by Susan Arden
“What are we talking about? Is this about copyright violation?”
“No. This is about posting pictures of me online.”
“Oh, you can’t do much about that.”
“Even when photos aren’t me? I’m talking tagged with my name and the photographs are of some naked dude.”
“And you’re sure they’re not you?” Max asked.
Brett couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “This isn’t a game, Max. I’d know if I was in some room with a girl and a bunch of other guys having sex. And I wasn’t!”
“Holy crap. You didn’t mention the group sex part. Send me all the info you’ve got and I’ll get right on it.”
“I’m sending it over right now. Let me know the next step. I want this taken care of by the end of the day.”
“Hey, I’m not promising I can work that fast.”
“On this one, you’d better.” Brett said in voice that meant total fucking business.
“I take it this one is causing backlash.”
“You got it. And if I get burned I’m not going to be happy. You get my meaning?”
“Shit yeah.”
They hung up and Brett went into the locker room to change. He avoided the usual trade of wisecracks and ribbing that went on and focused on running the plays through his mind. All the while, a firebomb of frustration built within him, twisting his gut. No matter how he focused on the plays, his mind kept returning to Cory. He kept telling himself, she’d know the photographs were fakes. But what about her family or friends? How could anyone else know? The backlash would sting; up close and uncomfortable with crude comments in Cory’s face. Or worse…from insidious gossip that ran like a wildfire and in ways he and she couldn’t defend, even if they wanted to. He needed to reach out to her and somehow prepare her, but doing it over the phone didn’t set right with him when he couldn’t see her reaction, gauge what to do next.
~~~
On the field, the coaching assistants marked out the plays, dishing out reminders to each player of what they were up against. The practice team lined up for the scrimmage. Brett was on his mark and at the snap from the quarterback, he caught the short pass and took off charging ahead. He ended up clipped and on his back with the wind knocked out of him in a rookie move of running without considering his options.
The rodman shook his head. First down and he’d actually lost ground behind the line of scrimmage. The cornerback who laid into him helped him up and he eyed the other player, grunting a thanks. Wasn’t about to tell the defense to lighten up. Brett walked back to the squad where the three team quarterbacks and offensive coach were waiting.
“That would work if your eyes were on the field, not daydreaming, darling.” Colin, the veteran quarterback, ribbed him. “Gotta love the first day back after a holiday.” He socked Brett in the arm as he walked by toward the line.
“Let’s do it again,” Brett growled. “I’m ready.” Hell, he was ready to plow through a wall after his last fool move, wanting to recover ground and his reputation.
Again, the play was called out, the countdown, and then the play went into action. Brett sprinted and changed tactics. Clenching his jaw, he careered through a pair of defensive players, turned and caught the ball in midstride, rotated and came down, sprinting until he was knocked to the turf. Not exactly what he wanted, but at least the ball had moved down the field. He looked over to the chain gang and the lineman marked a ten-yard gain. Hector reached out to him and pulled him up.
Cocking his head, Hector motioned with his chin toward the sideline. “The camera dude caught it. I’m betting you’ll get to see that one replayed when we get our heads handed to us. Lucky you.” If there was time before lunch the offense would regroup inside and watch the videos of the plays they’d just done. The coaches and assistants would dissect the moves, addressing what went right and what didn’t.
“Made more than a few bad moves today. I’ll need something to smooth those out.” They walked over in the direction of the water cooler.
“Heard you didn’t like the photographs online,” Hector said, picking up a cup.
Brett narrowed his eyes. “Don’t want to talk about it on the field.”
“No disrespect.” Hector stared back at him. “I know of people who can help. Get those things taken care of.”
“Nah. I’m not into coercion.”
“Coercion, nothing. I’m talking lawyering up.” Hector tossed his cup into the trash. “Had my share. Then I learned the hard way.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean…look, if I need to go that route, I’ll find you. Thanks.”
“No problem. Good hands back there. Get your center of gravity down when you turn. Easier follow-through.”
