Page 48 of The False Start (Off the Bench)

Chapter Thirty-Three

LILA

I stare at my phone, the conversation I just had echoing in my ears.

A job. Or at least a verbal offer.

From Basset Holdings.

Cal’s getting dressed to travel for an away game tomorrow when I find him in his room.

“Your dad called.” His eyebrows shoot up, and he pauses to stare at me.

“Sorry I think I just hallucinated. What?”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Your dad called me. And I answered because I didn’t recognize the number and thought it might be a client.”

Cal pinches his nose as a breath hisses between his teeth. “Tell me he didn’t. This has to be a joke.”

“It’s not a joke.” I open the email and hand over my phone. “We talked for a few minutes and then he offered me a job.”

His head snaps up, his eyes wild as they meet mine.

“Excuse me?”

“He offered me a job.

“Is he serious? He just expects to give you a job and have this whole mess go away? You already have a job.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” His hands clench. “He apologized.”

He laughs.

“I’m serious.” His blink is all it takes to realize he’s never apologized to Cal.

“It wasn’t exactly the most genuine thing ever. It seemed very clear my value was tied to my success.” I shrug. “Not exactly the loving relationship to have with your father-in-law.” His eyes widen, and I freeze.

“I didn’t mean it like that, obviously we’re not like getting married or anything. I mean not right now, like I’m not expecting anything soon. It’s still early, but I think it’s going well, right? Although I guess you also need to agree, but?—”

“Lila, it’s fine. What else did he say?” he asks, cutting off my panicked rambling.

“He said after the email you sent him at dinner that he decided to look into me further, since he assumed I was just some cleat-chasing gold digger. So, feel free to explain what you sent him.” I raise my eyebrow and cross my arms.

He has the decency to look sheepish. “I just sent him your LinkedIn profile with one of the deals you closed in Austin. That’s it, I swear.

I know he respects power and competence, and you’re good at your job.

I just wanted him to respect you because whether or not I agree with how he values people, you’d be someone he values.

Not that I don’t find you valuable, obviously. ”

I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, that explains it.” I drop my arms. “Well, he basically apologized for not knowing who he was talking to and offered me a job at his company. Said, he could ‘use someone like me,’ and that he’d send an official offer via email, but if I was serious about you, if we were serious, that he wouldn’t take no for an answer and would do what was necessary to make it work. ”

“He can’t do that.” Cal’s eyes heat with anger.

“It’s okay, I think it might be a good thing,” I soothe, but the fire in his eyes doesn’t dissipate.

“Did he say anything else about our relationship?” he spits out.

“Uhm, not really. It was honestly mostly about the company and how with my tech background, I could bring in a new market to the firm. It sounded like he might actually appreciate the work I could bring.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “But ‘he wouldn’t take no for an answer’ if we were serious?”

“I think he might have been kidding.”

“He wasn’t,” he says darkly.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“My father doesn’t joke. It’s just a way to control me and our relationship, and he’s doing it through you.”

“I don’t know that that’s fair—” I start, hurt clouding my words.

“You don’t know him, Lila.” He checks his watch and gathers his stuff for the game quickly. “I have to go, I’ll miss the bus.”

“Okay.” I let him press a kiss to my temple.

“Just promise you won’t accept it.”

My brow furrows. “Cal, that’s not?—”

“At least don’t do anything until we can talk about it when I’m back, okay?”

I nod, and he heads out the door, my feelings completely turned upside down.

I’m at the studio, letting my mind process in the background as I work on a new matcha bowl for Katie when my phone starts vibrating with a call from James.

I quickly wipe my hands off on a towel and answer breathlessly.

My gut is twisted in knots knowing there’s only one reason my boss would be calling right now.

I deserve this promotion, and he knows it.

“Hello? This is Lila,” I answer.

“Hey Lila, got a minute?”

“Sure. Do I need my laptop?” I don’t have it with me, but I can make do on my phone for anything small.

“No, nothing like that.”

“Okay. What can I help you with?” It’s Saturday, and he normally keeps calls to weekdays, even if business hours are a bit questionable. It has to be about the job.

“It’s about the new partner role.” I pull the phone from my ear and do a silent happy dance.

“Oh great, any update on the candidate selection?” We haven’t even had interviews yet, so I should probably not jump to conclusions.

“I wanted you to hear it from me.” He sighs and my heart drops like an anchor. “They’re going with a junior partner out of Seattle, so it’ll be a lateral move for him.”

“Oh, okay.” My voice sounds brittle, even to my own ears. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Lila, I’m sorry. I wanted it to work out, but you’re still very young. Keep putting in the hours and you’ll get there.”

“Of course. No worries. Thanks, James.”

“I think they’ll be announcing on Monday.”

“Great, thanks for the heads up.”

Click.

I stare at my screen, willing myself not to cry. Because of course it couldn’t be an easy decision to stay and turn down the offer from Basset Holdings.

I take my seat at the wheel once more, and willfully choose to ignore my problems until this bowl is finished.

On Sunday, I’m trying and failing to pay attention to my book, my eyes flicking to the blank TV. I war with myself for another few minutes before giving up and turning it on. The playoffs start next week, and just because I’m annoyed at him doesn’t mean I don’t want him to do well.

I find the Avalanche game and frown. They’re down by seven in the third quarter.

They might have locked in a spot in the playoffs already, but if Pittsburgh has taught anyone anything, it’s that getting a spot doesn’t mean you can win a game in the post-season.

I want it for him so badly. Want it for the city, sure, but mostly I want it for him.

Theo makes a catch for a first down, and I cheer, my book officially lying abandoned on the couch next to me.

The rest of the quarter plays out with no change to the score. My eyes find Cal every time our offense is on the field, but he doesn’t play much of a role in any of the downs. He blocks and makes runs, but not one catch to account for, and I can’t tell for sure, but he looks a bit sluggish.

The fourth quarter starts off without a hitch, both teams driving down the field but not putting anything on the scoreboard until the Avalanche connects a long pass to one of the other receivers on the team—Matthews I think—and we’re within field goal range.

With only three minutes left on the clock, this is likely our last chance to come back from behind, and we have to do it slowly so New York can’t score again.

The first pass goes wide out of bounds, and the second down only gains two yards after a false start from Cal that has me gnawing my lip. Third down conversions haven’t been our strong suit this year, and we need to connect the pass to move forward.

They break, and time slows down as the center hikes the ball. Cal takes off running and turns, the pass headed straight for him.

“Come on!” I yell, urging him from hundreds of miles away to make the catch.

He doesn’t.

The ball slips from his hands, hitting the ground as the safety hits him hard from behind. I gasp at the contact and don’t breathe until he gets up. It’s slow, and he immediately goes to the sidelines as special teams comes out to make the final field goal attempt.

The camera finds his face, the announcers commenting on his game play today, musing about trade possibilities.

If I open Twitter, I’ll see thousands of gym class all-stars calling him all sorts of things I don’t need to see right now.

He won’t have his phone on him, but I pull up our text thread, silent since he left for New York yesterday.

Can you call me when you’re back home?

I pace my living room, even though I know he won’t have his phone for at least an hour. And then they need to fly back from New York.

New York sets up in victory formation as they run down the clock and the game is over. Twenty-eight to twenty-four, and we’ve lost.