Trey had a blank look on his face.
“Stupid, impulsive, idiotic—” Marianne went off in the background.
“Yeah, total and absolute shitballs, Lexi. This endorsement alone would pay for his kids, and his kids’ kids, to the n’th power to go to any college on Earth—or in space for that matter.” He chuckled and grasped his hands together.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” I looked up at Trey again, and all he did was shake his head.
“It’s not your fault.”
Quentin spoke again, “All is not lost—not yet, anyway.”
I moved closer to the edge of my seat. “We were going to get divorced right away. Won’t that help?”
He shook his head slowly from side to side. “Fuck, no,” he said as his eyes bulged.
“Quentin, can you watch your mouth? There’s ladies present,” Trey said, sounding completely disgusted with his manager.
“Sorry, Trey,” he said, giving me a wink. “Lexi, divorcing immediately would bring even more unwanted attention. What Trey needs is for you two to stay together. That still might not save his contract—but it’s his best move.”
Over the next hour, Quentin, Marcel, and Angelique took turns discussing why Trey and I needed to stay married.
They all had valid points.
Angelique and Marcel had dished out a ton of dough to start up—not one, but two start up teams.
One of them being a women’s team.
The women’s league was not as popular as the men’s.
Not remotely close.
One of the reasons they invested in a women’s team was to grow the sport, and hopefully inspire young girls to participate.
It was certainly a noble cause.
And there was not a lot of hope of it being a money-maker for them.
Not yet, anyway.
Changing attitudes took time.
No, the chances of the owners ever seeing any real return on their investment—from the women’s team—was nil.
So, any bad press for that team was not looked on kindly.
Which meant—I not only screwed up my rep, but also theirs.
Shitballs.
I could see steam rising from my dad’s ears. I braced when he began speaking.
“Am I correct in assuming that your—physical relationship is over?”
I nodded, and said, “Yes, I told you we’re getting—I mean, we were going to get a divorce.”
My dad looked at me with a blank expression, then spoke to Quentin, “So, you want these two to stay married—in that tiny apartment—in order to save Trey’s endorsement.”
“And to keep good, positive press surrounding the teams. We need the TV show to continue. If they drop us—we’re fucked,” Quentin spouted out.