Page 11 of The Marriage Playbook

Liam felt wrung out when he finally got home from his meeting with the woman at the PR firm. Cara, her name had been, or maybe Carol. He wasn’t sure. He fished in his pocket for the business card she had handed him at the end of the meeting… Cara Bailey.

And right there below the name: Junior Public Relations Associate. He closed his eyes and groaned. What was Ward trying to do to him?

The truth was, there wasn’t anything that could be done about the situation. It was obvious that Ward wanted nothing to do with Liam, and if he tried to press the matter, he’d probably find himself without any PR help at all. He was just going to have to accept a junior associate for the time being.

Eventually this will all blow over. Eventually everyone will understand that I didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m the victim in all of this.

He recalled Cara telling him that he didn’t want to present himself as a victim. That was probably a good instinct on her part, he decided. There was a difference between allowing people to think that he had been badgered by a young upstart on his team and letting them think he was weak. He needed to take control of the narrative. That was what was important here.

He hoped Cara understood that. Just how junior was she? Would she be any good at what he needed her to do?

Maybe things would go better if he could walk into their next meeting with some sort of plan. He had a feeling he had been dealing with the ins and outs of public relations longer than she had, and he might be better equipped to face what was going on. It would be good if she came up with a plan for him, as she had pledged to do, but it would be better if he came with one for himself. After all, it was like she had said. He was no victim, not really, and things would improve for him if he was able to take control.

He grabbed his computer and brought it to the table. Maybe he’d have heard from that energy drink he was hoping to partner with. That would be just the boost he needed today, and the perfect thing to carry with him into his next meeting with Cara. Look, he would be able to tell her. There are people who still want to work with me. My career isn’t dead. Far from it.

His heart leapt as he looked at his inbox. There was a message from BeastMode, the energy drink company he hoped to work with. Just what he’d needed! He clicked it open, a smile already spreading across his face.

Dear Mr. Sims,

Thank you for expressing an interest in the BeastMode brand. As you know, we are always looking for new partners, particularly in the athletic field, and we have long been admirers of your illustrious career. However, at this time, we regret to inform you that…

Liam stopped reading. His heart plummeted.

It was a rejection.

This was the last thing in the world he’d expected. Even in the face of everything else he was dealing with, somehow it just hadn’t occurred to him that BeastMode would actively turn him down. He had thought they might fail to write to him until he got things under control—that would have made sense. Maybe they wouldn’t want to get into business with him at the height of this scandal. But this—a flat no—cut off all possibility for future collaboration. They weren’t just saying not now. They were saying not ever.

It had been years since any corporate sponsor had rejected Liam like this.

More even than his dismissal from the team, this made things feel real.

His head spun, and before he could think about what he was doing, he was on his feet and grabbing his jacket from the coat closet.

Today had been a nightmare, and Liam wasn’t going to spend another moment sitting around the house and brooding about it. He was going to get out of here.

They can take me off the team. They can drag my name through the mud. But they can’t stop me from going out in public. There are parts of my life that are untouchable, even to that rat Sandusky, and I’m not going to be stopped from enjoying myself!

Half an hour later, Liam was at the club.

He glanced longingly up at the VIP section, but he didn’t dare ask to be escorted to it. After what had happened last night, there was every chance the club had banned him from the VIP area. It was possible that he was lucky just to be allowed in the front door. He wasn’t going to push it. The last thing he needed right now was even more rejection.

And it’s also possible that Sandusky is up there holding court, and I definitely don’t want to see him right now. Even though I’m going to get on top of this, even though it’s all going to be resolved eventually, he’ll think he’s won right now.

So he stayed at the main bar. He was lucky enough to find a seat in the crowd, and he sat slumped over his gin and tonic, trying not to pay too much attention to the people around him. He’d wanted to come out today to prove that he still could, that his exile from the world of football and the life he had carved out for himself was not total. But now that he was here, he wasn’t enjoying it. He wanted to go back home.

He let out a sigh and downed the rest of his drink, looking around. Maybe he would relax if he could find someone to talk to. A cute girl, maybe. He was used to trading on his name when he tried to hook up with someone. Would that still work for him?

It was a question he badly wanted to know the answer to.

He looked around the bar. There were plenty of single women at the bar, many of whom were already flirting with their neighbors. He was confident enough in himself to know that he could pull any of these women if he tried hard enough.

He leaned over to the one sitting on his left. She was wearing a navy-blue sequined dress and sipping a martini. She had short, spiky, dark hair and a twinkle in her eye that made him think she would probably know how to have a good time. “Hey there,” he murmured to her.

She looked over at him, visibly sizing him up. “Hello,” she said. “Here all by yourself?”

“At the moment,” he grinned. “Maybe not for long. What’s your name?”

“Jenna,” she said, pivoting slightly on the barstool so that she was facing him.