“True.” Jared reaches into his pocket and takes out his wallet. “But maybe circumstances will change, or the job will.”
He proffers a business card to me, which I stare at like it’s Willy Wonka’s Golden Ticket. I don’t have a free hand to take the card, and I’m too shocked to, anyway.
“I’m not with Richter anymore.” He realizes my small dilemma and slides the card into the open front pocket of the baby bag hanging from my shoulder. “My cell’s on the card. When things settle some, call me.”
I glance from the card poking out from the bag to Jared’s handsome face. “I’m with Sarai’s father, Caleb Bradley, and we live here in Baltimore, so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to . . . that is to say . . .” A brittle little laugh breaks over my lips. “There are just a lot of obstacles.”
“Let nothing hold you back or keep you down,” he says, kindling my memory. “Isn’t that what you told me in our interview?”
“Yeah.” I return his smile. “I guess it is.”
He smiles, his eyes curious. “Bradley, huh? Would never have guessed.”
“You know Caleb?” Of course. Everyone knows him. “I mean, personally?”
“No, only by reputation.” Jared grimaces as if that reputation isn’t great, which makes no sense. Everyone loves Caleb. Living with him, I’ve seen the holes in the polished façade he projects to the world, but few do.
“We should get to your seats, Ms. DuPree,” Ramone says firmly, aiming a sharp look at Jared.
“Don’t let me keep you,” Jared says easily, addressing me and ignoring Ramone. “You have a beautiful daughter, Iris. Call me when she’s a little older if you decide to venture back into the workforce.”
“I will.” I hesitate a beat before asking the question that keeps turning in my head “Why? Why would you want me to come work for you? We had one interview, and I—”
“Impressed me,” he cuts in. “It wasn’t just what was on paper. It was you. Your passion for sports. Your love for basketball and your grit. Your intelligence. It all showed in that interview. A lot of people would love having you on their team, and I’m one of them.”
He looks at Ramone, who shifts impatiently from one foot to the other.
“I’d better let you go,” Jared says, amusement in his eyes. “Remember. Call me when you’re ready.”
I try not to glare at Ramone as we take our seats just a few rows behind the Stingers’ bench. He’s just doing his job. I get it, but Caleb and I definitely have to talk about this.
Even Ramone’s overbearing presence can’t dampen my spirits. Jared Foster wants me on his team. I may be closer to independence than I thought.
15
August
From tip-off, I know something is wrong with Caleb. I’ve been facing him since we were bare-faced adolescents whose voices hadn’t changed yet. I’ve studied him and know his every tell and all his triggers. Something’s different. Something’s changed. He’s even more aggressive than usual, but he’s not hiding it in sly side-plays the refs and the cameras miss. He’s more blatant and less controlled than I’ve ever seen him. Almost unhinged. Sloppy. Picking apart his game isn’t even a challenge this time, and his frustration boils to the surface and over the sides quicker than usual.