Determining Possession (Connecticut Kings Book 3)

by Christina C Jones

  They were, again, Black royalty now, considered among our legends.

  You couldn’t turn the daughter of legends down.

  Especially when they were notoriously generous with their checkbook. As soon as I saw my father’s name and picture go up on the wall as a “platinum level supporter” of WAWG, I knew what it was.

  Ramsey wasn’t the kind of man you could hold a pointless grudge against for long though. He wasn’t of the “larger than life” personality type, but he was definitely a strong presence. He always had a compliment or encouraging word, and he was funny and intelligent, and the man knew sports. And… before all this happened, I’d been a fan. Not just of his skill on the field, but of the no-nonsense tack he took with press. He didn’t play along with their ridiculous questions, never fed into it when they tried to pull a negative spin, none of that. It had gained him a reputation of being “difficult”, but nobody could deny the man on the field.

  That translated into how he interacted with the athletes we spoke to. He treated them with the same respect he’d demanded for himself.

  And I couldn’t help but respect him.

  That was only multiplied when I saw how he interacted with his mother. I never knew, until then, that I was a sucker for a man who loved his mother. I hadn’t been cold to him since.

  And so, professional respect evolved into genuine enjoyment of working with him. That developed into being buddies, which shifted into being for real friends. Going out to eat, working out together, text conversations, things like that. And now – even more since my breakup, honestly – he’d become one of my most valued friends, somebody I really, truly, couldn’t imagine being without.

  Funny how that happens.

  “She was only on your side because she was trying to get some grandbabies,” Ramsey said, bursting my bubble. “She thought she was going to hook us up, and then you would convince me.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”

  “Serious as purple piss.”

  “What does that even mean?” I giggled, and he shook his head.

  “I don’t know, just saying shit,” he admitted. “But mama was definitely trying to get me with somebody other than Lena.”

  Hmph.

  I pressed my lips closed.

  Ramsey had always made a point of not commenting on my love life – meaning Darius – since we’d been friends, and I’d given that same courtesy to him. It was a respect thing, really – I wouldn’t want my man talking about his issues with me with a female friend who may or may not but probably did want to screw him and was just waiting on her chance. So I didn’t complain about Darius to Ramsey either – at least not while we were together.

  Now that it was over though, Ramsey wasn’t shy about letting his disdain for Darius be known. It wasn’t as if he ever spoke about him at length, or without me bringing up the subject, but the few words he gave were certainly never kind, or positive. I was pretty sure Ramsey hadn’t even spoken his name, choosing instead to refer to him as “the clown”, which was accurate, obviously.

  If I had to call Lena anything, she’d be…. “the bitch”.

  And that was generous.

  Lena McBride was polished and gorgeous and rich as hell and a doctor – the inflection she gave every time she mentioned it. I wasn’t sure exactly how much time she spent practicing medicine though, when she was, so often, filmed having dinner or lunch somewhere posh, or arguing about something silly with her fake reality show friends, or fake family – they were her actual family, they were all just fake.

  But then, I guess you had to have a certain degree of phoniness to thrive in the reality show world, and thrive they did. McBrides on Call, following their whole family of doctors, was on season four.

  Now that I thought about it, Ramsey had experience with failed engagements. We’d never really talked about why he’d called it off with Lena, which I considered a small miracle. As far as I was concerned, Ramsey was too good for her and her family of quacks.

  I wouldn’t have been able to act sad about that breakup. If he’d wanted a parade though… that, I could’ve handled.

  “Well, I’m glad your mother thought highly enough of me to consider me worthy to carry her hypothetical grandbabies,” I laughed, and Ramsey gave me this wide-eyed look that immediately made me regret saying it. Did he think I was angling for that or something? Especially after that kiss…

  This man probably thinks I’ve gone crazy.

