Page 84 of Worth the Try
She, at least, has the decency to look a bit embarrassed. Or at least aware that all of this might be a bit much. “Swag.”
“Swag?” I say incredulously. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” She pushes it closer. “You’ll need coaching gear for the press.”
“For the press?” I nearly choke. “I thought you were doing a press release. Surely that’s enough.”
“It’s not,” Frank states flatly. “Kari, I’ll be in my office. Get that out once he reviews it.”
I watch him go. Glancing back at Kari, I say, “He’s a prick, isn’t he?”
She gives me a wry grin. “Sort of, but look at it this way: at least he’s in your corner.”
I raise my eyebrows. “That’s supposed to be comforting?”
“Believe it or not, yes.” She claps my shoulder. “Now, read that quote.”
I look at it and shrug. “It’s fine.” Not like I could come up with anything better, frankly.
She scoops it up with a smile of thanks and leaves, leaving me with the lawyer and my coaches. Or, I guess, former coaches.
What the hell have I just gotten myself into?
Chapter 29
Elodie
“Elle Belle, are you ready?” Rosalie bounces on her toes, looking ridiculously cute in her Atlanta Granite shirt and shorts. Tiny teal and black stars dot her cheeks, and she’s clutching Cleocatra to her chest.
“Almost. Is Cleo breathing?” I joke as I check my outfit in the mirror, a little nervous about my choice.
“Cleocatra loves being held,” she insists, practically turning her body sideways to look at the cat. “See? She’s smiling.”
To be honest, I think my cat has simply resigned herself to the force of nature that is Rosalie. “She’d probably like to be put down,” I say gently. “Why don’t you give her some treats since we’ll be gone for a while?”
Rosie cheers and whirls away, Cleo’s tail swishing behind her back as they go.
I chuckle and attempt to wrangle the rogue curls into submission, but give up. There’s only so much that can be done, and I don’t want to be late for the exhibition game.
The stadium is filled with people by the time we get there, a sea of dark teal and black for the Granite outpacing the red and white for the opposing team. Rosie is almost beside herself,chattering and pointing out the various pieces of merchandise she wants.
“I’ll ask Miss Kari,” she says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I bet she can get it for me.”
“I bet she can,” I agree, guiding us up to the VIP section where the team’s friends and family are. Lucky for us, the suites have both an enclosed section and outside seating, because late August in Atlanta is not for the faint of heart.
Inside the suite, Rosie makes a dash for the fridge to get the juice she’s only allowed on game days, then whirls to grab a pre-packaged bag of popcorn before running back to me. “I’m gonna go outside!” she declares.
“Be polite,” I remind her, and watch her dash to the door.
“I think she’s excited,” says a familiar voice, the Australian accent oddly similar to a Southern drawl.
“Sam!” I exclaim, reaching for the woman to give her a hug. “Your brother made the cut?”
She smiles broadly. “He did.” Then she nods to where Rosie is situating herself in the front row of the outside section. “Is that Coach Miles’ daughter?”
“Hehatesthat.” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “But yes, that’s Rosalie.”
Sam scans my outfit, her eyes sparkling. “And what about you? Still just the nanny?” There’s no mistaking the suggestion in her voice.
