Page 4 of Play Me
The Brewers pay me very well, but the cost of living is nearly unbearable, and interest rates suck.
By the time I pay for the basics—shelter, food, and gas—and pay for my student loans, medical bills, and boatloads of credit card debt, there’s not a lot left to save.
Nothing at all, really. I’ve managed to dig myself into a hole that’s neck-deep, and my shovel is broken.
However, if my pay were doubled, depending on how long that lasted, I could shuffle that to my debt. That would be amazing. It would also keep me from having to scramble to find another side hustle. I’d have options. It would be a gift from above.
I gather myself and clear my throat. “Start over. Who is this guy, and what would this entail?”
Relief washes across Renn’s features.
“I haven’t said yes,” I warn him. “I’m just fact-finding.”
“Of course you are.” He smirks, settling back in his seat again. “His name is Gray Adler. He’s twenty-nine, and we’re getting him from Denver. Not married, no kids. He’s originally from Sugar Creek—about an hour from here. I’ve met him a few times over the years, and he’s a great guy.”
“Cool. Why don’t you babysit him then?”
“I have a franchise to run, if you weren’t aware.”
Despite the overwhelming sense of uneasiness rippling low in my stomach, I concede. Everything is an opportunity if you choose to see it that way, and this is no different. After this morning’s squabble at the gas station, maybe this is my repayment for not throttling that guy.
“Give me a pen,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Renn smiles cautiously, dropping a black fine tip onto my palm.
“Does the team dietitian have his individualized meal plan ready?” I ask, falling back into the groove I once maneuvered like the back of my hand. I take a fresh legal pad out of my bag and fasten it to my clipboard.
“It should be done today.”
“Do we have a report from strength and conditioning?”
“He’s reporting to the S&C coaches on Monday.”
I scribble a few notes, trying to recall what I know about the rugby world thanks to Renn’s time on the pitch. A lot of the guys work part-time jobs in the offseason or work on a skill. That way, they have something to fall back on when they retire or leave the game.
“Is he full-time rugby, or does he have a side hustle? College classes? Anything like that?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. He has several endorsements, so I doubt he has something going on the side. But you never know.”
“Does he have housing set up?”
Renn leans forward, nodding. “Yes. We’re paying for an apartment a few blocks away from the facilities. It was a part of his contract. It was also a part of his agreement that we’d supply him with an assistant.”
I glance up at Renn, holding his gaze.
“Gray is contractually obligated to work with you,” he says. “I’ll be honest. I pushed for that, not him. I wound up adding a little money to his deal for him to agree to this.”
“Oh, so he’s not going to want me around. Great. That makes this even better.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s not like that. I’m just saying that it was my idea. Gray is a nice guy. I’m sure you won’t have any problems with him.”
I call bullshit on that one.
“He just got into town last night,” Renn says. “It was a mid-season transfer, so he can’t officially practice or play until the end of the week. League rules. That’ll give you two enough time to get him settled and acclimated to things here before he hits the ground running.”
“Yay.”
Renn gives me a soft smile that deflates a bit of my sarcasm. “So you’ll do it?”
I sink back into my chair and wish I could turn him down.
Renn loves nothing more than his family and the Tennessee Royals.
This is his non-human baby, the love of his sports life.
He brings in the best of the best. Players and coaches, medical, legal, and media departments—they’re all the brightest in their field.
If Renn trusts me enough to bring me on board in this capacity, to be lumped in with the rest of his hand-selected staff? That’s an honor and a big flex.
And he is doubling my pay.
“Fine.” I shrug. “I’m in. I want it on the record that I don’t want to be in, but I’ll do it for you.”
“Thanks, Astrid. This is really important to me, and there’s no one else I trust more for this.”
“Maybe I should be less reliable,” I say as Renn picks up his phone. “I’m really a victim of my own success.”
Renn says something to his executive assistant, then puts the receiver back into the cradle.
“When do I get started with Gray?” I ask.
A knock raps twice against the door behind me. The sound is not a gentle rapping. It’s loud. Aggressive. Foreshadowing.
“That’s him,” Renn says to me before looking over my shoulder. “Come in.”
I turn around, my stomach tightening at the anticipation of meeting Gray.
It would’ve been nice to have a few minutes to get a plan together—to figure out how to charm him into cooperating with me.
Because something tells me that this isn’t going to go as smoothly as Renn hopes, regardless of whether Gray signed a contract that included the stipulation or not.
I paste a smile on my face and poise myself to say hello. But that goodwill gesture melts as my gaze lands on a set of broody, and familiar, deep brown eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, gripping the armrests like I’m trying to strangle them.
“Astrid, this is Gray Adler. He’s the newest member of the Tennessee Royals,” Renn says. “Gray, it’s good to see you. This is Astrid Lawsen. She’ll be your personal assistant for the rest of the season.”
A slow smirk settles against his lips.
Oh, hell no.