Page 49 of A Shot at Love
I open my mouth to respond, saying I want no part of his ridiculous family, but he shushes me. He’s not at all worried about any of my defenses or so-called truths. “Annie, let me tell you how this will go. You’ll bow your head and take the punishment. You’ll leave this league and go play in some backwater Lithuanian league where you can lick your wounds.” Every word is a barb in my chest. “My team of extremely high-power lawyers will provide validation for the emails you sent. The WNBA’s investigation will prove that you and my father colluded so that you could be drafted early and other mismanagement to get you more playing time and attention. You will be suspended for at least a year, maybe more. Even if you were allowed to come back, no team would take you. Players will hate you for cheating and taking the spot of someone who deserved it. They’ll imagine all the misdeeds you and my father planned together.” He finally allows that small smile to spread fully. “And you will bow your head and.Take. It.
“If you try to say anything about the Smith family, even to prove your innocence, you will violate the NDA I had you sign. If you violate the NDA, my high-powered lawyers will sue you within an inch of your life. No matter how you look at it, Annie, you will be out of this league and thus my life, forever.” This was his plan all along. From that fraught moment in his office, where I thought he might want to help me. Instead, this was justa power play, and I was an unwilling pawn about to be sacrificed.
Trenton is everything I’m not. Rich. Powerful. Backed by a team of lawyers and well-respected billionaire friends. Charismatic. Social. Power hungry. Dissatisfied. Cutthroat.
What am I?
Quiet. Exhausted. Hard-working. Avoiding my problems. Keeping secrets from my best friend. Running away from my boyfriend. Fighting with my mom. Betraying my team. Tricking the world with PR schemes.
How to fight against who we are?
The tears haven’t stopped flowing. The valet turns the garage’s corner, pulling an Archer and Arrows colored Tesla up next to us. “Your car is ready for you, sir.” The young valet gets out of the driver side door, trying to hide his curiosity at our exchange.
Trenton slips him a twenty and turns to look at me one last time. “Are we done here, Annie?” He smiles sympathetically. As though he’s sorry he bested me, but it’s too late. His perfect plan is already in motion. “This isn’t personal, it’s business. At one point, I thought we could use you for sympathy and paint Dad as the villain. But, in the end, if you stay here, so does the scandal. My dad will keep trying to contact you. I needed to separate myself from you both, permanently. I’m sorry.”
Sorry for what? Lying to the media? Manipulating me? Caring about business more than his family?
The last breath of my anger suffuses through me. “You want to take it all? My teammates? My friends? My game?” I’m choking on my tears. “Fine. Take it all.”
And as he walks calmly away, taking the keys from the valet, I hurl all my things at him and his car. My basketball bounces off his tire and flings back at the valet, who sidesteps it. My jerseys only flutter in the air, catching wind and floating down like deflated parachutes. But it’s my nameplate, hard plastic, that makes a connection. It glances off Trenton’s shoulder and he startles a bit, looking at me with the first show of anger.
“Stay out of it, Annie. Or you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” Gritting his teeth, Trenton gets in the car and speeds away.
I immediately slide to the ground in front of the valet stand, spent. I press my hands into my face, shakily swiping away my tears.
It’s the young valet who finally, nervously, asks if he should go upstairs and get my car for me. I look up into his kind face—he can’t be much older than eighteen or twenty—and nod.
I can’t stay here another minute.
18
Daniel finds me in my apartment. I’ve just finished zipping my suitcase when he uses the spare key to let himself in. He practically sags in relief when he sees me. “Annie!”
He reaches for me, and that scared, stupid part of me just curls into his chest. Fortunately, my tears dried sometime during the drive home. Now, Daniel only has a woman who is half there, numb and cold. He leans back to look at my face, smoothing my hair soothingly. I close my eyes for a moment, feeling a flicker of warmth.
Then, he steps back.
He begins to pace. First to the kitchen table, then back to where I stand, then back again. “Okay, so I’ve been thinking about what we should do. Obviously, Trenton’s confidence tells us he had someone in the tech world doctor those emails. He seemed to think they’d pass the investigative team’s inspection. So, we need to get someone even better to debunk them. I have some contacts atThe New York Timesthat we can reach out to—”
“Daniel,” I say quietly. Tiredly.
“And then we’ll need to call Jermaine and craft a statement. You’ll want to deny all allegations as soon as possible. Jermaine’s been calling, but he said you’ve been declining every time. I know the NDA doesn’t helpmatters, but surely we can get it thrown out later if we prove Trenton was just using it to back you into a corner.”
“Daniel.” I say it a little louder this time.
“And then, I think we should get you onThe Jump. Talk to Jonathan Watson. Tell the full truth. Make a statement that scares Trenton, that shakes him up. Force the investigation to look into him, too.”
“Daniel.” His endless plans spin through my brain. “I’m leaving.”
He finally stops pacing, looks at me. “Leaving? Where? Did you already talk to a reporter?”
Do these questions show he has faith in me? That he believes I can salvage the situation?
Or do they show how little he knows me? That he thinks I could go on national TV and explain my story coherently and “scare Trenton, shake him up”?
“I can’t be here,” I explain. “The girls only have two more games until the playoffs. I’ll only be a distraction. You saw how they were all fighting back there.”
Their faces flash in my mind. Jadea’s unwavering, fierce support. Olabisi’s scathing disbelief. Taherah’s fear that it could all be true. Coach Rembert’s stress-lined face trying not to take sides.
