  “The Bowl, Ty,” Chrissy Wong, Tyler’s petite assistant, appeared. “I found a way to get you back on that field within a month but only if you stay and listen to her.”

  A strong hand caught the metal.

  Chrissy cleaned off her ice cream spoon, threw me friendly smile and kept on walking towards the waiting room.

  9

  I’d been granted my freedom.

  My multi-million dollar loft awaited me.

  Near two weeks I spent trapped in that hospital. I was overdue for some time watching my ten-grand TV with female company I had yet to choose.

  The doc signed me off first thing this morning before Gavin got in. Chrissy’d warned me to chat to Dr. Ashcroft in private as soon a
s possible—That could wait.

  The girl who got me free sat beside me in my Escalade back from hospital.

  “Ariana wants to set up a meeting at her office tomorrow,” Chrissy said. “They need you there to sign the contract she sent through.”

  “I’m not signing a thing until you tell me why you were so sure they’d release me this morning. Why would Gavin tell me I can’t play again this season?”

  Jacquie or Gavin prolonged my stay—sending specialists for MRI scans and requesting more X-rays be done for insurance and the police report.

  “I’m not a part of this. Ariana said she’d take this burden from me so I’m leaving it with her.”

  “Keeping secrets from your boss is a fireable offense.”

  “Fire me then, Ty,” she said, waving my phone at me. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  She called my bluff. I’d never fire her again. Not after last time when I thought I could live without someone to organize my life.

  …I couldn’t. I slapped my phone away.

  My Super Assistant said she knew how to get me on the field but the only way they would tell me is if:

  a). I didn’t say a word about it and,

  b). I’d sign Ariana’s two-year client deal.

  Even assistants came with terms.

  No way.

  “On second thought, gimme a few extra days. I’m tired.”

  “You don’t care about getting back into play as quick as you can?”

  “That’s the only thing I care about. I’m also not gonna fall at a PR girl’s feet whenever she says so. Made that mistake with Jacquie.”

  “She emailed the deal. Want me to send it to your printer?”

  “How ‘bout forget work now?”

  I pushed down the phone, the car slugging through downtown traffic at a pace that made me want to sprint home. If I didn’t have these stitches, I’d arrive at my door fifteen minutes tops.

  Chrissy’s phone lit up with a photo of beaming Ariana, crouched in a park with her arms around two floppy eared dogs.

  “You emailed her?”

  “Yes and she’s calling.”

  Chrissy made a sorry smile and answered for me.

  “Tyler, that you?” Ariana said on speakerphone between us..

  “I’m a little tied up,” I said.

  “I read you were released from the hospital. You didn’t tell me you were leaving today.”

  “You rang to say you’d found me? What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait to tomorrow, sweetheart? It’s Sunday.”

  “A gentle reminder, Ari or Ariana. And, oh, I don’t know…Your career? I need you at that meeting tomorrow. Chrissy hinted you might be blowing it off.”

  My assistant turned out her window.

  “Yuri can wait,” I said. “I’m a money contract, she wants me on her books.”

  “She’s waited eight days and you won’t be a money contract if we don’t get to work soon. It’s standard procedure that new clients come in for an initial meeting. It’s her firm. She likes to know who she’s publicly representing.”

  “I hire you not the other way around. She can wait a few days ’til I’m readjusted to the real world.”

  “KSE hires us, actually,” she said. I couldn’t argue with her; King-Spiros Entertainment, the company fueled by my fame, signed all the cheques but without me it didn’t exist.

  “Maybe it was a bad idea to help you get out early.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Can’t back up your promise of getting me in the game?”

  “I can but I know it’s your single motivation for working with me.”

  “As opposed to?”

  “As opposed to you taking my advice because you respect me and genuinely want to save your career.”

  “I respect you, Ariana. I don’t respect your job.”

  “I am my job just like you are Tyler King, the man, and Tyler King, the CEO. Please can the latter show professionalism to his recently hired firm by showing at twelve tomorrow. Gavin’s done it already. It won’t take long. Meet Yuri, sign the client deal—Which reminds me, have you read over the contract?”

  “Woah, slow down, Ariana,” I said.

  “Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Over-excitement again. I love my job.”

  “I know you do. Hey, I’m not big on technology but feel free to drop me a hard copy later in the week.”

  “I can’t do it later in the w—Ugh….” She paused. “Tyler, I’ve got word from some Mail photogs you’re stuck in traffic on, what, 2nd and 89th? They’ve got you in sight?”

  I slapped the seat.

  “They found me. How?”

  “Logic.”

  “I’m on 2nd and…87th. Must’ve tracked the wrong Escalade.”

  The idea of how little we’d crept forward in the last five minutes exhausted me.

