Page 67 of Lucky Puck

I cringe inwardly. “About the company credit card.” I’ve been putting off the discussion long enough. I have to tell him now while we’re on the subject.

“What about it?”

“I charged quite a few things over the weekend that aren’t standard expenses.” I clear my throat and then rush my words before he has a chance to get upset. “Of course, I’m fully prepared to pay the agency back for anything you think is out of line.”

“What kind of things?”

“Three gold wedding bands.”

His eyebrows go up. “Three?”

I remind him about the chorus girl and tell him about all the extra tips for Bigelow while I’m at it. There’s a lot of backstory I need to fill in to make sense of it.

“In fact, Bigelow is expecting an additional payment to make up for his time while he wasn’t on the job. I promised him I’d get it to him by the end of the week.”

I watch Jett pace around the room, studying the carpet. Which is a shame because the view of Boston Harbor out the window is beautiful. That’s where I stare while I test how long I can hold my breath waiting for an answer, waiting to find out whether I’m broke—or broker than before.

“Write up an expense report with the full explanation—for my eyes only—and I’ll review it.”

“Yes, sir.” Shit.

“Don’t worry, Brooks. I don’t see any reason the agency won’t cover it. The last thing I want to do is send a prized employee to the poorhouse. The worst thing that’ll happen is we take some of it out of your bonus at the end of the season.”

“Right.” I deflate with the idea of losing bonus money. But I only get the bonus if I’m still here at the end of the season. I don’t know when or how I’m going to tell him Brody only agreed to four weeks max. My chest tightens contemplating it, but I can only tackle one problem at a time.

“Why are you still sitting there? You have some shopping and a game to get to. Shoo.” He makes a swooping motion towards the door with his hands.

I’m not sure if Brody is back from practice or his doctor visit or whatever else he’s doing today. I’m not sure he’s even playing, but I clasp my hands in mock prayer under the desk before I stand. Closing my laptop and gathering my things, I try to figure out what to say to Jett to stay at the office longer.

“He might be napping. I don’t want to disturb him.” The truth is I’m afraid to spend too much time with him, but I can’t say that. I don’t even know what I’m afraid of. Liar.

“Get over it. You’re married now.”

“Don’t joke about that. It’s not funny.”

“No, it’s not. It’s big money. I have two potential sponsors calling me today to arrange meetings about possible deals. And that’s before I do any outreach of my own. This is a world-class publicity stunt we have going here, and don’t you forget it.”

“It’s going to end⁠—”

“About that. Maybe you should stay married until next season. That’ll give us more time for you to bask in the attention and for us to arrange as many sponsorship deals as possible.”

Stay married? My tummy flutters with nerves and anticipation and horrible fear all at once. “The attention will die down long before that, Jett.” Trying not to appear too hopeful, I give him a reasonable look. “When it does, we’ll make a quiet announcement and go back to living our lives.”

Jett chuckles. It’s one of those cynical sounds like he thinks life is a constant bad joke.

“Quiet? Not a chance of that happening, Brooks. People love disasters—especially disastrous celebrity marriages.” He grins like he’s one of those people.

Normally I go along with the attitude, adopting it as the way to do business, believing everyone is out to get you and always having a plan B or C because things will go wrong. After all, he’s the boss, and he’s very successful, and I’m here to learn, right?

Today it feels wrong. The cynicism bothers me, like an ache deep in my gut.

I shake it off.

He says, “You end this thing too soon, and it will definitely get blown up as a disaster.”

“So you want me to stay married, what? Is ten years long enough?”

“Go.” He scowls, shooing me again with his hands. “I told you to stop being a wiseass,” he grumbles.