  But just as quickly as those thoughts crossed my mind, the look was gone, and he was shaking his head, laughing. “You know she loved you. That girl is fast, baby, and I mean that as a compliment,” he mimicked, his eyes and voice full of love at the memory that must have been crossing his mind. “But hey… if I’m doing that,” he said, pointing to the torn contract, “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to lobby for doing the show on my own – what they promised in the first place. We’ve made this show amazing, and I’d like to think I’ve proven myself enough for them to understand that I could handle it.”

  He nodded. “But… what if they don’t?”

  “Then… I guess we’ll both be moving on to something new.”

  Why does this number keep calling me?

  For about the tenth time in the last month, my phone lit up with a call from an international number I didn’t recognize. The fact that there was never a message made me a little suspicious that it was some type of telemarketer, so I never answered.

  Until today.

  I needed a distraction while I waited to hear from Ramsey.

  His workout with the Kings was today, and though I’d talked a big game about believing in him and his talent, I couldn’t help being nervous. I’d just never tell him that. He had enough of his own concerns without me piling mine on, so when he let me know they’d called, I slipped right into the role of “Ms. Motivational” as he teasingly called me.

  Really though? I was scared I was going to end up in jail for threatening to kill somebody if, for whatever reason, they didn’t see what I saw in him.

  So yeah, I needed the distraction.

  “Good morning!” was the response I was given to my hesitantly spoken hello. “This is Ayu Rama, how are you?” she asked, in accented English that I couldn’t quite place.

  “Umm… I’m fine.”

  “Very good! Am I speaking with Wil-hel-mi-na Cunningham?” she inquired, carefully sounding out my name.

  “You are.”

  “Wonderful. I am calling on behalf of the Four Seasons at Jimbaran Bay, about the stay you booked with us last year.”

  My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to respond, but I couldn’t, feeling choked with sudden emotion.

  “Are you there, Mrs. Cunningham?”

  “It’s Ms.,” I corrected her, even though it hurt like hell. “Just Ms. The trip was supposed to be a honeymoon, but um… the wedding never happened.”

  “Oh.” For a short moment, Ayu said nothing, but then in a brighter voice, said, “Well, I was calling to ask if you would be interested in rescheduling your trip. I understand that your wedding did not happen, so maybe a relaxing trip alone, or with a friend? You paid up front for the stay, but you never checked in, and our policy is to allow a reschedule, within ninety days.”

  “No refunds?”

  “No, I am sorry.”

  I nodded. “No, no need to apologize, I understand. Um… do I have to give you an answer now?”

  “Not at all. I will give you my direct line, and you can call me back. As long as your trip is before that 90 day period, your full package is valid.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  I got up to get a pen so that I could write the number down, and then got off the phone feeling… strange. The Balinese vacation was something I’d immensely looked forward to, but after everything fell apart with the wedding, the idea of still going hadn’t crossed my mind. Now that the option was in front of me though… it felt tainted.

&
nbsp; I was supposed to be on this trip with my husband, celebrating the fact that I’d married the man that I loved. All of the stress, the disappointments, all of it… for that week, there was supposed to be nothing except me and him, connecting in new ways and reconnecting in others.

  Yes, I could go alone… hell, reconnect with my self, but would the fact that he was supposed to be there with me loom like a dark cloud?

  While I was still thinking through it, my phone rang again, this time with a number I recognized, but dreaded. I took a deep breath, then hit the button to answer, raising it to my ear.

  “Sarita, hi!” I said, trying not to sound like she was the last person I wanted to talk to. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can be in my office in an hour.” Was her clipped response.

  I rolled my eyes. “Sarita, I’m not in New York right now, I’m at my parent’s, in Stamford.”

  “Well, weren’t you going to need to be on set today anyway?”

  “Yes, but not for several more hours.”

  “I guess you’re coming early today. Two hours. I’ll see you then.”

  I didn’t even have a chance to respond before she ended the call, and I couldn’t do anything but laugh. I’d never understood the personal issue Sarita seemed to have with me.

