Hate to Love Read online

  "I know," Mr. Slidell said. "We discussed it when he first came to me. He said he hopes he’d be able to convince ownership to maintain the original plan of trading you, but with your recent antics, and how uncooperative you've been about improving your reputation, he's not sure that's an option. It's getting to the point where just cutting you from the team and using another player for the trade they've been planning might be the better option."

  I look over at Shane and notice his face has darkened. His wide, strong jaw is tense, a thick band of muscle twitching along the side of his neck. Hands clenched into fists by his side, he takes a step toward the desk.

  "They can't cut me," he says. "I'm the backbone of the team. I'm the face of the damn organization."

  "You used to be," Mr. Slidell says. "That's the point they're trying to get through to you. You used to be their best investment. Over the last couple of years, though, your popularity, and frankly your contribution to the team on the field, has dropped. Unless you can prove otherwise, you're not an asset to them anymore."

  "What should I do?" I ask. "What needs to be done to get his reputation back on track?"

  "That's up to you," Mr. Slidell says. "That's your responsibility. You figure out how you can make the public love him again. In fact, take the rest of the day off. Spend it getting to know each other and making plans. You only have a few months. I suggest you buckle down and focus. Both of your jobs rely on it."

  He turns to his computer and starts wiggling the mouse around. I'm fairly certain he's not actually doing anything, but I take this as a cue the meeting is over. I stand and walk out of the office, pausing at my former desk only long enough to gather my bag. I'm still leaning over and picking it up when I hear Shane stomp past, grumbling under his breath. I follow him, just managing to slip through the gap in the elevator doors before they smash into me.

  "What do you think you're doing?" I ask.

  "I'm going home," he says. "I've had enough of today, and enough of this bullshit."

  "No, you're not," I say as the doors open and we both stalk out into the lobby.

  "You don't get to tell me what to do," he says.

  "Yes, I do," I point out. "Let me remind you, your asinine behavior has put both of our jobs on the line. You might think you're so amazing that no one will let you get away, and that you're always going to fall in a soft spot, but that's not how it is for me. I need this job. I'm not going to let you not take this seriously and screw me over the way you did Joe."

  We've just made it out of the lobby when he whirls around to face me. I skid to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk before running into his chest.

  "I didn't do anything to screw over your brother," he says.

  "Of course, you did. How can you say that? You dropped him as soon as you thought you were going to make something of yourself. He did everything for you, and you just left him behind. Do you have any idea what that did to him?"

  "Joe was never good enough to keep up with me," he says. "That's not my fault."

  "That's a lie, and you know it. The only reason you even learned to play was because of him. You wouldn't have even made it on to the high school team if he hadn't spent so much time helping you."

  "He might have helped me run through a few drills, and given me a couple of tips, but I'm the one who worked as hard as I did to get here. I took the opportunities that I had in front of me, and I made something of myself. If your brother didn't do that, that's his problem. I'm not responsible for anyone’s life but my own. Especially not someone I used to know in high school and college, and his little sister."

  By now, people have noticed the little spectacle we've created. I hear his name muttered a few times, and noticed people reaching into their pockets for their phones. Fantastic. My first act as his PR rep is to get video of him growling at me in the middle of a sidewalk plastered all over social media. That's going to do wonders for his reputation.

  I stretch a big smile across my face, loop my arm through his, and turn him back into the lobby. As soon as we are out of sight in the coffee shop, I shake away from him.

  "Is that seriously what you think of him?" I ask. "He's just someone you used to know in high school and college? Joe was your best friend. The two of you were inseparable. He dragged you behind him to make sure you got the practice you needed to get on the team, and the grades to keep you there. He did everything possible to help you out, no matter what situation you got yourself in. Then as soon as he needed you, you were gone."

  "We drifted apart because he was envious of me," Shane says. "He couldn't stand the fact that I got the future he always dreamed about."

  I hear something smash on the floor, and I look over to see Bindi holding several shards of a broken mug, setting them on the counter. I see the shocked look on her face, and she meets my eyes. She's trying to mouth something to me, but before I can figure out what she is saying, two men walk in. Their paint-splattered jeans, scuffed boots, and unkempt hair tell me they probably aren't from the offices overhead. Instead, they likely wandered in from one of the renovation projects happening on the block.

  "We need to go," I say when I see the way they look at Shane.

  "I'm not going anywhere," he says. "I don't need some little girl telling me how to manage my career."

  "That's the second time you've called me a girl today," I say under my breath, not wanting the men who just come in to hear me. "I suggest you make it your last."

  I'm shaking, and I can feel heat creeping up the back of my neck. I hope Shane doesn't notice how much he's affecting me.

  "Are you all right, Miss?"

  I look over my shoulder to see one of the men approaching. His eyes are locked on Shane, rather than me, and the slight accent in his voice reminds me of home. I nod.

  "I'm fine," I say. "Thank you."

  "Is he bothering you?"

  "No," I say.