Brett smiled. “Man, you nailed it. No excuse—I was light on my toes.” Light on Your Toes. He thought of Annona and the dance studio Cory had mentioned where she’d learned to dance and had once taught. Walking back to the squad, he wondered what she was doing. The craving to get back to her roiled in his bloodstream and he would have continued deep in thought about her if his coach hadn’t shouted out his name.
“Gold, I want to see more of that.” Coach Rollins called out, standing with his headphones around his neck next to Drake Henry, the general manager. Then Brett noticed the man in the sunglasses standing with a tall blonde. Vic Castellano, the owner of the team was on deck. He generally left the running of his franchise to Drake. If he was onboard, the whole ante of practice was about to get serious. Fast. Forget breaking for lunch.
The offense ran through the play again and again. Little by little, Brett let the game take over until he was in his zone. His final jump into the air when Colin threw high had him hugging that ball tight against his breadbasket and coming down with a thud. A stab of pain pierced his ankle and raced up his calf.
Ignoring the red-hot sting, he pushed off the two defenders in front of him and broke away with enough force to gain an additional fifteen yards before one of the practice team brought him down. Hard. The whistle blew and he pushed off the turf, throwing the ball to the tech on the sideline. Meeting room discussion, then lunchtime when he planned on calling his agent, and then Cory. He unclipped his chin strap and removed his helmet, wiped his face with a towel, and hoped to hell Max had good news.
~~~
He listened while Max told him it would take at least twenty-four hours to get the photographs removed. It didn’t even matter who was in them, the fact that there was nudity was enough to warrant that the social media giant would have them gone and more than likely sanction the Facebook page.
“But, you’re going to have to be prepared for the fact that the person who posted them more than likely will end up creating a new page and reposting or blogging the photographs. They’re looking for attention and don’t care who gets burned. Brett, it’s the reality of the Internet—spinning images and seeing what sticks. But you know that, right?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t jump down my throat. I’m on your side. But that story you agreed to do for Sports Live isn’t helping matters.”
“I wasn’t completely naked. What they did with their software only made it look like I was.” Half drunk, he’d agreed when asked at bar to do a partial nude feature.
He wasn’t the one who was nude, so what the heck did he care. He’d signed the contract thrust in front of him and at that point, days after his best friend had married Danielle, he was angry and looking for some type of revenge. Christ, that decision had not been a swift move. The fact that the feature went viral and had gotten him a hell of a lot of press coverage at first didn’t hurt. His contract came due and was renegotiated. He’d gotten a huge signing bonus without doing much finagling. The money continued to roll in for other magazine features and then a slew of advertisers came calling. He’d made the cover of GQ, then Sports News followed up with the headline, “Gold Gone Gold.”
Now the money
didn’t seem worth it if it meant Cory would have to take a degree of heat on account of this nonsense.
Max sighed, “No one knows or cares. And it adds fuel to the fire.”
“I don’t see how. I was alone and posing. Not in the middle of some ménage scene at a wild party.” Brett watched as Hector walked out of the training facility and crossed the parking lot. “Look Max, get those photographs removed and I’ll let you know what I want done next.”
He opened up his car door and bolted upward. Again, his ankle smarted—nothing alarming, just enough to slow his dash between the rows of parked cars.
“Hector, wait up.”
CHAPTER 22
Dr. Peterson came blazing into the office. “We’re definitely on to present in San Francisco next month. You ever been there in January?”
“I’ve never been there period.” Cory smiled and hit ‘enter’ on the keyboard, finalizing Dr. Peterson’s agenda for the week.
“Lovely town. Livewire and for someone like you, if you’re considering staying on the West Coast, an ideal choice given your skills in promotions and publicity.”
“Always wanted to visit,” Cory replied, taken aback that Dr. Peterson gave any thought to where she’d end up working. Heck, she hadn’t seriously considered the matter of graduation. Not yet, at least. “Do you think I’d fit in…it’s so edgy.”