  In any case, it had to be important for her to call me in to a meeting before the show. I hadn’t signed the new contract yet, but my current one wasn’t over, and I hadn’t heard back from my lawyer about it yet anyway. They’d given it to me on Sunday.

  Today was Wednesday.

  It couldn’t be about that.

  But then again… Ramsey had ripped his contract in half. I knew he hadn’t talked to the network yet, but that didn’t mean the streets hadn’t. There was a good chance they knew he was essentially at an interview with the Kings, and could easily be there until well into the afternoon. I wouldn’t be shocked at all to find that they were trying to get to me before I talked to him again.

  I hoped they didn’t think that would work as a negotiation tactic.

  In any case, I got up to go to the meeting. It wasn’t as if I was doing anything other than waiting to hear from Ramsey about the workout anyway, so it was a good way to pass the time.

  I arrived a little early, waited in the reception area until I was supposed to be there, and then walked into Sarita’s office right on time. I was relieved to see Connie there. Not that she was some savior or something, but at the very least she gave Sarita some balance. There was another person there too, a man in a suit and glasses who I assumed was a new network lawyer, since he looked vaguely familiar.

  That made me wonder if I should have called my own lawyer for this meeting.

  “Wil, have a seat please,” Connie asked, and I obliged. I crossed my hands in front of me on the table, waiting to hear the reason for this meeting.

  Sarita was the one who spoke up with that. “As we’re sure you already know, your co-host is in Connecticut right now, working out with their little local football club,” she started, and I bit my lip to keep from smirking at her attempt at shade.

  Must be a Pats fan.

  “As you also probably know, were he to make the team, it would present a conflict with his ability to continue as one of our From the Sidelines hosts.”

  “I feel that it would be best to address this with him. I’m not comfortable speaking on his behalf in a matter that seems to be in reference to his employment contract.”

  Her jaw tightened. “Fair enough. We aren’t here to discuss his contract anyway. We’re here to discuss yours. You haven’t signed it yet.”

  “No, I haven’t. It’s still with my lawyer.”

  She nodded, then slid a folder across the table to me. “That offer has been rescinded. This is your new one.”

  My eyes narrowed at the folder, but I took it, flipping to what I knew was one of the more important pages. When my gaze landed on what I was looking for, I frowned. “This number is lower than the one offered two days ago. Hell… it’s lower than the initial contract I signed.”

  “Yes, we know,” Sarita smirked. “You see, with Ramsey leaving, we’re going to need an acceptable number to offer his replacement.”

  “Ramsey hasn’t told you he’s leaving. Second – even if he is, why does he need to be replaced? I could handle it alone, with the occasional guest host. That way, you can afford to offer me a number that isn’t an insult, and the network even saves money by not employing a second full-time host.”

  There was quiet for a few seconds as Connie and Sarita shared a look, and then Sarita laughed. “Alone? Wil, you’re a twenty-seven year old woman. You can’t possibly think we’re going to hand you a sports news show of your own.”

  “You wouldn’t be handing me anything. Ramsey and I put that show on our backs and carried it to where it is. Viewers tune in for us as much as they tune in for the highlights and news. You shove someone in Ramsey’s place, it’s not going to be the same. Not the same energy, and not the same chemistry. Our viewers won’t appreciate it.”

  She snorted. “But they’ll appreciate you alone because of what, perky tits and a cute face?”

  “And sharp analysis, quick wit, and abundant knowledge. Oh, and a fat ass too, since you seem to think my appearance is the only thing viewers tune in for.”

  “We don’t think that,” Connie finally spoke up, shooting a scolding glance at Sarita. “Let’s take a step back, okay? While we’ve absolutely seen a good diversification of our audience since you and Ramsey introduced your show, our main demographic is still largely men. Our concern with having you host the show yourself is that you aren’t enough to anchor the show on your own. The research shows that a male audience still, by and large, wants their news – especially sports news – delivered by men. So, we need that balance.”

