Page 84 of Shade
“The job is yours if you want it.”
Holy. Shit.
You heard that, right? It wasn’t just my imagination, was it?
Do you see that girl sitting in the hotel restaurant with the other girl who’s pretty pregnant and fanning herself with a drink menu?
She’s stunned. Completely, utterly, and without a doubtstunned. Is Willa smoking crack? I thought I did horribly during the interview and honestly, I don’t know a fucking thing about being someone’s personal assistant. Especially a professional freestyle rider.
I’m downing a shot. Yes, I said shot. And probably sweating as much as Willa at this point. I’m beginning to get concerned about the poor girl. Here she is seven months pregnant and burning up.
“Um.” I set the shot glass on the table. “At the risk of sounding like a complete idiot, what makes you think I can do this?”
Should I have asked that?
Maybe not.
Willa smiles, still fanning herself with the menu. She takes a drink of her ice water and dips one of the chips for the plate of nachos in front of us into a container of sour cream. “Because when you sat at the table and were yourself, that’s the first time he’s laughed in months.” She takes the chip and eats it, chewing slowly before saying, “I’m not asking you to be someone you’re not. That’s not a lie. I’m just asking you to be there for Shade.”
Be there for him? What?
I swallow. Or gulp. I’m not entirely sure at this point. “I don’t understand. . . . Be there for him? I thought it was for a personal assistant.”
“Well, technically, yes, you will be their personal assistant. You’ll be doing everything from scheduling their flights, making sure they’re on the damn flight and then going with them to their events.”
“I would be traveling with them?”
“Yes. Mostly with Shade. He’s the busiest. And lately, he needs someone with him. I let him go to Abu Dhabi with just Tiller and Roan last month, and he came back with a guy named Taco.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
She waves her hand around and then digs out another chip from the nacho plate, attempting to catch the stringy cheese in her mouth. “Long story.” Covering her mouth as she speaks, she then swallows. “I’m sorry, I’m starving.”
“Obviously.” I motion to my second shot on the table now. “It’s no problem at all. I was just offered a job, and I’m drinking in front of my soon-to-be employer.”
Willa giggles, reaching for her napkin to wipe her lips. “Anyway, Shade needs someone to keep him in line and keep him out of trouble. He can’t talk to the media either. So you’ll need to be with him at all times.”
All times? Even in his bed?
You’re totally picturing me sleeping on his floor, aren’t you?
No? Well, I am.
I hold myself together verbally and ask, “Okay, so I’ll be all their personal assistants?” I’ve met Tiller. You saw how that played out. Roan. . . I don’t think I’ve actually had an interaction with him. I’ve just seen him in passing and gave him soap once.
“You’ll need to look after the other two as well. Tiller and Roan. But they don’t have a lot going on right now like Shade does. He has a busy three months coming up so it will be very important that you’re on your game and keeping him focused. This isn’t something. . . .” Darting her eyes to her phone that’s ringing, again, she pauses and then continues with, “This is serious. I’m worried about him, and he’s on the verge of losing it all.” Willa motions to her phone. “That phone call, that was the promoter of the event in Paris in two weeks wanting to know if they should avoid interviewing Shade before the event. It’s bad enough now that people have to ask before they stick a microphone in his face.”
I knew what she was referring to, in part. Shade had in fact, gone a little crazy. You remember what happened in Seattle when he told the announcer to fuck off. Dude couldn’t be trusted on live TV.
Reaching into her bag, she pulls out a stack of papers bound by a clip. At the top it’s marked with the words “Sawyer Inc.”
And then she hits me with a bomb as she hands me a pen to sign the contract. “I went ahead and put it in your contract that if you sleep with him, you’re fired.”
Do you see me there? I’m the one who just dropped the pen, and I look like a fish out of water, don’t I? She can’t be serious, can she? You tell me.
Her brow is pulled together, her perfect beach waves falling effortlessly over her bare shoulder. . . . But it’s her expression I focus on. The one that means business.
Wait a goddamn minute. Let’s back the fuck up, shall we?
