“What did he say?” My words are hoarse, and my throat is in need of some water.
Jeffrey leans back in his chair and lets out another long sigh. I swear this man needs yoga or a meditation technique because of his stress levels. “He went outside and told them he was going to make a statement.”
“Oh God.”
He nods. “Yeah, and that statement was asking for someone to go get him some takeout from the corner restaurant, saying to put it on his tab.”
I can’t help but laugh, because that is something Travis would do, regardless of the situation. Jeffrey gives me a dirty look, but I don’t care. After the day Travis had yesterday, he needs a little bit of comic relief in his life.
“It’s really not that funny.”
“It is, Jeffrey,” I counter. “Travis is laid-back, and a practical joker. I imagine his house was covered with press last night, and he probably felt like he couldn’t leave. It’s brilliant, really, and a great marketing scheme. Unfortunately, he also has an issue keeping it in his pants, and that has come back to bite him in his proverbial ass.”
“You need to meet with him today, go over his appearances, and remind him what is acceptable and what isn’t. If he needs something at home, tell him to call you or call for delivery. No more press conferences unless you and I are with him.”
I nod and keep my comments to myself. Jeffrey should be the one at Travis’s side, not me. Instead, he’s in his office, stressing out, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. We deal with this type of negative press all the time. It’s part of our job to fix what the athletes did and make them look good again.
Back at my desk, I turn on my computer and watch the e-mails come in one at a time. Hundreds sit unread, and the majority of them are regarding Travis. Picking up my phone, I press the button for my assistant’s line. “Wanda, can you come in here when you get a chance?”
“Sure thing,” she says, and within seconds, she’s standing in front of my desk.
“I have a feeling I’ll be working outside of the office until things with Travis Kidd get resolved. Jeffrey wants me to ‘babysit’ him. Can you start going through my e-mail and flagging the important ones? Anyone asking for an interview, tell them that we’ll be in touch. With those e-mails, make a list of who they are and what outlet. Right now, Paul Boyd has the first exclusive.”
“No problem, Saylor. Oh, People called. They want an exclusive as well.”
“Right,” I say. “I’ll call them back today.”
Once she leaves, I call Travis. His phone rings until it goes to voice mail. I contemplate leaving him a message but decide to call again instead.
“Personal or business?” Travis asks as he answers the phone.
“Always business. Where are you? We need to meet.”
“At the clubhouse, in the gym.”
“I’ll be there soon,” I tell him, and hang up.
Jeffrey wishes me good luck when I tell him I’m off to meet with Travis, and Wanda assures me that every e-mail will be taken care of. The train ride over to the stadium has me on edge. What I failed to do this morning was check the local paper, and now the image of Travis leaving the police station is plastered on the front page with a headline that reads, “Caught with His Pants Down.” My stomach twists in knots. I can’t imagine how he’s feeling, seeing his face like this, in the city that he loves so much.
I eavesdrop on a conversation a few seats behind me, taking mental notes from two women who act like they know what happened. When one says she’s been with Travis, that is something I have no doubt about. But what bothers me is that the woman is acting as if she’s a victim herself and is telling her friend that she’s going to call and file a similar claim, and that is something I have a problem with. I let them know that I’m onto their game when I turn and glare at her. The woman doesn’t seem to care that I’m staring and continues to go on and on.
As soon as the train rolls into the station, I’m up and out of my seat, tapping my toe until the doors slide open. I walk while texting Irvin, letting him know what I heard and praying that hopefully he can do something before this gets out of hand.
She’s not the only one.
When I see Irvin’s reply, my steps falter, and I crash into an unsuspecting man. Unable to take my eyes off my phone, I mumble an apology and keep walking. By the time I reach the bridge, I’m trying to run without killing myself. I’m praying that Travis hasn’t heard this news yet. Not that I want to be the one to tell him, but someone has to.
I show my identification at the clubhouse door and head to the gym. The music is so loud that I can barely hear the clanking of weights. Walking through, I peer around the corner to find Travis standing in the mirror and holding a bar. He stands there with a wide stance, clad only in shorts. The tattoo on his left arm is the only ink he has unless he’s gotten something new since we’ve been together. Seeing him
like this brings back a memory that I rarely dredge up. Everything was perfect. The way he spoke to me, caressed me, and showed me more passion in one night than any of my previous lovers. I was drunk on him, and booze. A bad and almost deadly combination.
But I wanted him. And he made sure I knew that he wanted me. I tried to play it off as a crush, but the longer we worked together, the harder it became to deny him. We went to a fund-raiser, not together, but neither of us had dates. We danced, drank, and danced some more. That night, I felt like a princess. Travis introduced me to everyone as Saylor, and not as his PR rep. He made me feel like I was someone outside of my job title. I felt wanted, and I let lust control my decisions.
I went home with him that night, only to have Jeffrey text me. I made a mistake looking at my phone and left Travis there confused and begging me not to leave. I was drunk and upset, and wrapped my car around a telephone pole.
My life changed that night, but not in the way I thought. I lost my license, was put on probation, and reprimanded at work. One condition of my probation is that I’m not allowed in bars, which is why I can’t tell the police that I saw Travis that night. I can’t afford to lose my job or be sent to jail. No one is worth that.
“Are you going to stare at me all day?” he asks as he watches me in the mirror.