  "You better be careful, Lawson," he says. "This lady here seems feistier than that other girl. We all know how you like to fight with your women. This one seems like she might not keep her mouth closed as long as the other one did."

  "What did you just say?" Shane growls.

  "I appreciate your concern, sir," I say. "But I'm perfectly alright. I'm not Mister Lawson's... woman. As a matter of fact, I am his PR rep, and I would like to take this opportunity to reassure you what you might have heard about him is untrue, and we will be going to the fullest extent of our efforts to prove that. Thank you very much for checking on me, I appreciate it. I'm sure Mr. Lawson would appreciate your support as well."

  The man looks me up and down, then does the same to Shane. It's unclear whether he's buying what I'm saying, but he nods and takes a step back.

  "We'll see," he says.

  "You have a nice day," I say.

  I grab onto Shane and lead him out of the shop.

  "What the hell was he talking about?" he asks.

  "You know very well what he was talking about," I say. "That's exactly what Mr. Slidell was trying to get you to see. That man is your target audience, and he doesn't trust you as far as he could throw you. He was coming to my rescue because he thought you were going to attack me. Is that the way you want your fans thinking about you?"

  I see Shane's expression shift. The anger flashing in his sapphire blue eyes now seems more concerned, and his posture becomes more defensive than aggressive.

  "This is really fucking serious, isn't it?" he asks.

  "Yeah," I say. "It is. And if you don't want it to get worse, and still be able to play football this fall, you need to hear me out. We need to sit down and talk about this."

  I see a devilish gleam form in his eyes.

  "Your place or mine?" he asks.

  I step back, holding a hand up.

  "Don't even try pulling that with me," I say. "This is about saving your ass, not getting you some."

  "Heartbreaking," he says sarcastically. "Unless you haven't noticed, you're not exactly my type, secretary."


  I choose not to point out the fact that he is the one who made the comment. He's not lashing out at other people, and I have him standing here listening to me, so I'm going to take that as a victory and run with it.

  "Well, it's pretty obvious we're not going to be able to have this conversation in any public place, and with the rumors swirling around, I can only imagine the swarm of paparazzi camping out in front of your house. The last thing we need is to give them any more story fodder by showing up there."

  "So where does that leave us?" he asks.

  Damn it.

  Chapter Five

  Shane

  "This is seriously where you live?" I ask.

  I'm standing in the doorway to Julie's apartment, staring at a wall just a few feet ahead of me. A wall that represents the end of her entire living area. She stops in the middle of the tiny living room and shoots a glare in my direction.

  "Do you have a problem with it?" she asks.

  "Not a problem, I guess. I'm just a little stunned. I'm fairly certain the entirety of your apartment could fit in my bedroom."

  "I'll just have to take your word for that one," she snaps.

  "I didn't realize people out of college lived in apartments this small," I say. "I don't think the first apartment I lived in after college was anything like this."

  "That's because you didn't pay for it," she says.

  "What?" I ask, turning away from my estimation of the distance between where I am standing, and the end of her apartment.

  "You didn't pay for your first apartment after college," she says. "By the time you got out of college, you were already drafted to your team. They're the ones who paid for your housing. It was part of your initial agreement with them."

  I smirk at her.

  "How do you know so much about my agreement with the team?"

  "Research," she says. "If I'm going to be your representative, I have to know as much about you, and your career as I possibly can. I'm not going to be able to rebuild your reputation, and fix all the damage you've caused, if I don't."

  "When did you have time to research me?"

  "While we were sitting in traffic," she explains.

  I remember her fiddling on her phone in the car, but I assumed she was just trying to avoid having to carry on a conversation with me.

  "What else did you find out about me?" I ask.

  "Enough to know that I have my work cut out for me."

  I let out an exasperated sigh.

  "Is there even a bathroom in this place?"

  Julie gives an equally exasperated sigh and glares at me.

  "You know, Shane, you need to snap yourself back into reality."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You weren't always wealthy," she says. "You didn't always have all this influence and power. People haven't always done what you said without question. You've obviously forgotten where you came from. There was a time when you barely had anything at all. Not everyone from back home got the chances you did. They weren’t just scooped up and put into some charmed existence where they're paid exorbitant, ridiculous amounts of money to run around with other men and play a game."

  I feel my jaw clench.

  "I'm not just playing a game," I argue. "You're acting like I'm out there with a bunch of toddlers kicking a playground ball around. What I do it takes a lot of hard work, and dedication. Money isn't just thrown at me. I deserve every cent I make because I'm the best there is."

  Julie's almond eyes narrow at me from behind her glasses, and I find myself curious about what she would look like without them.

  "Maybe you used to be," she says. "But like Mr. Slidell said, you haven't been playing very well recently. Do you still think you're worth all that money they pay you?"

  "Where's the bathroom?" I ask, forcing my voice to stay as calm and steady as I can.

