Losing to Win by Michele Grant

boundaries.”
    â€œYou did agree in your contract to be on film 24-7,” Ren reminded me.
    â€œI’m very positive I excluded some things such as”—I gestured to the room behind me as I stepped into the hallway—“bathroom time. Let’s try and maintain some of the mystery, shall we?” I glowered down at him with my best “I’m a football player and will hurt you” glare.
    â€œSorry, sir.” The glare still worked.
    â€œYou don’t have to ‘sir’ me, just show some basic decency or this is not going to go well for any of us. Speaking of which, walking into the bathroom—in fact, any room—without waiting for permission: that’s not going to happen again. Got it?”
    â€œYes, si—Mr. Knight.”
    I rolled my eyes as we walked past the kitchen. “I can be Mal. Truly. I assume breakfast is out of the question?”
    â€œWe have breakfast set up at the dorm.”
    The dorm. Jesus, it was like a bad training camp flashback all over again. I quickly went into the closet and put together a variety of clothes, shoes, and toiletries for a few weeks. After years of weekly travel, I had the art of packing down to a science. I was rolling a tie and sliding it inside a shoe as my phone rang again.
    â€œYou’re popular this morning,” Ren said and motioned to Jerry to roll again.
    I flashed my trademark “don’t you want to get like me” smile. “I’m popular every morning.” I thumbed on the phone. “This is Mal.”
    â€œOn camera already?” Pierre’s cultured tones flowed across the line.
    I glanced up at the camera. “As a matter of fact, I’m staring into the red light as we speak.”
    â€œAh, well. I’ll keep it short. You talk to Cari this morning?”
    â€œYes. Why?”
    â€œShe called me to go over the terms of her agreement. I got the impression she was looking for an escape loophole.”
    â€œYou got the right impression, but she decided to stick it out for now.”
    â€œOkay, good. I think this is going to be a great experience for both of you.”
    â€œAre you matchmaking?” Underneath the Italian suits, Pierre was a romantic Southern gentleman at heart.
    â€œDo I need to be?” When he started answering questions with questions, it meant Pierre had something else to say.
    â€œGo ahead and say what you gotta say.”
    â€œYou’re better with her.”
    I frowned. “Wait a minute, now.” Not only did I not agree with that assessment, I didn’t appreciate it, not one bit.
    â€œYou don’t have to like it for it to be true. Sorry, but you’re a better athlete and a better person when she’s around. This is not only your last chance at the NFL, this is your last chance with Cari. I’m telling you not to blow either one.” His voice was crisp, as if he wanted to be clear that this was not a topic he considered to be up for discussion.
    I shared my major concern with him. “What if I can’t have both at the same time? I don’t even know if it’s possible.”
    â€œWell, my friend, only you can make that decision, but I’ll tell you this: you have many business ventures to keep you challenged professionally. There is only one Carissa Melody Wayne.”
    â€œNoted.” I was done talking about something I had no control over today.
    Briskly, Pierre continued. “All right, then. I’ll be on set later this week. Unless you need me sooner.”
    â€œIt’s been a while since I was your only client and needed my hand held,” I teased.
    He laughed. “My first and best, though. Stay outta trouble, Mal.”
    â€œTrouble? Who, me? I’m always good.” I hung up as he snorted a response. Putting one last pair of socks in the bag, I zipped it closed and looked around for the matching laptop case. Striding past the camera, I couldn’t imagine