Page 7 of Off the Mark
We all needed to have personal brands. A robust social media presence. An ability to captivate fans. The first time I was teased with that nickname, it stuck.
Wasn’t that hard to keep it sticking either.Reallywasn’t that hard to lean into the extra edge the reputation gave me. These days, athletes did anything to stand out, and there were worse things than fans thinking I was some party girl with too many tattoos.
Except the party girl pictures currently displayed on this screen werenot fucking great. There’d been six of us last night, a loose group of other riders I knew casually that had invited me to tag along. Unbeknownst to us, these bars had been packed with fans, in town for the championship, and we’d gotten recognized fast.
Between the angle of the pictures, the dim bar lighting, and the blur of movement, I somehow managed to look bleary-eyed, stumbling, andwasted.
“I look like a goddamn sorority girl on her first spring break,” I muttered.
“Don’t read the comments,” Dempsey cautioned.
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing a sigh. “I’d rather not hear any internet strangers’ hot takes on this one.”
I pressed the tablet back into her hand, too embarrassed to look further. “Listen. I, uh…I see your point. And I’m truly sorry that I pissed them off. If it’s any consolation, you can tell them I’m hungover and just ate shit on a baby jump. But what else can I say? Bettencourt knew I didn’t have some girl-next-door image when they signed me. The Maddox family isn’t exactly known for our squeaky-clean reputations.”
She studied me with a look of fond exasperation. “Bettencourt wanted youbecause you’re one of the best and only getting better.” She hesitated but didn’t say the words hanging between us—until recently, that is. “So yes, your bad girl image and sleeves of tattoos aren’t usually their thing, but they were willing to make an exception for you. To take ariskon you—a risk they expect to pay off for them financially. But I also promised that whatever issues you’d had with your reputation wouldn’t be a problem moving forward.”
She leaned in to pluck a twig from my snarled hair. “When pro racers sign with a sponsor like Bettencourt, they’re on their best behavior. I assumed you’d do the same, Charlie.”
Dempsey was right. In the world of motocross, I’d hit the lottery and here I was not taking it seriously.
The feelings of unease in the pit of my stomach ratcheted up a notch. This conversation held too many echoes of ones between me and my dad when I was younger, when we had nothing to eat in the house and not a lot of money to buy more. Before the accident that had changed everything, my father’s stubborn pride led to him losing out on a lot of opportunities too.
“You’re right,” I admitted. “I’m not sure how to fix this clause-violating thing, but whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”
She dropped her gaze, the gesture sending a spike of panic through me. “I’ve done my best, smoothing their ruffled feathers, but I came here because I have a feeling they’re going to cut you. Terminate the contract due to the violations.”
“Are you…wait, you’re serious?” I managed to croak out through an ever-tightening throat.
Her lips pressed into a flat line. “Nothing’s in writing or set in stone, it’s just…call it a professional gut feeling. At the bareminimum,they can slap you with a hefty fine for breach of contract.”
The mental math I was calculating sent my heart into overdrive. Given my dad’s frantic call this weekend, I needed the money now more than ever. Andfast. My stomach plummeted, sweeping away the levity I’d been using to avoid losing it. But thatoh shitsensation, combined with my regret about last night, flooded my nervous system so dramatically I had to steady my breathing.
“I can’t lose that much money right now. I barely have any as it is and there’s…I’ve got…stuff. To take care of.”
Her eyes filled with concern behind her glasses. “Charlie, are you actually okay? I’ve known you and your dad for a long time, babe. If there’s something going on, you can always—”
“Nothing is going on,” I stammered. “But I’ll do anything to get back on their good side and prove that I can win. Reliably. Public apology? Charm some fans at a fancy event?”
She studied me closely before finally saying, “I’ll be advocating my ass off for you. Obviously. But other than that, there’s not much to do until I can get in a room with them and see the extent of the damage done. The emails and phone calls I’ve been getting have not been subtle. They’re pissed.”
I released a jagged breath. “I know you’ll do everything that you can. Because you’re amazing and I have no fucking clue why you still put up with me.”
Dempsey squeezed my shoulders. “I do it because you’re going to make me a ton of money someday.”
I laughed as I scraped a tired hand down my face. The race adrenaline was wearing off, the humidity clung to my skin, and the direness of my situation was now all too real. My attention landed in the center of the parking lot, to the people crowding around Riley Miller. Her girlfriend, Quinn, had come running over post-race, leaping into her arms for a movie-style kiss that had everyone swooning. She still had her helmet in one hand, goggles in the other, and they both started laughing as fans called for their autographs.
Quinn didn’t ride on the same team as Riley, but combined, they were motocross’s hottest It Couple.
Everyone was obsessed.
Next to me, Dempsey whistled softly. “They sure are cute together. All the agents have been talking about the volume of great press Riley and Quinn have been getting. Right now, from a PR perspective? These two can do no wrong.”
That had me sitting up straight.These two can do no wrong. The same news sites posting pictures of me doing shots were also posting pictures of Riley and Quinn, and each time it generated a feel-good response from the internet that was almost…precious.
Even I was low-key following along.
“For real?” I asked. “It’s influencing their press coverage?”