  Julie directs me to it, and I realize I could probably have found it on my own, considering it's located a mere foot or two down the hallway across from what passes as a living room in this pocket-sized apartment. When I emerge a few minutes later, I've forced myself to calm down from the anger I felt. The unexpected duck adhesive stuck on the bathroom wall helped with that, though I am not sure I like the way he looked at me.

  I walk back into the living room to find Julie sitting cross-legged on the center cushion of her old couch. In the few minutes I was gone, she changed from her office clothes into a pair of stretchy black pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. A laptop sits on her folded thighs, and she's bent over staring intently at the screen. She has a piece of her hair wrapped around her fingers, and pressed to her lips, just like the last time I saw her, all those years ago.

  "You change clothes faster than a superhero," I tease.

  "Not really," she says. "I change clothes like an incredibly awkward person who never quite got over being the self-conscious girl uncomfortable in her own skin. When you're like that, you learn to change after gym before the rest of the class even makes it all the way into the locker room."

  "I thought you didn't like being called a girl."

  "I don't like when other people call me a girl. Actually, no. I don't like when arrogant men call me a girl."

  "So, why did you change? I thought those were your professional clothes, and we are here to work."

  She looks up at me, dropping the piece of hair.

  "Those are my 'sitting behind a desk in an office handling administrative issues clothes.' These are my 'get comfortable and settle in because it's going to be hard as hell to figure out how I'm going to drag you up out of this abyss you made for yourself' clothes."

  "You really enjoy being dramatic, don't you?"

  "Dramatic? You think I'm being dramatic? My boss just told me I won't have a job if I don't succeed with something people with decades of experience on me weren't able to do at all."

  "So, you don't think you can do it?"

  I knew she was all talk back in that office.

  "No, I'm sure I can do it."

  "And why do you think you're going to be able to swoop in and magically fix my reputation?"

  I walk around to the chair sitting beside the couch and drop down into it.

  "Make yourself at home," she says sarcastically, then turns back at her computer. "I know I'm the one who is going to be able to fix your reputation because I am going into this with a unique perspective."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I've had the unique opportunity to hate you personally before hating you professionally. That offers me some additional layers to work with. The people who used to be your fans only know the things about you that are in the public eye, but I know more. I know all the things my brother and I can't stand about you. That means I can approach each of the issues, and deal with them one-by-one."

  "How uplifting," I say. "Good to know I've got you in my corner."

  She shrugs.

  "It's the reality of the situation, Shane. I'm not representing you because I care about you or how anyone sees you. I'm worried about myself. Frankly, I think you should get what's coming to you."

  "I should get what's coming to me?" I ask incredulously.

  She looks at me again. Her soft lips are pressed together into a tight smile as she seems to try to come up with what she wants to say next.

  "I'm not a fan of men who make asses out of themselves in public because they think they are entitled to more in life than others. But that's a matter of personal preference. If it's only you who's getting messed up in the situation, then whatever. I don't care. In fact, I'm sure there are plenty of fans who act exactly like that, and who don't understand why people are being so hard on you. I don't have any sympathy, though, for people who use their power to hurt others. You can have an attitude, sure. You can get pissed off as much as you want, in fact. But keep your hands off other people, especially a woman who loved you, and probably thought you'd take care of her. Protect her."

  Anger and frustration blur my vision, and I have to focus
on forcing myself to stay calm. If I didn't already know how blunt and straightforward Julie is, I would think she’s trying to bait me in an effort to teach me better self-control. Instead, I know she's expressing exactly what she thinks and feels.

  "I didn't do anything to Vanessa," I say. "Nothing she’s said to the media is true. She’s a liar."

  "It doesn't really matter if I believe that," Julie says.

  "Yes, it does," I shout, then take a breath. "It does matter if you believe me, because it's the truth. And if I'm going to trust you to get me back on track, and to stop people from looking at me the way they do, then I need to know you understand what's happening. You need to know I'm not that type of man. I might not be a great person. I might not be nice, or generous. I might not be the smiling face on a Wheaties box encouraging young children to spread their wings and reach for their dreams, or whatever shit sports heroes are supposed to do. I might never have been great at relationships, of any kind. I'm not saying Vanessa and I had the perfect fairytale, but I was never abusive. We were together for years. Sure, we had our fair share of difficulties. Every relationship goes through rough patches, and maybe some of our patches were rougher than others, but it never got physical between us. Ever. Even when she would go into her little fits and start throwing shoes around the house, or threatening to key my car, I never laid a finger on her. I would just let her wind herself up until she burned out, then wait for it to be over. I was always good to her."

  "Then why would she lie? Why would she go to all the effort of coming forward and telling this story?"

  "I don't know," I say. "You said she is a woman who was abused by the man she thought would protect and take care of her? Here's the thing. I don't think that woman ever really loved me. I don't know if she has the capacity to love another person as much as she loves herself – and the attention she gets from dating football players. As for being taken care of and protected, she was. Up until a few weeks before we broke up for good, I treated her like a princess."