“Before we get to that, I wanted to tell you that I’m planning to hire Erin Richmond to replace Louise. I’d like to bring her on as quickly as possible so that Louise can help get her up to speed.”
“You must not have heard about her and Josh,” Larry says.
“Oh, I heard. The boy changed his mind. He’s entitled. But I’d say this would make Erin all the more eager to lock up a full-time job in her chosen field. She’s smart. And she catches on fast.”
“That boy is an important client,” Larry replies. “With a hundred-plus fastball and a huge future in front of him. I wouldn’t want him to be uncomfortable at the agency he’s chosen to represent him.”
“Uncomfortable?”
“Think about it, Jazmine. That girl has to be upset with him for calling off their wedding. We don’t want him to feel he has to avoid coming by the office or interfacing with me or anyone else here.”
“So, you’re suggesting that she can’t work at StarSports Advisors in any capacity because he decided not to marry her?”
“Yes.”
“That’s like being put in the penalty box for the opposing team’s penalty.”
“Josh Stevens is our client. Our goal, our job, really, is to keep his career and his life running smoothly.”
I try to clamp down on my anger. There’s nothing to be gained by calling out the founder of the firm on his antiquated thinking. But passing up the candidate I’ve chosen because a twenty-five-year-old athlete might suffer a minute or two of embarrassment feels wrong on every level. I want to hire Erin because of her abilities. And because this job will give her something to hold on to, a reason to get out of bed in the morning.
I’m about to enumerate Erin’s qualities when a knock sounds on the office door. Before Larry calls out for the person to enter, Rich Hanson strolls in.
Larry doesn’t look at all surprised to see him. I, on the other hand, am stunned. I meet the hazel eyes that are an odd mix of brown and gold and framed by dark lashes. He’s just over six feet with a loose-limbed, lightly muscled body. A winter tan has deepened his pale skin and gives his angular features a healthy glow. His blond hair is sun-streaked and just shy of shaggy.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” Larry says. “Rich has joined the firm. Brought quite a lot of major-league talent with him.” He stands and claps Rich on the back. “He’s going to head up our football division and help look for new opportunities.”
This is a nightmare. Only I’m wide awake. “He’s a snake. He can’t be trusted.”
“Maybe as a competitor. But he’s our snake now,” Larry replies, unperturbed. “You two are going to have to find a way to work together. As in, I expect you both to play nice.”
“I’ve never understood what you have against me.” Rich smiles.
“You mean besides your overweening aggressiveness? The need to win at all costs? Your glee at poaching from other agents?”
“Goodness, but I seem to have made a strong impression.” Hanson is still smiling. He even flashes a dimple.
“Yes. Kind of like cholera. The plague. A knitting needle in the eye.”
Hanson just laughs. As if we are engaging in banter and not opening hostilities.
“Rich brings a lot of years of experience to the table,” Larry says. “Say, Rich, what do you think of Jazmine hiring Josh Stevens’s former fiancée to work for her?”
“The one he dumped a week before the wedding?” Hanson shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’d advise against it. We wouldn’t want Josh feeling uncomfortable.”
The two men smile at each other, completely at ease with their draconian view of the world.
“Well, then.” I get to my feet as casually as I can. “I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t need anyone’s approval or permission to offer the job to whomever I choose.”
I nod politely at Larry. I don’t even glance at Rich Hanson. Because if there’s still a smile on his face, I will have no choice but to wipe it off.
Nine
Sara
It’s been just over a week since Mitch fled. I am going through the motions of my life, but nothing really penetrates the heavy fog that has settled around me.
My calls and texts to Mitch’s cell phone have gone unanswered, so I still have no idea what’s going on in Birmingham or how my husband could possibly have a child old enough to make a phone call without me having known of his existence.
I tell myself this child is the result of some meaningless one-night stand, a single transgression that has suddenly popped up to haunt us. That it’s only Mitch’s shame preventing him from talking to me. But that doesn’t quite explain the secret cell phone. Or how this child, who claims his name is also Mitchell, had access to it.
School’s back in, and I can’t imagine making it through another day trying to pretend that nothing’s wrong. Despite all my years attempting to appear happy and well-adjusted and “no trouble at all” in front of foster parents, I’m just not that good an actress. I need to sit down with Mitchell face-to-face and make him tell me what the hell is going on.
On Saturday morning, I get out of bed early after a sleepless night and begin to dress for the drive to Birmingham.
I’m not a religious person, but I’ve spent the last four days praying that I’m not going to discover that the woman Mitch impregnated has also resurfaced. Or that he’s taken advantage of living in another city to sleep with a string of women who are young and beautiful, or outgoing and entertaining; in short, all the things I’m not.
Because when you’re tall and thin and plain, with a mop of stick-straight red hair that conjures comparisons to Anne of Green Gables and Pippi Longstocking (or a very tall version of Raggedy Ann), you live in fear that the person you love will discover they can do better. Or maybe you fear that they’ve always known that and have nonetheless unaccountably opted for available and grateful.
Dorothy’s at the kitchen table, clutching a cup of coffee and staring morosely out the window. She’s become even quieter since Mitch’s New Year’s Day declaration if you don’t count the condemning looks and tragic sighs. She also looks older and frailer, but then so do I.
“I’m driving to Birmingham to see Mitch. Do you want to come?”
“But it’s Saturday. I thought maybe he’d be coming home. Like he always does.” Her gaze turns accusing. “You know, once he’d had time to get over the unfortunate ruckus you started.”