  I shook my head. “So instead of challenging that, and taking this opportunity to stand on the promise you made when you hired me, you’d rather cut my salary to pay for a man to come on the air and say the same things I can?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Connie urged, holding up a hand. “Yes, we need to reallocate funds, but the drop isn’t significant.”

  I laughed. “Isn’t significant? Then why take it at all? Do you not understand how offensive this is? You promised me.”

  “Girl, this is business, and we are not your fairy god-aunties,” Sarita snipped. “Promises are made and broken every day. The terms are in front of you for you to accept. Aiden has already signed his contract.”

  “Aiden?”

  I scowled, and then looked to where she was pointing – at the man I’d assumed was a lawyer. He was handsome, with sandy blonde hair and familiar green eyes…

  “Aiden Sanders, the baseball player?”

  He smiled, and perked up. “In the flesh. But – former player. Looking forward to hosting the show with you.”

  I looked at him, then over to Sarita, then to Connie, hoping this was some elaborate joke. When I realized it wasn’t, I shook my head, and “Oh hell no,” was the first thing that crossed my lips. “You cannot be serious!” I snapped. “Is the name of this network not WAWG – We all we got?”

  Connie lifted both hands this time. “Yes, of course, but we’re trying to move the station beyond that, into today. We want to start embracing more diversity.”

  I cackled, loud. “Diversity? You want to embrace diversity? Purvi Kahn is an amazing sports journalist – you could have gotten her. Aiko Matsuoka. Jeremy Lopez. Kim Williams. Ali Singh. All very capable, established journalists who would probably love to come increase our diversity here at the network. Not to mention all the retired athletes who would have loved this opportunity. But you’re going to sit in my damn face and tell me you hired a blonde white man for the sake of diversity?!”

  “We understand how on the surface, maybe the optics look a little rough,” Connie said, still using that soothing voice that was only further grating my frayed nerves, “But I really think this is a good
opportunity to maybe start some important conversations.”

  I wrapped my hands around my armrests to force myself to stay in my seat. “Anytime I’ve brought up race in the last six months or so, I get a verbal swat on the hand. I get scolded for it. But now that you’re bringing him on… we can have these conversations? Tell me something, what are your thoughts on the disproportionate penalization of athletes of color under current NCAA scouting rules?” I asked, turning to Aidan, who flushed bright red. Before he could answer, I shook my head. “You know, never mind that question – let me ask you something else – where did you get your journalism degree? Where did you intern? Have you done news before?”

  He shifted his gaze to Connie and Sarita, then looked back at me with fire in his eyes, sputtering something about being a “fast learner” even though he didn’t have his degree. Yet, supposedly.

  I smiled, to keep from screaming.

  “So, let me run this down,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even, and at least appear calm, though I definitely wasn’t. “You are cutting my salary by an “insignificant” thirty-thousand dollars to pay a grossly inexperienced white man to replace my cohost, so that you can increase the “diversity” of a network founded on principles of giving a platform to, and showcasing Black talents and excellence. Do I understand that correctly?”

  Connie shook her head. “You’re simplifying it Wil, and it’s not the way it seems. We’re just trying to put our best foot forward.”

  “Adding him is putting your best foot forward?” I scoffed. “I mean, no offense intended to you Aiden, but…” I turned back to Connie and Sarita. “Are you serious right now?”

  Connie opened her mouth, but Sarita stopped her. “Wil, I’m not sure where things got mixed up, but we’re under no obligation to explain anything except your contract to you. Your terms are in the folder in front of you. Review it, and get it back to us, signed, by Monday.”

  “I’m not signing shit,” I snapped, before I’d even really thought about it. But honestly, there was nothing to think about. I’d wanted to work at WAWG because of what they stood for. I’d tried to get past the trickery they pulled with getting me to sign a contract in the first place, I’d ignored Sarita’s sour face and slick mouth, but this?