  “Y’sure?” Ari said in broken panting. “Can you check? We have to be so careful these next few weeks and control every shot.”

  “Y’having sex right now, Ariana?” I asked.

  I didn’t bother looking out my tinted glass.

  “I wish,” she answered but kept on panting heavily. “See them?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “There’s no photographers. Relax.”

  “I care about us making it through this. If you’re going to make this hard every step of the way then that’s fine because I happen to love a good challenge. But it would help move things alone if you cut me some slack.”

  “You care because I pay you to care. I cut you as much slack as the others.”

  “You don’t pay me a dime. I’m on Yuri Kissinger’s payroll and I’m stuck on her junior writer salary until she says otherwise.”

  “Junior writer?” I coughed.

  “Yes, that’s my job. My…old job.”

  I hung my head in disbelief.

  “Gavin’s shortlist was that fucking short he couldn’t even find me a real publicist?”

  The Life of Tyler King: A Dark Comedy.

  The sign’s last light-up letter flickered. The ‘C’ creaked and dropped off its hinge.

  “I’m only a junior writer because you haven’t signed the contract. You’ll be my first exclusive client but that doesn’t imply I’m incapable of helping of you. Let me prove myself to you first.”

  “Prove how? With your portfolio of press releases, some blog posts maybe? Junior writer,” I echoed with a laugh. “You want me to sign that contract, you know where to find me. Ariana, I have to go.”

  A sharp tapping on the car coasting through the final leg of traffic.

  I hid my surprise—no fan, no hater coming to slap my roof but a sweaty Ariana Maldova holding a contract to the window.

  Big, eyes pleaded at me to roll it down.

  “Martin, can you pull over here, please?”

  My driver parked up in a quiet alley way.

  A little more unkempt than I’d seen her in sneakers, jeans and NYU sweater, I had more than a few questions to ask but started with,

  “You did know where to find me.”

  I stared straight ahead a minute, trying to ignore the signature perfume Ariana wore that made me want to do very unprofessional things to her.

  Gypsy tricks.

  “Hey Chrissy. Hey Martin. Hi Tyler—Cha-chick!”

  She mimed a photo snap.

  “I tracked you here with basic knowledge of this neighborhood and Google. They will too. Make sure to take a left, weave through onto Lexington instead. This road’s too obvious.”

  “You got it, boss,” Martin replied.

  Boss? I was his boss.

  A hand slapped the door beside me and got my attention.

  “Why are you here?” I breathed at her.

  “Mark O’Toole has a wife…”

  Ariana hung on the window and honest eyes flicked up at me.

  “I know ‘em,” I told her. “What, you want me to announce a sham pregnancy now too?”

  “The pregnancy
wasn’t a sham.”

  “Sure.”

  “You saw the naked photoshoot. Can’t fake…that.”

  “Then where’s the kid?”

  “The kid is half-black, a surprise Mark received the minute he first held his son.”

  “Scandalous,” I licked my lips to hide a smile. “Did wifey know who’s baby it was?”

  “Shush. I’ve already said too much. Point is, I helped hush that with Yuri.”

  I nodded. “Good job.”

  “Heston Rast? Oscar winner, family man, seems pretty down-to-earth, good guy, right?”

  My fingers turned in agreement.

  “Rocky marriage, rape allegations, secret gay lover in Italy where he vacations every summer he’s away doing philanthropic work,” she said, finishing in air-quotes.

  “Planned that too?”

  “I helped Yuri strategize and execute it, yes. I wrote all the press releases, used some contacts of my own and set up his scapegoat charity in Napoli.”

  “This you tryna impress me?”

  “Is it working?”

  “There’s nothing you needa prove to me.”

  “I have everything to prove because I’m still shit-scared you won’t show tomorrow. I need a guarantee.”

  My head hit the headrest and I gave an exasperated laugh. “Go. Keep impressing me then.”

  “I’m not a junior writer,” she continued, “I’m not insane, or unoriginal nor am I some hack PR girl they assigned after failing to find someone better.

  I have a Masters in Journalism, minored in creative writing, got hired by Yuri on a professor’s recommendations before she had my resume and I’ve never failed a single thing she’s asked from me. I have a lot of energy and a lot of ideas that you will enjoy if you give me a chance.”

  A worn-out Ariana reached through the window to rest the thick contract on my lap.

  “Show up at that meeting tomorrow and I won’t fail you, sir. Mr. King. Tyler. King.”

  I nodded with a tightened lip. Her sincerity swayed me again, or maybe it was her perfume.

  “Just Tyler,” I said and smiled so she wouldn’t look so freaked out.

  I’d given the girl a fucking hard time, I knew that. But my defenses were up in this game. Trust had to be earned. I’d been fucked over enough times in my career to not let another nobody walk all over me.