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“What’s he done?” I almost add “this time” to the end of my question but that would be unfair to Travis. Yes, he’s wild and a publicity nightmare but he’s rarely in trouble. I can usually put a positive spin on his actions, and while some may be questionable, I make him look like a saint. I was able to turn one of his dumbest ideas—of opening a kissing booth outside of Faneuil Hall and charging five dollars—into a massive fund-raiser for the children’s hospital. Even though he gave me little warning, one phone call to the local radio station had women lining up for hours. The donations poured in, and at the end of the night, he was the town’s hero again.

Jeffrey turns, and the turmoil on his face tells me that it’s something bad. Reaching for the pad of paper and a pen that I see on his desk, I prepare to take notes.

“That was Irvin Abbott on the phone.”

“Travis’s lawyer?” I ask, interrupting Jeffrey.

Jeffrey makes eye contact quickly, telling me that he doesn’t appreciate the interruption. “He called to let me know that Kidd voluntarily went to the police station after being visited this morning. It seems that he’s being accused of rape.”

I swallow hard as I listen to Jeffrey’s words. That means that Travis went somewhere else last night. The woman he was with at the bar seemed rather put off that he was speaking to me. I can’t imagine she would have given him the time of day after the way he brushed her off.

Jeffrey sighs, running his hand through his hair before sitting down and resting his face in his hands.

“This isn’t our first accusation of rape,” I remind him, although it’s the first for Travis.

“No, it’s not, but this is Travis Kidd. His antics alone, his habits and the lifestyle he leads, have made him a prime suspect, and according to Abbott, the district attorney is ready to throw the book at him. You can bet that the media will be all over this. The DA is always looking to have his face in front of the cameras.”

“Was he arrested?”

Jeffrey shakes his head. “Not yet, according to Abbott. He got the call from Kidd and went right there. He called me on the way, telling me what he knew. Kidd is saying he’s innocent and has an alibi who can testify that he left the bar by himself.”

My throat swells, and my palms begin to sweat. “Did he say who?” I croak through my question. Relief washes over me as Jeffrey shakes his head. I may have been in the cab with Travis but didn’t stay, and the woman at the bar got into a car before I walked off. That doesn’t mean he didn’t circle back, though. And that doesn’t mean I’m his alibi.

“Abbott indicated that Kidd wants to speak to this person before he gives the police their name.”

“And I gather the police aren’t that easily swayed?”

Jeffrey’s lips go into a

fine line as he shakes his head. “Unfortunately no.” He stands and moves to the far wall, looking at the framed images. “I need you to go down there for the press conferences. The DA is hungry. It’s an election year, and Kidd handed him the case of the decade. Abbott is planning his own press conference to plead Kidd’s case to the public. The people of Boston love him, and we need the fan support. Stand with Abbott and protect Kidd.”

As much as I want to tell Jeffrey no, I can’t, it’s my job, despite how I feel about this particular client. What Travis and I shared was a mistake, and I vowed to never let anything like that happen again. I’ve made good on my promise, and I refuse to let anything come between my job and me.

I’m excused from Jeffrey’s office and head to my own. I don’t have much time to do anything except ask my assistant to clear my schedule for the day. A quick glance at my calendar tells me that it’s five meetings that she’ll have to move, three of which are new clients. I ask her to reschedule them for tomorrow and make the necessary travel arrangements for those who aren’t local.

Jeffrey was right. By the time I reach the police station, the media is lingering around, waiting for someone to come out and talk to them. My name is called out, asking for a comment as I pass by, and I ignore each and every reporter. They know better than to ask, but they wouldn’t be doing their job if they didn’t. I run smack into Paul Boyd from ESPN, falling off-balance until he catches me.

“Thanks, Paul,” I say, straightening my clothes. I offer him a soft smile and sidestep to go by him.

“Hold up, Saylor.” I shake my head and take another step toward the entrance, only to be halted.

“What do you know?”

This is where the sports business is tricky. If I need something to be leaked, I make a few phone calls, and any one of my clients is front-page news. The media wants something in return, so they expect the same from me. I can’t work like that. The privacy of my clients is first and foremost for me.

“You know I can’t say anything, Paul.”

“Did he do it?”

I look away, fearful that my eyes will tell him something when my mind and heart mean something else. “Wait for Abbott’s press conference.”

“Wait—we were told only the DA is making a statement.”

I look over Paul’s shoulder and frown. It seems as if the state is already trying to manipulate the news with only one sports outlet being on-site.

“Abbott’s having one. Spread the word for me, okay?”

“What’s in it for me?”


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