“He did what? But he’s been doing so well?” I knew the truth but imagined the media would question the sudden change.
He shook his head. “It happens, I see it all the time. Anyway, those sketches are useless now since the focus was on him. I mean the focus is still on him, this is big news, but it won’t work.”
I nodded. “Actually, if there’s still a focus on him, I think maybe it might. But I need to make some changes.” I smiled to myself as a new image came to life in my head. Not just for what it could do for me…but what it would do for Troy.
Frankie took one look at my face and was all in. “Great. Send it over by tomorrow and I’ll pitch it.”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking a lot about it… and I don’t want to pitch it to Brooklyn Lines exclusively anymore. I’m not going to work for them. But they’ll have a chance to make an offer.”
Frankie studied me for a moment, then nodded appreciatively. “Highest bidder freelance kind of thing?”
I bit my lip, knowing this was a risky choice, but I wanted to keep my options open and not depend on one team to finally accept my work.
“Yep. I think I want to do some traveling, be my own boss, draw what I want, when I want to.”
Frankie bobbed thoughtfully and stared at the carpet. “When were you going to give your notice?” He’d been practically pushing me out the door since I started and now sounded like he was losing a puppy.
I shrugged. “I was thinking Friday. What do you need like two weeks?”
“What doyouneed?”
I inhaled deeply and bit my lip.
“You don’t really want to come back, do you?”
I shook my head. “No. But I will need a manager?”
Frankie’s brows rose. “Yes you will.”
“Can we talk tomorrow in your office? I’ll bring by the changes I’m thinking?”
Frankie stood. “I’ll start a list of my contacts in the industry. We’ll need to build you a website, get you on—”
“Just none of that yet. I am planning some time off after these sketches are published and I’m not sure how long that will be.”
Or where I’m going for that matter.
“Take your time. That’s the point of freelance, right? No pressure? I’ll see you tomorrow.” He winked.
“Thanks for the coffee.”
After Frankie left, I was now basically unemployed and already feeling invigorated by it. I pulled out the sketches I’d finished featuring Troy—or rather number nineteen, because when I sketched this, it wasn’t him on the ice—and considered my changes.
I looked up recent stories on Troy Hartman and indeed, he was injured—and it wasn’t good. He needed weeks of recovery, followed by a month of physical therapy before he’d see the ice again.
In minors.
My heart broke for him and I sincerely hoped he’d come back strong and ready for the big leagues again.
With that, I flipped over my pencil and started to edit the drawing I thought would never see the light of day.
I was nearly done when my phone rang, startling the lights out of me. Looking at the caller ID, I was hesitant to answer when I saw it was out of country.
“Hello?”
“Hi is this Harper Maxwell?”
“Yes.”
