Fake Fiancée(28)

We shook hands and he turned to the woman. “I’d like to introduce you to Millicent Walton. She’s going to be your PR person for the next few weeks.”

My brow wrinkled. “Oh?”

He slapped me on the back and laughed. “Hey, don’t look so surprised. Everyone’s tapping you as a finalist for the Heisman—especially after that game against Whitman this past weekend—damn, son, you’re racking up the stats.”

We’d won all three games of the season so far. I nodded and said something about it being a team effort.

Millicent shook my hand with a firm grip. She was a petite thing with short blond hair, and when she spoke her voice was smooth as silk, her smile direct, and eyes warm.

“I’m honored to be working with you, Max. I’m an LU alumni myself.”

“Have a sit, have a sit,” Dr. Carmen said, waving his hands around, seeming anxious to get started.

“Okay.” I sat back down after making sure Millicent had found a seat.

Carmen reclined back in his fancy leather chair, steepled his hands on his desk, and considered us. “First of all, let me say that Leland is thrilled to have this kind of attention on the university. We’ve never had a Heisman winner, and it’s an incredible honor to even have it whispered. Of course, last year there was some brief talk of the award, but it never panned out.” He inhaled sharply. “But this year the hype is bigger, and Millicent is here to facilitate a smooth football season for you. She’ll be helping you with your image issues.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, sir.”

“I agree,” Coach said curtly. “He needs to focus on the game—not the reward. It’s a team sport—not just a Max Kent game.”

Dr. Carmen shrugged and grimaced. “This isn’t an option, gentlemen. This is coming from Dean Wood.”

Oh. The head honcho of the university.

He turned to Coach and tapped his finger on the desk, the hollow sound echoing in the room. “I know you want a championship. I do too. This—Kent—will get us there. I promise.” His eyes narrowed. “And it goes without saying that every play is crucial. Kent needs to rack up his stats. We’ll need your help with that.”

Coach’s jaw tightened and his face flushed.

I tensed. Shit. Dr. Carmen was mucking with his team.

“I need your support,” Dr. Carmen said again, his voice light as a feather, yet I sensed the tension in the room. “Do I have it, Coach?”

“You’re the boss,” Coach said, his eyes flat.

There was an entire undercurrent of politics going on here, and I was right in the middle of it.

“What exactly do you have in mind?” I asked, leaning forward. I didn’t like the hold he had over Coach, but I kept my face calm. I was in. The Heisman was my fucking dream.

Dr. Carmen smiled tightly. “First and foremost, don’t screw up. It’s no secret you’re a bit of a hothead on the field, but the key is keeping it where it belongs and not in the locker room or in public,” he added.

He meant Felix.

He acted like I got in tussles all the time—it was one incident.

“To get to the top, you need to be exceptional in every way,” he said.

I lifted my hands. “I am.” I wasn’t bragging.

“Right, right. I know you have the 3.7 GPA and you’re pre-med; you respect your teachers and do your work. But you need more.” He nudged his head at Millicent, who’d been listening intently, her head slightly cocked as she watched me like a hawk. Assessing me like I was a science experiment.

“That’s where I come in,” she said with a confident little bob of her head. “If you agree to my services, I’d like to get started now.” She gave me an expectant look.

I nodded and settled back as she pulled out a pad of paper from her bag. “Our main focus is your image. Today, let’s talk about your personal relationships, your family, and of course I’d love to set you up with some volunteering opportunities such as St. Jude Hospital or a shelter of some sort. Is there a particular charity you’re interested in?”

I answered back with a couple that my mom had been involved in, and she jotted down everything at a furious pace. In the meantime, Coach mumbled something about needing to get back to the office. He wasn’t happy.

Dr. Carmen said goodbye to me and followed him out.

“What about your father?” Millicent asked after we’d covered the fact that I had little to no family around me.

I stiffened. “We don’t talk much.”

Her face softened. “I understand strained relationships, but for the sake of the award, perhaps we could arrange a photo opportunity for the fans and media after one of the home games? I suggest an easy game—homecoming?”

I shrugged and gritted my teeth. “Sure.”

She smiled. “Great. And according to your social media—which is very clean by the way, nice job—you now have a girlfriend . . .” she shuffled through her notes and then glanced up at me. “Sunny Blaine?”

I nodded, getting anxious. “Yes. You’re not, like, investigating her, right?”

“Girlfriends are good as long as the relationship isn’t volatile. Don’t forget there are pesky little camera phones everywhere—so no public altercations, please. Careers have been ruined with video footage of players abusing their significant others.”