Linebacker’s Second Chance(22)
I go over my game plan with Wingate, outlining the different pieces I’ve thought of. And today, during the noise and bustle of the party, I outlined everything on my laptop. I got it all down on paper—the different steps in the game to get Macklin Pride back into the NFL limelight, and in a good way. I even made sure to put in stipulations so that he felt respected as a person, and not just like he was a puppet. Hell, I did so much that I might be able to leave it all to Wingate, to leave and go back to California while he handles the whole damn thing.
Just as I’m finishing the details, Mack appears, dark hair wet from the shower, his eyes looking a little more sober than they had been. He doesn’t smell quite as bad as the inside of a keg, more like the outside of one.
With those stormy blue eyes, Macklin looks between the two of us, suspicion brewing on his face. “Y’all out here plotting my demise?”
I purse my lips. There’s nothing I want to do less than interact with this man, but I force myself to think of the money coming my way if this job is successful. It would mean a new life for me and for my parents. “We’re planning for your success.”
More words dangle on the tip of my tongue. I want to give him one of those speeches his cousin used to give us. You’re better than this—this isn’t you. You’re Macklin Fucking Pride, and you’re the best goddamn linebacker in the league, so you need to act like it. You need to practice instead of partying, you need to focus on your teammates instead of focusing on women, and you need to lay off the booze.
But I couldn’t pull it off like W could. I’d sound like a mother scolding a child, where Wingate could always make it sound like he was a concerned cousin—and I’m guessing he’s already tried that route and failed. The scolding parent doesn’t fit with the kind of PR relations agent I am. I’ve seen other agents take this route, and they’re no better than bullies. To make a plan stick, the subject of that plan needs to be fully on board. And if I’ve broken my own damn contract to come up here and talk to this man, by damn I’m going to talk him into what I’m doing.
“I’m already successful,” Mack huffs, taking a seat in the chair that happens to be the farthest from where I’m sitting.
Fine, be that way. I’ll take the high road and pretend that you’re not a dick. I’ve already ignored the fact that you left me—you hurt me—so I’ll just ignore the fact that you won’t acknowledge anything about me. You’re a client, just like any other.
“You are, cuzzo,” Wingate replies. “But do you want to stay that way? Because if those pictures and recordings got leaked, you’d be more of a laughing stock than anything else. That’s not the man I went into business with, and that’s not the man I believe in. You’ve even seen it happen to some of your own teammates. Guys more concerned with getting pussy—excuse my French—than playing ball. What happened to them?”
Wingate’s voice is much calmer than it has been since he came to get me, and I look over to see that he’s poured himself a drink from Mack’s whiskey stash. I can’t say I blame him. I might need one when he gets up for a refresher.
Mack looks back and forth between us again. He doesn’t respond, but I can see on his face that he knows exactly what we’re talking about.
“I’ll fill in the blanks,” I say, trying to keep my tone as neutral as possible. “Two years ago, Marcus Smith had an affair with that eighteen year-old girl. Now, that’d be fine on its own, but her parents got involved, and they outed him to the media and found evidence of a second girlfriend. He was an amazing quarterback, wasn’t he? But now you’ve got a new one…”
“What’s he doing now?” Wingate asks.
“You know what he’s doing,” Mack responds. “Y’all both do.” He pauses. “But you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? He’s coaching ball at Hampden Sydney because he couldn’t get a job at a co-ed college. And we got a new QB. But that was—that was a while ago.”
“That means that by now, everyone’s in the mood for a new scandal. And besides celebrities out in Hollywood, you all are the next best thing. In some circles, a good story about a football player is even better than Brad and Angelina. And recently, all eyes are pointing in your direction. Including that photographer’s eyes—and unfortunately she had an empty SD card and a phone that took some pretty excellent pictures.” I sigh.
“Couldn’t help reading up on me, Renata?” He smiles, but there’s an edge to it.