“Northern California is ripe and it’s the land of Google. The job sharks will be knocking down your door come senior year. I’ve some pretty choice internships for the summer. West Coast, East Coast, even Europe…say, Paris or Madrid.”
“I don’t speak anything except English and Western. I can’t roll my ‘R’s’ without getting tongue-tied.”
“If you’re interested in Europe and have language fears, I’m sure we can arrange something in London. Think about it.”
“You mean as a possibility? How would I do more than think about it? Is there an application?”
Dr. Peterson sat down and opened a drawer, flipping through files, slammed it and scanned the area on her credenza piled with books, folders, and stacks of student papers. She stood up and marched over to a precarious pile in the corner. “Why is what I’m looking for always on the bottom?”
“Hold on. Let me help.” Cory rushed over and began lifting off files. “Uh, here’s half a sandwich.”
“I was wondering where it had gone.” Dr. Peterson extracted a blue folder. “Here.”
“I’ll trade,” she said, taking hold of the folder.
Cory’s advisor thrust the folder at her and then took the half eaten sandwich and tossed it in the garbage. Crinkling her nose, she said, “Good thing we had this discussion. That sandwich would have begun to stink up the place.”
“Fulton Scholarship?” Dubiously, Cory opened the folder. She’d heard about this program where students studied abroad and came back, then were called on to talk about their experience and sit in panels to decide future awards. “Very prestigious and very unlikely that I’d be awarded one.”
“Every party has a pooper and it’s not you. So keep reading.”
The brochure was snazzy, in color and featuring the winners from two years ago seated in a gondola. “Venice. Looks like the place to be.”
“I won’t bug you because it would mean you’d be gone from campus when I know I could easily rook you into staying to help out on the grant.” Dr. Peterson winked at her.
“I’ll think about it.” Cory closed the file. “You’ve got a three o’clock on the second floor. Dr. Carathers sent an email. The meeting room was changed.”
“Did she say why?” Dr. Peterson grabbed her laptop and shoved it into an old carrying case. “I prefer to stick with a plan.”
Cory went back to the desk Dr. Peterson had requisitioned and picked up the jump drive where the slideshow was stored. “You’ll need this. And no. She mentioned a few more people were coming. Maybe larger is better.”
“Larger, yes. Change, no.” Dr. Peterson nodded as Cory tucked the jump drive into her advisor’s case. “What are you doing?
Cory now had a desk and a tiny bit of space in the anteroom, right outside her advisor’s office. Shouting distance is how Dr. Peterson termed it. It was complete with a computer and phone and her advisor said it made sense, given Cory was working enough hours to be considered an assistant. And Dr. Peterson had mused on Cory’s return that this grant program darn well needed a place where she could dump the overflow of files, research, and the never-ending market analyses. So now, Cory had an official title: Marketing Department Assistant.
“I’ve got class in an hour. Nothing except typing up some notes until then.”
“Great. Then you come too. I have a feeling Dr. Carathers is looking for some exposure. She can’t ever be happy just doing the work,” Dr. Peterson muttered.
Cory reached for her messenger bag. She smoothed a hand over her hair. Newly cut, and thank God she’d worn something smart today. A herringbone tweed suit done in black and white paired with a red polka dot blouse, and a tiny silver clip to hold her hair in place that matched the silver pin she wore from Brett’s mom.
She walked along with Dr. Peterson, shaking her head. “What will it matter if I’m there?”
“Consider it shoring up my team.” They entered the packed elevator. Dr. Peterson gazed over to her with a smirk. It wasn’t news that she and Dr. Carathers wrote the department grants together but were competitive about everything else. Cory’s phone started to ring, a blues song, and she reached into the pocket of her bag to grab it. The picture of her and Brett flashed on the screen and her stomach fluttered. She longed to take the call, but not inside the elevator.
