Page 82 of The Trade

She looks at me, a crease between her brows, concern etching her features. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for believing in me, even when I don’t deserve it.”

Her frown deepens, confusion painting her beautiful face. “But you—”

“I gotta go now,” I cut her off with a quick peck to the lips and check the time on my phone. There’s a game to play, a crowd to wow, and a girl to prove myself to. “I’ll see you after we win.”

24

JADE

West’s wordslinger in my mind, like a mantra of motivation, pushing me to claim what I deserve. If I want this opportunity badly enough, then I need to find a surefire way to make it happen.

The initial step? Convincing Garrett that I’m not someone who’s easily dismissed. So, I pull up my resolve like battle armor.

I’ll write a quality piece on this scrimmage, far better than any regurgitated stats Liam Kessler can produce. I’ve read his work, over and over again. His articles are about as uninspiring as a weather forecast, with no heart, no substance, and definitely no love for the game.

For God’s sake, the man’s a baseball fan.

A sudden surge of annoyance sweeps through me. How could I ever step back and watch someone undeserving claim my rightful place? But then again, maybe Liam isn’t the real enemy here. Maybe he’s just an unknowing pawn in Garrett’s game.

Fingers trembling, I dial his number. “Hello? Warner speaking,” he answers promptly, his voice the usual mix of professionalism and indifference.

“Hey, it’s Jade.”

“Jade,” he repeats, no hint of emotion.

“Jennings,” I quickly add, attempting to mask my growing apprehension.

“Yes,” he says in a clipped tone. “I know who this is, Jade. I have caller ID.”

Nice, we’re off to a wonderful start already.

I clear my throat, square my shoulders, and plunge right ahead. “I’m just calling to let you know that I’m going to write a piece on the scrimmage tonight. I’m planning on interviewing some key players afterward, but I’ll have it on your desk by Tuesday morning. If it’s better than Liam’s work, then I deserve to have it published.”

His silence stretches long enough to ignite a flicker of doubt inside me. I pace the length of my living room, growing more desperate with each lingering second. “Garrett,” I urge, “say something.”

“I don’t want you covering the game tonight,” he finally speaks.

“But—”

“Liam will already be out there interviewing players. I don’t want you two doubling up. Besides, I’m not choosing which article to publish after the fact. It would be a waste of time for you.”

His words knock the wind out of me, but I scramble to regain my footing. “It’s not a waste of time.” I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart. “I’m trying to—”

“I have a different proposal for you.”

A pause. I stop pacing. “Okay, go ahead.”

“The football team is hosting a banquet next weekend. I want you to get a press pass and cover the event. It’s still technically a student-life piece, so it’s right in your ballpark. It’ll also give you a good opportunity to interact with the team and mingle with the players. If you produce quality work, I’ll consider you as a full-time reporter for the upcoming season.”

My heart leaps at his offer. Is this real? An actual opportunity to prove myself? And at an event that I was already set to attend? This is ... brilliant.

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” he confirms, his tone unchanging. “Do you need me to contact the team to get you a pass?”

“No, I can handle it.”

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