Biting her lip, she texted Brett a message. MISS YOU SOMETHING AWFUL! Going into a meeting. Can I call you later? Xo
He shot back. Hell yes. Wish you were here. Or me there. Just call me.
Her body tingled, especially the places he’d touched, as though it were only hours and not days since they’d made love. All night. His body battered, but he’d not let her sleep a wink. A wide grin spread upon her face, and she shivered, pulling on the strap of her purse as she quickly glanced over to Dr. Peterson. Her advisor was reading a sheet of paper, oblivious to the world.
Not Cory. She was ablaze with sensation each time her mind returned to Brett. It had only been days, not even a week, but since she’d seen him, they’d talked on the phone, several times a day. At one point, he asked if she’d be willing to fly back to Dallas for the day. He’d offered to get her there via a first class seat and have her back to California within twenty-four hours. She wanted to agree, but with a couple of weeks before finals, she couldn’t risk missing a class. Not one, but she’d see him soon in his upcoming game in just a couple of days.
The elevator doors opened and the mass of bodies moved forward at all once. She stepped closer to Dr. Peterson. “I think you’re right about something being up.”
“I’m wise to Dr. Carathers and her ways.” Dr. Peterson snorted. “This ought to be a real circus.”
Inside the conference room, there were reporters and several business people. Everyone had on nametags and Cory took her time, writing down each person’s name. She believed in keeping notes and later if a contact was required, she’d have a ready reference. Dr. Carathers stood up and then her advisor joined her. Together they described the grant and how it would impact the businesses in the target areas along with the universities selected, demographics, and what they hoped to achieve in studying student spending. An underlying piece was the consumption of alcohol, and then a woman’s hand shot up.
“We’ll take questions at the end,” Dr. Carathers said.
“I’ll wait, then.” The woman lowered back into her seat. A knock at the door came and then two gentlemen entered. One she recognized as the dean of UCLA and the other was a stranger. A murmur ran through the room, but she couldn’t distinguish the exact message, only a frisson of excitement. Maybe it was the dea
n’s attendance. He was a bigwig and Cory sat up straight, trying to act as though the presentation wasn’t part of the slideshow she’d helped prepare or the notes she’d typed up. She knew the grant program inside and out, being the person who assisted Dr. Peterson in preparing the application.
Cory wrote a note about a question, then looked up to meet the gaze of the gentleman standing next to the dean. She smiled pleasantly and returned her attention to her advisor and Dr. Carathers. Their presentation ended and then a round of questions began. Cory noticed the dean and the stranger had left and she exhaled, relaxing her shoulders. Just when she thought the coast was clear, her phone went off. She’d forgotten to silence the darn thing and now it blared. She grabbed it and turned down the volume, but too late. To make matters worse, she rose to leave and ran right into the stranger. He took hold of her arms, but only after she’d stepped on his foot.
“Excuse me,” she said, mortified beyond belief.
“Quite all right,” he said, an amused smile spread over his face.
She backed away. The call ended and she glanced up to find many sets of eyes on her. A ripple of laugher shot through the group and her cheeks were stained by embarrassment.
The man leaned over and whispered, “I hate when that happens.”
She didn’t want to be rude and nodded. “So sorry,” she whispered, grimacing.
“I’m not,” he returned. “Ryder Bennett. Nice to meet you.”
She’d seen that name about a hundred times. God bless! She’d just stomped on the toes of the man whose company had underwritten the grant.
“Likewise.” She nodded stiffly. The session finished and she glanced over at Mr. Bennett. “We really appreciate the funding for the grant,” Cory said, intending to repair some of the damage her newly acquired two left feet had managed.
“Don’t mention it. It’s not every day I get to meet a beautiful young lady. Have dinner with me and we’ll consider ourselves even.”
For a second, Cory was speechless, then there were flashes and she heard the dean introduce Mr. Bennett. He smiled and gave her a card. “I’d love to meet you later and hear how you’re involved in the research. I’m always looking for up and coming professionals.”
